Page 5 of New Year in Kentbury
“Paul,” he starts, his voice strained, like he’s about to say something important. But then he stops, shaking his head.
“What?” I press, leaning forward, unwilling to let him retreat again.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and for a second, I think he might actually say it. But instead, he looks away, his walls snapping back into place.
“Nothing,” he mutters. “Forget it.”
And there it is. The cycle we’ve been stuck in since this started—him pulling away, me chasing after him, both of us too afraid to admit what we really want.
But not today. Today, I’m not letting him get away with it.
“Damian,” I say firmly, leaning across the table. “If this is about us?—”
“There is no us,” he cuts in, his voice sharp enough to sting. “There’ll never be an us and you should know it.”
I flinch but don’t back down. “You don’t believe that.”
He looks at me then, and it’s all there in his eyes—the fear, the longing, the frustration of wanting something he doesn’t think he can have. And it hits me, like it always does, that he’s not mad at me. He’s mad at himself. At the world.
And I love him anyway.
Every broken, complicated, impossible part of him.
“Are we still on for New Year’s Eve?” I dare to ask, my voice softer than I intend. It’s a gamble, a crack in my usual sunny armor, but I need to know. Because for the past couple of years, New Year’s Eve has been ours. The one night we can pretend the world doesn’t exist, that we’re not trapped in this endless limbo.
We deal with the resort party—mingling with guests, playing our parts—and then slip away to the presidential suite. Behind those doors, it’s just us. No titles, no facades, no pretending we’re anything but what we are.
We fuck all night.
But it’s not just fucking. It’s the way Damian looks at me, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of my body, every sound I make. It’s the way his hands grip my hips, strong but trembling, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear. The way he buries his face in myneck, his breath hot against my skin as he whispers my name like it’s a prayer.
I give him everything—my body, my heart, my soul—and he takes it like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting all year just for this. And when we’re done, when we’re both spent and tangled in the sheets, I make my wish.
Every year it’s the same wish.
That next year will be different. That it’ll beus. That Damian will accept us and won’t give two fucks about what the town thinks.
It’d be us in front of everyone creating a family, a home.
I wish he would see things my way. What if the fucking town of Kentbury finds out he’s gay? So what? They should accept him for who he is, not the version of him they’ve built up in their heads. Damian Harris isn’t just the man holding this town together. He’s more than the name and the legacy they worship. He’s brilliant and infuriating and tender in ways that would shock them if they ever saw the real him.
And children? We could have them. Adoption, surrogacy—there are so many ways to build a family. I’d do it all. I’d raise them with him, love them with him, create a home where we wouldn’t have to hide.
I just need him to see it. To believe it.
Because every year, I make that wish, and every year, I go home alone, wondering if I’m asking for too much. Wondering if Damian will ever let himself want the life we could have.
But even when he denies himself of . . . everything, I still love him. Every broken, complicated, maddening part of him.
Chapter Three
Paul
The belljingles above the bakery door, a cheerful chime announcing the arrival of more customers. It’s the New Year’s Eve sale at Kneady Kentbury Bakes, Grandma Genie’s beloved bakery—a tradition that draws a crowd every year. The airbuzzes with laughter, greetings, and the warm scent of fresh pastries. I stand behind the counter, deftly boxing up orders as they’re handed to us. The rhythm of the work feels second nature now, thanks to the time I’ve spent in Kentbury.
Not only have I learned to pack boxes like a pro, but I can knead bread, bake, and even decorate cakes. Who would’ve thought?
“I never imagined you’d be the one taking over the bakery,” Grandma teases as the line thins.
