Chapter 43
forty-three
As much as living in Florida makes Christmas feel different from the movies, I love this holiday. There’s something wonderful about getting together with those you love, and even though our table may be small this year, I couldn’t imagine spending this day with anyone other than Miles and Elvis.
It’s the first year I’m not with my family, and as much as I love them, this has been the most relaxing Christmas yet. No rushing out the door looking presentable. No waking up early to make a pie that I probably won’t eat later because I’ll be too busy. No last-minute gift wrapping I should have done the night before but didn’t.
Instead, I’m still wearing the leggings I slept in, my hair is up in a messy bun, and I’m wearing an old T-shirt that reads, Jolly AF , with a reindeer design surrounding it made to look like the stitching you’d find on a sweater. To be fair, Miles is wearing a shirt with a plate of cookies that says, I Put Out for Santa. I haven’t been outside today, but Elvis showed up wearing a sweater, so it gives me hope that maybe the temperature has dropped for the occasion .
I sit on our couch with my feet tucked beneath me as I sip my second cocktail. Elvis sits a few spots away with his arm casually around Miles, and the sight alone makes my heart feel full. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Miles this invested in anyone. He’s happy. That’s all I need for this Christmas to be great.
Yesterday was the first day Chase and I didn’t text since meeting. Late last night, after the clock struck twelve, I sent him a text wishing him a Merry Christmas. It was a moment of weakness that I succumbed to thanks to the help of Miles and his many cocktails. Plus, even if I want to keep my distance from Chase, he was still a huge part of my Christmas this year. Not acknowledging the holiday with him somehow felt wrong—unfinished. I had waited for those three dots to appear, wondering if he was home or staying with family. Wondering if he’d thought about me at all that day. Eventually, I gave up hope. I pushed him away, and I succeeded. Why would he answer a late-night text from me?
This morning, I woke up to a text from him. All it said was “Merry Christmas , ” but it was sent just past two. Did he go out on Christmas Eve? Or was he home? Maybe he already found someone else to keep his bed warm. My chest aches.
So, all day, I’ve been pushing down those feelings. I’ve been fighting the urge to send a text asking him why he was up so late. I’ve been fighting the urge to text him at all. This morning, I deep cleaned the apartment in preparation for the arrival of Elvis while Miles took to the kitchen. Everything he’s prepared so far has been incredible. How a man can somehow make a charcuterie board that tastes better than other charcuterie boards, I will never know.
Elvis tosses his head back in laughter before his sparkling blue eyes settle on me. “Candace, how do you live with this man? ”
“Um, excuse me?” Miles says as he pulls back to look at his boyfriend. “Living with me is a gift. ”
I wasn’t paying attention to the first half of their conversation, but even though I’m a little lost, I say, “He’s right. It is.”
Miles gives Elvis a pointed look as if to say, See?
I laugh and take another sip of my drink. “He does talk about bringing home a cat at least three times a week, but other than that, he’s great.”
Miles’s face turns serious. “It will happen.”
Elvis lets out a chuckle. “Not a cat person?” he asks me.
“Not a litter box person. I’ve tried telling him to just get a small dog instead, but he won’t have it.”
Miles looks at Elvis. “I need the fluff.”
“Dogs don’t have the fluff?” Elvis asks.
Miles shakes his head. “Not the same.” He shrugs. “Every time I see a kitten, I just want to put its whole face in my mouth.” He holds up an imaginary kitten. “I just can’t handle it,” he says through gritted teeth.
Laughter bubbles through his voice as Elvis says, “Aggressive.”
A knock sounds at the door, and I look at Miles. “Did you invite anyone else?”
“It’s probably that lady down the hall who brought us cookies last year.”
“Okay. I’ll get it.” Setting my glass down on the coffee table, I get to my feet and head toward the door. I hope it isn’t the same woman bringing us cookies again. Last year, they were terrible, and she insisted we try one in front of her. She was sweet, though. A lot sweeter than her cookies.
I pull open the front door, and my lips part, my mouth unsure how to form a single word. Chase stands with a bottle of wine in one hand as his free hand runs through his hair. Something about him looks . . . broken. Maybe it’s the way he’s holding his shoulders or the way he’s looking down. Maybe it’s his suit being less pressed than usual, or maybe I’m just looking for him to be broken. Maybe a small part of me wants to see in him what I feel in myself.
My assessment is fast, the mere seconds it takes for him to realize the door in front of him has gone from shut to open. Chase looks up, his beautiful brown eyes meeting mine. It’s too much. The way he looks at me is too much. Him being here is too much. I can’t do this. I can’t be around him right now. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get a word out, my panic takes over. I yelp, “Jack Frost!” and slam the door.