Page 26 of Mr. Merry Ex-Mas
My answer surprises him. I see it written all over his face. I don’t think he expected me to agree with him. But I need to say something to stop this forward motion when I don’t really know what the heck he wants from me.
“It’s just, I don't know. You’re so structured, and I’m not. Sometimes, it feels like there’s a right and wrong way to breathe.”
There it is.Too much. Too rigid. Too Sadie.
I swallow the sting. “Right. God forbid someone wants things to matter.”
He stares at me, and I have to look away. “I want this to matter, Sadie. I don't know why you don’t think I do.”
I want to ask if he means the gala or us. I have so many questions, and when my head spins, I just want to wrap myself in him. I want him to calm me, to whisper whatever it is he does just to keep me grounded. But all I can do is walk away. I walk away fast, despite him calling after me.
18
SADIE
Three days.
There are three days until the gala, and everything is somehow both ahead of scheduleandfalling apart.
I stand in the middle of the auditorium, gripping my clipboard and barking orders at the lighting crew who, despite printed diagrams and three separate walkthroughs, still can’t tell the difference between “fireplace glow” and “haunted-house red.”
“We need the soft red,not the blood moon day of the zombie lights,” I snap, pointing toward the spotlight currently beaming red on the stage like it’s trying to summon demons.
And then I hear him.
“I don’t know,” Danny calls from somewhere behind me. “I kinda like the Rudolph vibe. It says, ‘Welcome to the Gala. Jingle my bells before the world ends.’”
A few people around him chuckle at his joke, but I don’t turn around. I’ve done my best to try not to think of him, but every memory of how we spent our night together led to another thought:Could we do it again?I fought the urge to call him last night, but after I snapped at him and then left him standingthere, I didn’t know what to do. I really needed him to dull the noises in my head, and I just wanted to see how it would be. If we could be a normal couple on a normal night.
His comments today show me he’s never going to grow up.
“Mr. Love,” I grit out.
“You rang?” he says, suddenly appearing beside me. He’s twenty minutes late and has the audacity to look pleased that he’s here at all.
“You were supposed to meet the stage rental team at nine.Nine,Danny. The time most everyone starts work, not whatever timeyouthink you should start work.”
He shrugs, checking his wrist for the watch he definitely isn’t wearing. “I was in the building but got held up in my classroom. But I brought muffins.”
“You broughtchaos,as usual,” I snap. “And carbs don’t fix wasted time.”
“The other night you told me carbs are important. You remember? On our walk home?” I side-eye him and see him grinning back at me. “Maybe you should have one. Sounds like you have low blood sugar.”
I glare at him. One slow breath in. One slow breath out. I know what he’s doing, but there's no time for jokes right now. Why doesn’t he get that?
“I am trying to keep this gala from imploding.”
“And I’m trying to keepyoufrom imploding.”
“By beinguseless?”
“By beingcharming,” he says, flashing that grin with the dimple that makes everyone fall at his feet. He leans down, “Do you need a reminder of how charming I can be?”
I fold my arms tight, hugging the clipboard so I don’t hit him with it. “We need to finalize the floor plan, double-check lighting cues because clearly they’re color blind, confirm the number of guests, and—oh, yeah—make sure the stage is built correctly andstrong enough to hold a dozen kids without having to call the ambulance halfway through their sing-along.”
He steps in front of me, standing tall. “I'll have you know I built that stage myself.”
I deadpan. “Yourself?”
