Page 12 of Christmas with Billionaire's Runaway Bride

The attention from the coffee shop patrons doesn't escape us, making both of us uneasy. Claire's gaze remains fixed on me, her expression resembling that of someone who's seen a ghost. It's as if she's on the verge of saying something, but she holds back. I notice a fleeting array of emotions flicker across her face, hidden beneath a veneer of caution.

"James, let me buy you coffee as my apology if you don't mind," she finally offers tentatively, her eyes searching for mine. In response, I shift my gaze, not because I don't want to get lost in her beautiful eyes, but because all the emotions I once harbored for her come rushing back, threatening to break down the walls I'd built around my heart.

"Sure, if you insist," I reply with a genuine smile, allowing a glimmer of hope to rekindle within me as we navigate this unexpected reunion.

Sitting alone while Claire goes to order coffee feels somewhat odd. I realize I haven't told her my coffee preference, but I'm curious to see if she remembers. Anxiously, I take a corner seat and pretend to busy myself with my phone. I keep glancing in her direction, silently praying that she won't vanish again. All I want is for her to join me. As I wait, my heart races with anticipation. When I notice her searching for me, I gesture for her to come over. Her expression is inscrutable, but I decide to take a chance. She approaches and hands me my coffee.

"Thanks, Ms. Claire. Aren't you going to sit down with me and have this coffee?" I ask, echoing a familiar request.

Her uncertainty is evident, and she hesitates. "I'm not sure about that," she replies.

I quickly think and then add, "You can see it as an extension of the apology for pouring hot coffee all over me." A smile breaks across her face, and she nods, taking the seat across from me. But her gaze remains focused on her coffee, not once turning in my direction, leaving an unspoken tension in the air.

I can't help but express my surprise, "Even after all this time, you still remember my favorite coffee. I'm impressed." I lock eyes with her, aware that my comment might make her even more uncomfortable, but I can't resist mentioning it.

Claire smiles and replies, "Who can forget about that? Such a simple preference."

The conversation stalls as I search for the right words. Claire remains reserved, only answering the questions I pose to her, which adds to the growing tension in the air.

I finally break the silence, "How have you been, Claire?"

"I'm fine. I can't complain," she responds.

I offer a simple, albeit insincere, response, "I've been okay too." The tension in the room is palpable.

"It's so nice to see you again. I thought that I'd never set my eyes on you once you left," I admit.

Claire sighs and nervously chuckles before saying, "I'm glad that you're okay. You know, I was heading somewhere and I would not like to be late because it's a new job. I'm sure you understand that."

Curiosity piqued, I respond, "Ah, a new job? I'm glad that you're okay." Despite the unease in the air, I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope for a fresh start in our connection.

I watch her figure disappear beyond my door and let out a sigh. Sadness and emptiness seem to envelop every inch of me, but at least I've achieved one thing – I've seen her, talked to her, and been close to her. It's all I could hope for at this moment. I make a silent promise to myself to take things slow, one step at a time. What brings a glimmer of happiness is the evident impact my presence has on Claire, although I'm uncertain if it's a discomfort of the bad or good kind. Does she remember our times together? If she recalls my coffee preference, I'm convinced she remembers our shared moments. I'm sure of it because I never treated her poorly. Whatever led to her decision that fateful day, I'm not sure if it had anything to do with me or it was just a response to her past traumas.

Claire's Point of view

The crisp winter air stirs memories as I navigate the snow-covered streets in my sturdy boots. The echoes of laughter and the joyous crunch of snow underfoot transport me back to a time when Christmas held a different kind of magic. Thoughts of a person, whose memory I try to avoid, linger like the chill in the air.

Christmas, once a season of shared delight, now carries the weight of bittersweet nostalgia. The recollection of playful escapades in the snow, building snowmen and engaging in spontaneous snowball fights, tugs at my heartstrings. The innocence of our shared laughter and the sparkle in our eyes during those festive moments evoke a sense of longing.

Yet, as I trudge through the winter wonderland, I'm reminded that memories, both joyful and melancholic, are an integral part of the holiday season. The cold breeze becomes a poignant reminder of the chapters of life written in the delicate flakes of snow, each one telling a story of love, loss, and the enduring spirit of Christmas. Amidst the snowy landscape, I find solace in the beauty of the season, even as memories weave through the fabric of the falling snowflakes. The contrast between the warmth of my furry boots and the chill in the air mirrors the complex emotions stirred by reminiscing about those cherished Christmas times.

As I navigate the winter scene, I reflect on the resilience of the human spirit, much like the steadfast evergreen trees that stand tall despite the snow's weight. Though the person associated with those memories is now a distant figure, the essence of the shared joy and childlike wonder remains etched in the snowy tableau.

I choose to embrace the duality of the season, finding strength in the nostalgia while allowing the magic of Christmas to cast its own spell. The cold breeze whispers tales of bygone moments, but it also carries the promise of new memories waiting to be created in the gentle snowfall of the present.

Outside the coffee shop, I'm overwhelmed by panic. All my attempts to maintain composure inside have shattered, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Seeing James was like encountering a ghost. Why is he here? Has he been looking for me, or is this an extraordinary coincidence? I hadn't seen him since that day I left him at the altar, and I've had minimal information about him, except for hearing that he had gone back to work.

I know James, and I'm convinced my hasty decision had deeply affected him. It's as if fate is punishing me, as the man I ended up with later turned out to be terrible, collaborating with my parents to torment me to the brink of despair. Am I paying for the wrongs I did to James? Over the years, I've wrestled with the belief that I did the right thing, but doubt has crept in. Unable to change the past, I eventually moved back home to my parents, convinced that I'd never see James again. Yet, here he was, unexpectedly entering my life once more.

The truth is, I had lied to James about heading for a job. That was not the case. My real destination was the residence where I could continue my physiotherapy. I knew he didn't need it, but it was a way to finish up our arrangements and let him know that I was ready to work for him. Kendra had persuaded me deeply to accept the job her brother was offering me. My financial situation was dire, and the bills were overwhelming, so I had to take it. But today, I was not going to work. I was returning to her brother's residence, the place I had left a few weeks ago, to assist with the therapy.

Getting into my car, my face feels flushed, and my hands are trembling. I attempt to drive, but it quickly becomes apparent that I'm not in the right state of mind. So, I decide to call Kendra, fully aware that I might be disturbing her. I couldn't drive; my mind is too disoriented. I even question how I could assist her brother in my current state.

After a while, Kendra arrives, and I'm relieved to see her, though I try to conceal the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. Kendra, sharp as ever, asks, "Claire, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost. Your face is pale. Are you feeling okay? Should we go to the hospital?"

Panicking, I quickly reply, "No, no, no. I'm okay. I'm just feeling a bit of a headache. All right. Thank you. Thank you." I'm grateful for her concern but hesitant to share the complexities of my emotions at that moment.

Kendra looks at me in disbelief but decides not to push for more information. She takes the wheel, and a few minutes later, we arrive at the upscale neighborhood that I had once called home for a few months. We enter the residence, and Kendra's brother is seated, engrossed in his phone. My mind is far from present as I sit down, a haze clouding my thoughts.

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