11
My eyes squint open as a ray of golden light caresses my face from a large window opposite my bed. The melody from “Last Christmas” plays softly nearby. I blink the sleep from my eyes and roll over to an empty bed.
Luckily Dale is nowhere in sight. Thank goodness. I shouldn’t feel this happy, but after last night, I need the space.
I stretch and sink into the pillowy comforter. It makes me feel like I’m sleeping on a cloud. The record label must have comped us a room, because this bed is heaven.
I inhale deeply and sigh pleasantly. The air smells clean, crisp, with a hint of lemon and eucalyptus.
I wiggle my toes and stretch my limbs underneath the white down comforter and sea-green linen blankets that wrap my body like a warm hug.
The cotton sheets are silky smooth. As my hands run over the soft fabric, I imagine it has a thread count higher than my bank account.
My head feels refreshed and my body well-rested. Which is amazing considering all the champagne I drank last night. And that I’m having trouble remembering what happened after I saw Madam Lunas singing onstage.
The thought of her sends shivers down my spine. How was it possible that she was somehow both my psychic Uber driver and a guest singer in Dale’s band? Who is this woman? And what does she want with me?
But my spiraling thoughts are interrupted when I notice the room I’m in.
Wow. No matter how awful Dale was last night, his label sure knows how to take care of him.
This space looks like it was designed by a team of experts whose sole mission in life was to melt stress on sight.
Sunlight pours through tall windows framed in white, gauzy curtains that sway gently in a warm, lazy breeze.
Wait, last I checked I was at Dale’s Christmas show in winter weather. How am I lying in this room with open windows and floral and citrus scents on the air?
I sit upright in bed to tug the curtains back and startle at the sight. Spread out before me is a view so dazzling, I swear I’m on a movie set, not in real life. I admire a turquoise sea, clear and sparkling, stretching to an endless horizon in shades of blue I didn’t even know existed.
This is not a hotel in the city. This isn’t even Nashville or Hopewell Crossing. This is somewhere completely different. Completely awe-inspiring.
I take a deep breath and try not freak out. I have no idea where I am. But from the slow sinking feeling in my stomach, I think I know exactly what’s happening.
George Michael is still singing from my phone, so I grab it from where it sits atop a fancy mosaic-tiled nightstand.
Silencing the alarm, I check the date. It’s Christmas Eve again, December 24.
My palms sweat as I check the year. Once again, it’s one year since I met Madam Lunas.
The same date and year when I woke up with Dale, but this morning I’m somewhere completely different.
But am I still with Dale?
I skim through my phone, looking for any texts from him. But there’s nothing. The texts from Juliet with Kristy’s adorable first Christmas pictures are also missing.
I toss my blanket aside and step onto a soft handwoven rug.
It takes me a moment to appreciate the silky-soft rose-gold nightgown I’m wearing before grabbing the matching robe off a nearby armchair.
I moan. The material is so supple, it feels like a bed of rose petals.
I inhale the eucalyptus-infused air to clear my mind.
No matter how luxurious this space is, I need to figure out what’s going on.
There’s an arched wooden door on the other side of the room, and I push through it into a small hallway with gleaming hardwood floors and a brief flight of stairs at the end.
Soon, I’m descending into a vacation dream.
It’s a living room bathed in natural light with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sea.
A cream sectional couch and gold accent chairs wrap around marble tables.
Abstract paintings and sculptures that look like artwork people use paddleboards to bid on at bougie auctions decorate the space.
On the other side of the living room, a large mahogany dining table is set with bespoke handblown glassware, stoneware, and a bowl of fresh fruit.
The chairs are upholstered in inviting earth tones.
This is the kind of place you would want to linger in with a bottle of wine and gourmet dishes like the ones I always save on Instagram but never make myself.
The scent of fresh coffee catches my attention, and I follow it around a corner into the most high-end kitchen I’ve ever seen.
Marble countertops, brushed brass fixtures, and modern built-in appliances.
A small espresso machine hums quietly in the corner.
I pause. A man is rummaging inside the fancy Thermador refrigerator, his body blocked by the door.
Oh. I stop in my tracks. That is most definitely not Dale.
