Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
I expected the same response as usual from him. Something about not wanting to talk about his past, or refusing to talk about New York.
Instead, he just sighed. I could see his breath in the cold air, and as we looked out toward the distant main street, I watched a traffic light change from red to green and yellow, then back again.
“I don’t miss New York,” he finally said, his voice strangely sad. “I don’t miss it, and that feels wrong.”
I furrowed my brow. “Why?”
He met my eyes, that same hollow sadness making its way to his gaze. “Because it was my dream for so long. My home for so long. I’m supposed to hate it here in Tennessee, but I don’t anymore. I’m loving it here more and more every day, and starting to dread going back to the city.”
I paused for a moment. “I mean, what’s wrong with that?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s… complicated.”
“Now here’s the part where you don’t want to talk about your life.”
“Yes,” he said, his tone sharper than I’d ever heard it.
His eyes were like fire now, burning right into me.
“Sorry, I—”
“I don’t want to talk about my life,” he said just as firmly. He really was upset—much more upset than I’d realized. “I’m never going to want to talk about it, and I can promise you that you are better off not hearing about it, okay, Shane?”
I felt like I’d just been rocked like a ship in a storm.
Pent-up frustration had just exploded out of Rowen like he’d been holding it back for a long time.
And of course, as usual, he wouldn’t tell me what it was even about.
“Fine,” I said. “Never tell me. After the Christmas party we can just go back to being strangers again, anyway.”
He was silent for a long while. With every passing second, my heart ached more, and I just wanted to take back every little thing I’d said.
I didn’t mean that.
I want to know you. So badly.
I never want to be strangers with you again.
But I found myself saying nothing. The quiet sounds of the street filtered up to fill the air, and the ambient music and laughter from the bar sometimes floated past the big glass doors on the patio.
Rowen and I said nothing, though.
He only broke the silence a couple of minutes later, pulling in a long breath. “I need to head home. If you want a ride, I’ll give you one.”
I just stared down at a row of hedges along the side of the building next door. “I’ll walk. It’s not far.”
He waited for a moment. “Are you sure about that? You’re not going to get too cold?”
“I like the cold. And I need the walk. Good night, Rowen.”
Inside, I was screaming. I wanted to connect with him. Wanted to feel even a shred of the same closeness that I felt when we were faking it.
But if he wasn’t going to give me even a little bit, I couldn’t force it out of him.
“Good night,” he said, and I felt something in my chest tensing up.
He walked away and I kept glancing up at him, watching his shrinking figure heading off, hoping he’d turn back. That he’d say he wanted to show me more about who he really was. To open up to me even the tiniest amount. Instead I watched him disappear, knowing more than ever that I had no control over the situation at all.
When I headed out a few minutes later, his car was gone.
A chilly breeze blew through my hair as I started on my own walk home, trying to puzzle through where everything had gone wrong. As I walked past more and more houses that had started to put up their Christmas lights and decorations, I knew what had happened.
I’d wanted too much.
The holiday season had grabbed hold of me already, making me wish that things could be different. When I was with Rowen—in our best moments—things felt special again. But it wasn’t real. Come January, all of this would be gone. The beautiful wreaths and lights and garlands, and him, too.
Everything good went away, it seemed.
By the time I made it back to my house, my heart felt like it was being cracked in two. I flipped the switch on the front of the house to turn on my Christmas lights, and the warm glow only did a little to make my sadness bittersweet. The holly branch tinsel sparkled on my front door. That had always been Gram’s favorite part.
Inside, I heated up some apple cider on the stove, mixed in a cinnamon stick, and tossed a nice glug of whiskey in it after I took it off the heat.
A knock at the front door sounded out right after I’d taken my first sip.
At first I thought I must have been imagining it. Wishful thinking, maybe.