Page 22 of Stranded in A Small Town Christmas
“My dad died because we were poor and had no health insurance, and he couldn’t afford to take time off or get medical care. By the time he ended up in the emergency room, it was too late. He was terminal, and he was gone two months later. I swore I wouldn’t lose my mother that way.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, clutching the sleeve of my borrowed coat. “So you just…became a billionaire?”
“It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t fast. Also, I’ve only technically been a billionaire for about six months. Just a lot of millions before that.” I remember, during that final climb, wondering if hitting the billion mark would finally set me free of the fear. It didn’t. “I started with gambling. Small stuff because we were broke, but if I found a dollar, I could make it five. I mastered poker and sports betting while learning everything I could about the stock market. Then I gambled there and earned enough to gamble in real estate.”
“That’s a lot of gambling.”
“I’m good at it. I didn’t go to college or have connections to give me a hand up, but I can read people. I can calculate risk versus reward. And I can bluff my way through almost anything.”
“Are you happy, though?”
I can’t really wrap my head around what that means. I’m proud of the businesses I’ve built. I’m free of the fear my mom will go without medical care or have to choose between groceries or heat.
“What would happen if you stepped back?”
I look at her, and the compassion I see in her dark eyes is like a punch to my chest. “What do you mean?”
“Would you be poor again?”
“No. I’d have to work really hard at losing money to ever be poor again. I give away a lot, actually, but what’s left keeps generating more.” I blow out a long, slow breath. “But then I start dreaming about the day I yelled at my dad because he wasn’t even trying to live, and he told me we didn’t have the money to fight a battle he would lose, and he wouldn’t leave us in debt. And then I wake up and work harder.”
I can hear it when I say it out loud like that. I’ve never verbalized those fears before and the confession feels like that satisfying pop of a jar lid that’s been a long struggle to open.
“Have you ever talked to somebody about it? Professionally, I mean?” she asks gently, and I shake my head. “I think a childhood trauma like that will always be a wound, but if it’s affecting your ability to enjoy your life this many years later, it’s an open wound, and it’s okay to talk to a professional about it.”
I nod because she’s right, and also because I’m not sure I can speak right now. Luckily, Mel and Elsie run up to us with a visibly exhausted Lyla behind them.
“It’s time!” Mel yells, and I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I’m grateful my conversation with Natalie has been put on pause.
Elsie puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “Are you going to watch Elf with us?”
I can’t tell if she wants me to say yes or no. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it.”
All four of them gasp, and Natalie puts her hand on my arm. “You’ve never seen Elf?”
“Nope.”
Mel shakes her head sadly, but then she rallies and bounces on her toes while clapping her hands. “You have to watch it with us. We eat baked macaroni and cheese and watch Elf after the parade. It’s a family tradition.”
Her excitement is infectious, but I can’t resist teasing her. “I don’t want to barge in on a family tradition, though.”
“Oh, you’re watching Elf with us,” Natalie says, standing and then pulling me to my feet.
“You should warn him about the baked mac,” I hear Lyla mutter to her sister, and we’re all laughing as we walk back to the inn.
And taking Natalie’s hand in mine feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Chapter Fifteen
Natalie
* * *
The first thing I see when Donovan opens his door is the naked wall of his chest and I forget the words I’d rehearsed on the way down the hall.
My gaze flicks downward, but the nakedness doesn’t continue below the waist. He’s wearing sweatpants and his feet are bare. I can tell by the lingering smell of soap and the dampness in his hair that he took a shower after the movie.
He backs up, giving me space to enter. I don’t want space. I want to rub up against him on the way by, but I don’t. I try to come up with something to say as he closes the door behind me, and I fall back on pretending I’m here as the host.