Tan legs with clearly defined muscles, a strong hand with well-groomed fingernails on the door handle. This is someone in amazing shape who takes care of himself, with no tattoos in sight.
I swallow, trying not to get too sucked in by this mysterious and likely attractive person. I didn’t go home with someone else last night, did I? I might’ve been mad at Dale, but revenge hookups have never been my style.
“Good morning, love,” a confident voice exclaims as the fridge door shuts. Hang on. I recognize that Aussie accent, but it can’t be… can it? Flynn Baccay.
My mouth dries as I see his gorgeous face beaming at me, a glass bottle of milk in one hand and a protein drink in another.
His lips quirk in his trademark amused and confident smile—the kind that could get him out of a speeding ticket, help him close a multimillion-dollar deal, or let him into any woman’s pants. All real-life examples of things that have happened, by the way.
And now, even after he cheated, his smile still works on me, as heat spreads across my body faster than a wildfire. He’s so gorgeous in his workout clothes, a muscle top that hugs his well-built pecs, and joggers that hang snug and low around his trim waist—it’s hard to look at him.
Flynn Baccay is every possible F-word: fine, Filipino, flirty, a finance bro, and fucking hot.
As I recover from the shock of seeing his hot-as-hell body, all the other memories are crowding back in.
How we broke up because he slept with a girl he met at our favorite coffee shop.
How he told me he wasn’t ready to settle down—even though we dated for almost two years.
How even years later, I’m still nursing those wounds.
I loved him. Like, was ready to get married to him, loved him.
Flynn clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been staring silently the whole time.
“Ready for coffee?” He motions me to come closer. “I’ve got you.”
I step into the kitchen acutely aware of my flimsy robe and nightgown. My hair is likely a total disaster, so I quickly run a hand through my long locks, hoping to tame them down a little.
Flynn hands me a stone mug with steaming coffee, then presses soft lips to mine. I do my best not to jump at his touch, despite my heart beating wildly in my chest, ready to burst like the front doors of Target on Black Friday. Or Bergdorf’s, for the jet-setting types like the Baccays.
He lifts his mug and toasts. “Merry Christmas, love.”
“Merry Christmas Eve,” I reply, more to myself than him, as I try to make sense of everything.
He smiles at me, his expression growing serious. “Listen, I know we’ve had our ups and downs, but I am so happy we found each other again. I know this year will be different.”
I chew on my lip as I consider him. Could it be that he’s changed? I wouldn’t be with him unless he monumentally apologized and proved himself somehow.
“I think it will be different, too.” I smile at him.
Flynn Baccay. I’m spending Christmas Eve with Flynn Baccay. I don’t know how the universe has done it, but I guess I can’t complain. Especially if it means I’m no longer engaged to Dale.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Flynn tucks my hair behind my ears. “You don’t usually sleep in.”
“I’m good.” I try to remember Flynn’s daily regimen: wake up early, work out, read the financial news.
The early morning sunlight might just be filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but to Flynn, the day is practically half over.
“Thought I’d get a little extra rest as a Christmas gift to myself. ”
I breathe in the steam from my coffee—it’s heavenly of course, since he always bought the best brands.
“No worries.” He squeezes me into his rock-hard side. “After all the work you did raising over a million dollars with the company’s charity gala, you deserve a break. Thanks to you, we’ll be able to break ground on the Baccay Center for Speech Therapy next year.”
I do a double take. Is that true? His family’s foundation was one of the reasons we got together, and I’m genuinely amazed by how much it’s grown—apparently, some things actually do thrive after a breakup.
I remember when he visited my grad school to scout a location for a potential new facility and needed a guide to show him around.
He’d recently graduated from the school himself, and I’d known about the Baccays long before I knew about Flynn since they were big donors in the speech pathology field.
I recall that brisk fall day, meeting him in front of the library, when he asked me why I was interested in speech pathology.
And I told him about the day I met one of Dad’s patients who had a speech delay.
I had sat in on therapy sessions at the hospital during winter break and saw what a difference the therapist made and how happy the little boy looked, being able to ask for his dinosaur stuffy. It sealed the deal for me.
