Page 67 of Holiday Interference
Everything about her feels unfinished.
Unsaid.
And now—unreachable.
I lean back, exhale slow, and let the truth settle in my bones.
It wasn’t a breakup.
But it sure as hell feels like one.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Noelle
The cursor blinksat me like it knows I’m lying.
I’ve been staring at the same line in this proposal for an hour, willing my brain to behave, to focus, todo something.
But the words just pool like water and drain through the cracks. Every time I try to reread the sentence, it slips out of reach again.
Like I’m chasing it underwater. Like I’m the one underwater.
The blanket around my shoulders is too warm. My coffee’s gone stone cold. My laptop feels like a brick on my thighs, heavy and useless, heat buzzing from the bottom like it might catch fire if I don’t close it soon.
I shift on the couch, my muscles stiff from staying in the same position too long. My calves ache, and my lower back twinges. I curl tighter into the throw blanket and stare at the screen again.
It wasn’t a breakup.
I keep telling myself that.
We weren’t a couple. We didn’t date. We didn’t promise anything. We just had earth shattering, mind-blowing sex.
But Imisshim like it was more than just sex.
And I don’t know what that says about me—about how I let someone in that fast, that deep, without even noticing until it was too late to protect myself from the fallout.
It’s been a week since I stepped into the back of that car and didn’t look back.
Since I left his apartment without asking for his number.
Since I told myself I didn’t need more. That we were better as a one-time thing.
That I was better off not knowing what it might’ve turned into.
I chew my thumbnail until it aches. I haven’t worn makeup in days and barely brushed my hair. I haven’t stopped thinking about him for longer than a breath.
The worst part is, I did something stupid.
I went to the grocery store two days after I left him, wandering down the laundry aisle like a woman possessed. I stood there—middle of the aisle, blocking someone’s cart—sniffing every damn bottle of detergent until I found the one that came close to the way he smelled.
That warm cedar and skin andhimsmell I couldn’t shake from my memory.
I bought it.
Washed my towels in it.
Then stood in the middle of my bathroom with a fistful of terry cloth and realized just how far I’d gone off the rails.
