Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Ithought you were going to be the next Dateline episode.”
Grace delivers this news to me with dramatic flair.
I’m back on Devon’s yacht. Stetson dropped me off after spending the rest of the afternoon in the village.
After the moment in the first St. Nick’s library, everything seemed to deflate a little bit.
I wish I knew if it was something I did or if it was the heaviness of all of it and how fast everything happened, I mean, that wasn’t just a one night stand that was a hell of a lot of—a lot.
A lot a lot.
The temperature went from hot and heavy to just strange.
It was like some part of Stetson pulled back and I don’t even know why.
One minute he was fire, then the next he was cold as ice and ready to get me away from him.
It’s like a switch flipped in his brain.
I want to believe that he was tired, and I’d taken up way too much of his time, but the insecure part of me wonders if I just came up short or if he just really wanted that, a contract for a no questions asked night of crazy magic fueled sex, then why share all the personal details?
He could have just tied me to the sleigh, but he took it a step further. There was an emotional connection.
He’s the sort of man I want to love.
He makes me want to be the sort of woman capable of earning his.
He accompanied me back to the yachtand gave me a passionate kiss before leaving. He even came on board and had small talk with Grace and the rest of their friends. The women stared at me like I was the second coming.
And the envy.
Yeah, that part felt fantastic. I may have preened a bit, fluffed up my hair and clung to his shoulder like ‘yes, mine, back the hell off’, but again, I signed a contract he was as much mine as I was his right now, right?
Who knows? Maybe I’d feel the same if I was watching all of this take place on the outside.
“l’ll call you later,” he said as he placed another kiss on my lips before leaving.
“Bye,” I replied not knowing if I’d ever see him again.
There were no promises.
No assurances.
Just that damn clause staring me in the face like an ugly red pimple. So Stetson’s gone and Grace has pulled me away from the others so we can have our girl time moment alone.
She’s waiting for the details and from the look in her eyes I know I’m not going to get away with not spilling the tea. She wants to know everything.
I mean, she’ll never really know everything because of that damn clause, but I’ll try and tell her as much as I can.
“Well as you can see, I will not be on a Dateline episode, nor will I be the star in a Netflix crime doc.” I curtsy before her for good measure.
“I still think all that Christmas paraphernalia is weird, but we can talk about that later,” she tells me with the wave of her hand. “Now I want details!”
I fall back on the couch and cover my face with my hands.
“Oh no,” she groans.
“Yeah,” I tell her and nod my head. “It was unbelievable. Every part of it. Start to finish and everything in between. He’s kind of perfect.”
“He’s perfect adjacent,” she snaps. “The over-the-top Christmas fetish is a lot to take in at once.”
“I think it’s cute,” I defend him because I have to and because if she really knew his dad was Santa and he was the heir, she’d feel very differently about the entire situation.
“It’s not what you think,” I tell her and try my best to make it palatable for her. “It’s complicated. It’s a family thing that he grew up in so it’s kind of all he’s ever known.”
“Maybe,” Grace rolls her eyes. “So you had incredible sex, you had a great time, and you look satiated but dare I say a little sad?”
I run my hands through my hair.
“I’m just scared I won’t hear from him again,” I admit.
“Charlie,” Grace’s voice is firm. “There’s a strong probability you will never ever hear from the man again. We walked into this, eyes wide open, knowing full well this was going to be a one-night thing with a hint of the possibility of something more.”
“I know,” I admit in a small voice. A fever dream. A distant memory. Would I regret it?
Tears well in my eyes.
I imagine Santa smiling at me, telling me he remembered me.
Hugging me.
I may not have felt like I mattered growing up when I tried so hard when I struggled and felt so alone. But he loved me even then. He knew my name.
He knew my name by heart.
I struggle not to cry when my brain slowly moves over to the memory of the smiles with Stetson, the stolen kisses, the pantry, the teasing, the sex.
Would I regret it?
Never.
Would I ever get over it?
No. But that’s on me, for signing the clause.
“So you can’t be upset, and you can’t be mad,” her voice cuts into the memories like a knife and goes up an octave. “And I swear to God if you cry over a man you just met forty-eight hours ago, I’m going to bash you in the head with this pillow.”
“I’m not going to cry.” I swallow a lump the size of Texas. I am one hundred percent going to cry myself to sleep every time I smell sugar, take a shower, eat cookies, see reindeers. The man has not only ruined me for all other men—he’s ruined freaking Christmas. Thanks, Stetson, thanks Santa.
“Liar,” Grace points at me with narrowed eyes. “I can see the quiver in your mouth!”
“I’m hungry!” I shout back at her as I cross my arms. God this sucks!
“Charlie, there is no way I’m going to let you be sad about this guy, even for a minute. We leave tomorrow—did you forget that?”
“No,” I shake my head in misery. “I did not forget that.”
I just didn’t need the reminder!
“Just get over him,” she waves at me like it should be something easy.
I don’t answer her.
Impossible.
She doesn’t know.
And the worst part is, I can’t tell her—I can’t tell anyone. I have to take the stolen moments, the kisses, the truth—to the grave.
Grace stands and pulls her sweats up like she’s trying to prove a point.
“Charlie Lyn Horseman, let’s just call a spade a spade. I’m going to be harsh and give you tough love because I love you and I’m not going to let you think about him for another moment in time.”
“I can’t wait to hear…” I mumble back to her knowing Grace is going to be her usual, I can’t sugarcoat anything, kind of friend.
“This man is not going to call you,” she starts off with the first blow. “His yacht has probably already left the fjord. And you will probably never set eyes on him again.”
One second later, Stetson FaceTime’s me.
How’s that for prophecy?
How’s that for hope?
How’s that for a possible Christmas Miracle?