Now I remember Robbie telling me how my future career is a way to help children find their voice. The perfect job for a singer. I feel a sense of sudden pride. It’s a year after I earned my master’s, I realize. Maybe I’m already a speech pathologist in this future.
After all, unlike Dale, Flynn shared and supported my passion for helping people with developmental delays.
Meeting Flynn and seeing how amazingly smart and caring he was felt like fate. He was an excellent listener. He encouraged me to continue to pursue my degree. I literally wouldn’t be where I am today, or where I was a year ago, without the support and affection he gave me when we first met.
Now he’s standing in the kitchen, staring at me with admiration in his eyes, and I only wish I knew what gala he’s talking about.
I do vividly recall the volunteer work I put into his family’s charity work in the past. They were heavily involved in the community, spending their extensive funds—made from their massive real estate holdings and historic investments—on some of the best events to raise money for their foundation.
As Flynn’s girlfriend, I felt the same pressure to pitch in.
Other family members’ spouses were so hands-on when it came to the company’s fundraising that it was hard not to constantly try to keep up with them.
But it was amazing work. I loved feeling like I was helping people and making a positive impact directly by organizing these events.
Eventually, I ended up taking a break from graduate school so I could keep up with Flynn’s overachieving badass sister’s boyfriend. It wasn’t an easy choice putting my own career on hold, but Flynn Baccay and the charity work was worth it. At least that’s what I convinced myself.
So when he threw it all away, it was all the more devastating.
I sneak a glance at him now over my coffee mug, my brain attempting to piece together how it is that I’m standing here with him. Once again revisiting December 24.
Maybe this is my second chance to get it right. Dale wasn’t the one for me, but maybe Flynn is. I can’t deny that of all my heartbreaks, Flynn was the hardest to get over. And now I have a second chance with him.
I sip my coffee and wince. What is this flavor?
“Sorry.” Flynn chuckles. “I forgot you don’t like the mushroom coffee. There’s sugar in the cupboard.”
Mushroom coffee? I frown into my cup. He must’ve switched to this after we broke up. I don’t think there’s enough sugar in the world to make this drinkable.
I don’t miss the way he says “sugar” like he’s allergic, but then his face brightens.
“Actually, I forgot. Because it’s Christmastime, I asked the hosts to stock up some holiday touches I thought you might like.
” He opens the refrigerator door with a big grin, like a kid opening a big box under the tree.
A whole row of holiday-flavored creamers, including eggnog and gingerbread, are perched in one of the shelves on the door.
“This is amazing,” I say, diving for the peppermint cream bottle. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” He chuckles. “Apparently, those weren’t easy to find on this island. They had them flown in from the mainland.”
I nod like I know what he’s talking about, filing away that bit of information that we’re on a fancy tropical island. Hawaii? Bora Bora? The Maldives? I’ll check our location on Google Maps when I’m alone.
“Drink quickly,” he says as I take my first heavenly sip of coffee as it should be.
“I want to hit the beach soon and see you in all those swimsuits you bought when you went shopping with Nora.” I perk up.
Nora is Flynn’s super sophisticated, super successful, and super nice twin.
If she picked out the suits, then they must be excellent.
“The black bikini is my favorite.” His eyebrows do a little dance on his forehead.
A pang of unease goes through me. Bikinis?
I—one year ago Marygrace, that is—was not prepared at all for the possibility that I would be wearing a swimsuit this holiday…
I swallow my coffee and pray that this year’s Marygrace took care of all the waxing and maintenance required to wear a bikini during Christmastime.
But as he tools around the living room opening the curtains some more to let the daylight in, I release the tension in my body. Who cares what I look like? I’m spending Christmas Eve on a beautiful tropical island with a beautiful man and I’m going to enjoy myself.
Flynn grabs his phone and announces he needs to check his emails to “lighten his load.” As one of his family’s directors of strategic investments, he’s always expected to be checking in, constantly tracking their family’s portfolio performance.
I know that means I have about thirty minutes to get ready while he takes care of business.
But first, I have Christmas Eve wishes to send. As I finish my coffee, I flip through my phone, finding my family’s group chat.
It’s Christmas Eve, so everyone should be at the house. I can probably reach them while they’re all together. I head to our bedroom to get ready with a bounce in my step.