Chapter 5 #3
“My brothers did. I was seventeen by then and didn’t want to ruin their fun.” He shrugs. “They were much younger and so excited about it.”
I try to picture teenage Alexander—already serious, already building what would become a business empire—watching his little brothers decorate a tree without him. The image tugs at something unexpected inside me.
“Christmas isn’t about age,” I say softly. “It’s about family.”
He goes quiet at that, his expression distant, and I immediately regret bringing it up. Alexander’s relationship with his family is complicated, I know that much from scheduling his calls and meetings over the years.
We reach Town Square, and I’m grateful for the distraction. “Are you hungry? There’s a food cart that sells the best pretzels in town.”
“Lead the way.”
I steer us toward a cheerful red cart where a man in a Santa hat is serving up giant, twisted pretzels. As we approach, his face breaks into a wide grin of recognition.
“Olivia Hartley! When did you get back to town?” he calls out, abandoning the pretzel he was twisting.
“Just this morning, Mr. Davenport,” I smile back.
His eyes shift to Alexander, then to our linked hands, and his bushy eyebrows shoot up toward his Santa hat. “And who’s this handsome fella by your side?”
“This is Alex,” I say, squeezing Alexander’s hand. The nickname feels strange on my tongue. “My boyfriend.”
Mr. Davenport’s eyes widen to comic proportions. “Boyfriend? Well, I’ll be! When did that happen?”
I laugh, feeling my cheeks warm. “I’m not giving you gossip to spread around town, Walter.”
“Can’t blame an old man for trying,” he winks. “The usual for you, Olivia? One pretzel with cheese dipping sauce?”
“You remembered,” I beam at him. “Make that two.”
I hand over cash before Alexander can reach for his wallet. “My treat.”
Walter hands us our pretzels with a knowing smile. “Good to see you back, Olivia. Your mama’s been counting the days.”
“Nice to see you, too, Walter,” I say, tugging Alexander away.
Once we’re out of earshot, Alexander raises his eyebrows at me. “Alex?”
I grin up at him. “You told me to try harder.”
He studies me for a moment, then says slowly, “Fine. If you want me to be Alex, I’ll be Alex for you.”
Damn it. There goes my heart again. He’s too good at this.
“Never mind.” I look away. “Alexander suits you better.”
After chuckling at my remark, he murmurs, “Small towns,” looking around at the festively decorated square. “News travels fast.”
“Just wait,” I warn him. “By dinner, everyone will know I’m back with a boyfriend.”
We find an empty bench facing the Christmas tree and sit down to eat. The pretzel is warm and fragrant, sweet with cranberries but with that perfect pretzel chewiness.
“This is surprisingly good,” Alexander says, looking impressed.
“You sound shocked that small-town food could meet your high standards.”
“Not shocked. Just appreciative.” He takes another bite, and I find myself watching the way his jaw works. It’s ridiculous to be attracted to someone eating a pretzel, but here we are.
“I’m just surprised you’ve never managed to hold on to one of your hundreds of girlfriends, given how charming you can be when you try,” I say with a hint of challenge.
Alexander gives me a blank look. “Girlfriends? I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
I stare at him. “The women you make me send gifts to? The same ones you take to charity galas and industry awards and everywhere else that requires you to have somebody on your arm.”
He raises his brows. “Those were not girlfriends. I’ve not had a girlfriend since I started my company."
“Bullshit,” I blurt out. “You would have me send them such expensive gifts, like diamond bracelets and whatnot!!”
“You bought them all the diamond bracelets and whatnot,” he emphasizes.
“Not me. And those were thank-you gifts for accompanying me, not declarations of affection. They knew exactly what they were getting into.” I process this information, feeling strangely off-balance.
I always assumed Alexander had a string of glamorous girlfriends, and now he’s telling me they were just.. . arm candy?
“That’s one hell of a thank-you gift,” I mutter. “Next time you like a report of mine, I wouldn’t mind a thank-you bracelet.”
His eyes catch mine, serious despite his small smile. “I’ll make a note of it.”
Wait, is he serious?
“I’m kidding,” I say quickly. Instead of acknowledging it, he just tucks my hand around his elbow as we stand to continue our walk.
“Are we really going to see your family after New Year’s?” I ask, suddenly remembering his mention of it to my parents.
“Yes,” he says simply. “We’ll go for a few days.”
“And then we go back to who we were,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “You become Mr. Castellano again.”
He glances down at me, a curious expression on his face. “You only ever call me that in public. Otherwise, I’ve always been Alexander to you.”
My face feels hot as I realize he’s right. We’ve worked so closely for so long that I often use his name. “I’ll be more mindful once we get back.”
“No,” he says, his voice steady. “I like being Alexander to you.”
My heart does a somersault, and I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Is this still part of the act? There’s no one close enough to hear us.
As we walk down the next block, we pass a small, charming store with a hand-painted sign that reads “Winter Wonderland Jewelers.” The display window sparkles with Christmas-themed jewelry—snowflake pendants, holly berry earrings, and delicate silver bell bracelets glinting in the afternoon sun.
Alexander stops to look at the display. “Wait here a moment.”
“What?”
“Just wait.” There’s no room for argument in his tone.
I have no choice but to watch him disappear into the shop. I’m just wondering if I should follow him in when I hear a voice call out my name.
“Olivia?”
I freeze, my muscles tensing as if someone’s just dumped a bucket of ice water down my back. That voice—I’d know it anywhere, even though I haven’t heard it in a year.