Page 51 of Wintertime Love (Holiday 2)

I wipe the knife and put it back with the rest, my point made.

There’s a trace of vague annoyance in Finn’s eyes and usually the easy going Irishman gets along with Danny quite well ? they’re almost friends, dare I say ? but right now as he looks at him, it’s like he’s looking at a bug he wants to crush under his shoe.

That cold look makes a shiver crawl down my spine. I have never seen this particular look on Finn’s face before.

It’s almost like he’s jealous.

But why would he be jealous of Danny?

Despite our somewhat romantic entanglement, there wasn’t truly any romance when it came to Danny and I. A few dinners, some dates, falling into bed on occasion. He never pursued me with the single minded focus that he’s dedicated towards Sharon. And honestly, although I’ll never admit this to the arrogant man who’s watching my friend with such a dark face, I feel t

hat Finn has ruined me for other men. This may be due the fact that he screwed my brains out on his bedroom floor this morning talking, but the way he treats me, the way he sweeps me off my feet. And the reason it gets me so flustered is because I’ve never really seen myself as someone who could be swept off anything, much less my feet. I’ve always been practical, grounded, my feet so firmly on the ground that even budging me is a problem.

No other man has managed to sway me. I would like their looks, I would date them. We would have good chemistry, we fall into bed to have a short and brief fling after which we walk away with no hard feelings. But I don’t think I’ll be able to walk away with my heart still intact, this time. Finn has thoroughly penetrated through the every defense I have ever built and now it feels like he’s ravaging me bare.

I scowl.

What does he have to be jealous about?

I reach out and flick him on the side of his head, snapping, “Behave.”

He gives me a wounded look. “What did I do?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You know what you did.”

He scoffs, “I can help you just fine. You don’t need anyone else.”

I stare at him. “It’s a little hard to do anything with you around. Remember, when we were trying to finish up the Christmas decorations?”

A smug look creeps across his face and his voice is husky as he meets my eyes, “Yeah.”

A slow flush along my cheeks makes me avert my eyes. “Yes, well. So, I’d rather work with Dann—”

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he cuts in.

I have to refrain my snorting. Any time it’s the two of us alone, he’s on me, seducing me out of my clothes with such practiced ease that it’s too late by the time I figure out what’s happening.

He sees me wavering and presses, “On my honor!”

I blink at him, wavering. “I don’t know what that means but it sounds important.” I glance at Danny, regretfully. “Besides, I think you’ll have to help Sharon set up that day.”

My friend sighs. “Oh, yeah. I promised her I’d do that.” With a sudden grin, he leans over and slaps Finn on the back. “Guess I’ll leave Clara in your capable hands.”

As Stacy brings his order, he asks me, “You sure you’re not coming to the party?”

I shake my head, a tight smile on my lips. “I’d much rather be alone. You know how it is.”

Danny looks a little regretful. “All right then.”

I don’t pay much attention to him as he engages the curious Finn in some conversation. I glance at the calendar and my heart sinks slightly. If I didn’t need the help, I’d rather not even see Finn.

I always spend my parent’s death anniversary alone, usually drunk, in my room. It’s something that my aunts heavily disapprove of but I can’t share that one day with them or anyone. It’s the one day a year, I allow myself to break and shatter completely. Then once the night is over, I pick up the broken pieces and glue them back together with care so no one can see the cracks that still remain.

I wipe down the counter, idly, a thrum of grief resounding inside of me as I remember the last words I said to them, the last words they screamed at me. The way my mother forced me back into the seat with her arm at a painful angle as she saw her oncoming death in the blinding lights of the truck. The way my father managed to drag me out of the car, clinging on to his last breath, just so I could survive.

My eyes burn and I swallow, painfully, feeling the tightness in my chest. That night is still so crystal clear in my memories, each breath each word, each scent. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming and I wish that I could forget that cold December night when Dad had bundled us all in the car so we could stay with his sisters for the Christmas holidays.

That Christmas had been tainted with tears and a dull acceptance that my mother would never tuck me in bed again or sing to me. My father would never grab me out of nowhere and tickle me till I ran out of breath.

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