Page 102 of The Christmas Fix
“Look, what you two decide to do is your choice. All I’m trying to do is save you the energy of pretending to hide it and asking that you at least consider what a future together could look like.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“I feel like I just sat through a three-day interrogation in the desert,” Cat said, collapsing on a stool in the kitchen.
Sara was upstairs doing her homework and video chatting with April, leaving the mess to the “grown-ups.” She’d gone without a fuss, and Noah considered that a victory.
He slid the last of the plates into the dishwasher and shook his head. “When did she get to be so damn smart? It feels like yesterday she was throwing herself on the floor and screaming because the pictures in her book were upside down because she was holding it upside down.”
It hurt him to think that his little girl worried that he was lonely.
He wasn’t even sure if that was true. Before Cat, his life was… quiet. And now? Everything was so much brighter, busier, louder. And he didn’t mind it.
Cat laughed. “She seems to have gotten wiser since then.”
“Apparently I haven’t. I thought we were pulling one over on everyone,” Noah admitted. He topped off Cat’s wine glass and slid it toward her.
“It’s kind of weird knowing that your neighbors are basically watching our every move,” Cat said, wrinkling her nose.
“Goes with the territory in a small town.”
“Do you think she’s going to expect a report from us on all the reasons a permanent relationship won’t work?” Cat asked, leaning against the counter next to him.
They were barefoot, relaxing after cleaning up from dinner. It was such a normal scene for so many couples around the world. But for them? They were just playing at a relationship. Noah cleared his throat. “I’m sure. With footnotes.”
He felt… disappointed. It wasn’t that he’d been planning to spend the rest of his life with Cat. They both were aware of the temporariness of their situation. However, it still sucked to hear her say the words, to know that she wasn’t even willing to consider.
Cat’s eyes narrowed over her glass. “What’s wrong?”
Noah topped off his own glass and avoided eye contact. “Nothing. Just surprised at how grown up Sara’s become without me noticing.”
“She’s smart,” Cat commented, nudging him companionably with her elbow. “And she’s got a great eye. The designs she was thinking for her room? There’s talent there. As a non-parent offering unasked-for advice, I’d recommend that you support her interest in fashion marketing.”
“As a parent accepting unasked-for advice from a non-parent, I’ll take that into consideration,” he said, raising his glass.
She clinked her glass to his, and Noah felt a war of wants. Wanting to kiss her as if it were the most natural thing in the world and wanting to back away and figure out if it was too late to protect his heart.
“A friend of a friend in Manhattan runs this immersive summer camp kind of experience for teens. They basically act as lowly gophers for whatever fashion house is hottest that season. Long hours, no pay. She’s too young now, but if she’s still interested in a few years, it would probably help Sara decide whether it’s something she wants to pursue.”
“Will we still be in touch in a few years?” Noah asked. He was surprised at the bitterness that colored the words.
Cat frowned. “Noah, you and Sara are special to me. Just because there’s no future doesn’t mean it has to end badly. I couldn’t stand that.”
Noah’s heart sank as he realized that, no matter how this ended, he’d be the crushed and broken one. Cat would move on to the next project, the next excitement. He’d be left here picking up the slivers of his heart.
It was a joke. And he was the punchline.
Cat would be gone, and in a few short years he’d also have to face that Sara would be growing up, moving on, building her own life.
Noah stared skeptically at his glass of wine. He wished it was scotch. A bottle of it.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Two weeks to Christmas Eve
Cat’s foot twitched in Noah’s lap when he tickled her bare sole. “Focus, Yates,” Cat ordered from her end of the couch. They were both wading through opposite halves of a stack of papers.
He handed her another application. “Maybe pile.”
