Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) (16 page)

“I don’t think I can move past this, Harry. You’ve said some hurtful things. You think I would destroy you. That’s not something a best friend would think—at least not in my book.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her face devoid of any expression. “And you were right about one thing. We can’t go back to how we were. I don’t think we can even go forward and pretend. It’s always going to be between us, like a cancer that grows and grows until it kills everything. I can’t be your friend. Not anymore.”

SIX

S
HE WAS STEALING
away like a thief in the night, or rather, early morning. Nothing had gone according to plan. No weekend sex. No Harry as her boyfriend. Nothing.

Instead all she’d gotten was a very bruised and battered heart, not to mention her ego had taken a serious beating.
The thing is, I think you would destroy me.

Her? Destroy Harry? Why would he think that? Believe that? Say that? She’d tossed and turned all night. What had she done in her life to make him utter those words? Was she that careless? She didn’t think so. She couldn’t help who she was—how she cannonballed into life. And she did think about the after effects and what could happen. She could think herself to death about the “what could be” of a situation, but until she actually did it, worrying about it was a moot point.

And it wasn’t like she’d opened Fat Lady Sweets on a spur of the moment decision. It’d taken her six years to get to the store opening, and another four before she finally started gaining some traction and her business began to grow into the brand she’d always hoped it would be.

Her feelings for Harry weren’t an overnight thing either. They’d developed over time. She hadn’t even thought of him in any other way until this summer at her parents’ wedding. Her parents had finally been allowed to wed when the marriage equality act passed in New York. Her mothers had been dancing at their reception, and Felicity had just looked over at Harry and thought,
I love him
. And the realization that
love him
meant that she
loved-
loved him had slammed into her. Harry had grown concerned and asked if she had drunk too much champagne. She hadn’t drunk enough.

But she held back, hadn’t she? She didn’t say anything right away. How could she? Harry was her best friend, and had been ever since she moved in next door to him when she was seven. He had always just been Harry to her, and then he’d become something infinitely more precious to her as they grew older.

But she had waited and waited and waited. She was still trying to work things out for herself. She tried to kid herself and think that the love would disappear. That if she stopped thinking about it that it would go away. That if she didn’t look at Harry too much her heart would stop skipping beats.

Nothing worked.

And right now she wished it had. Because loving Harry was painful.
I think you would destroy me.

Destroy him.

That’s what he thought of her. That she would destroy him. Not that she would treasure him. Not that she would keep his heart, his love, his trust in her safekeeping. Not that she would protect it and fight for it. But that she would destroy him.

That wasn’t love.

That wasn’t her.

And for Harry to say that—believe that—
destroyed
her.

She zipped up her suitcase. She needed to leave. Now. Before Harry woke. Before her stupid, foolish, broken heart tried to convince her to stay, to fight, to not give up on this love. But it wasn’t love. Not at all.

It was past time to leave.

H
ARRY WAS IN
the kitchen and making breakfast as coffee brewed.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

She did not want to deal with him right now . . . or ever, for that matter. She should have stolen away in the night, except that it had looked really bad out at three a.m. with the never-ending snow storm outside. Not that it looked any better out there right now.

Well, she’d driven in bad weather before. Lake George was no stranger to snowstorms. She could handle badly plowed roads. Anything would be better than to be anywhere near him.

She walked downstairs, and Harry turned and frowned, taking in her suitcase.

“Where are you going?” he asked, removing the scrambled eggs and bacon from the stove.

“I’m leaving.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “In this weather?”

“It’s only snow.” She headed to the closet and pulled out her jacket and boots. “I’ll be fine.”

“Have you looked outside?”

“Yeah. I have.”

“You can’t see a thing. I can hardly make out the trees.”

“Your vision has always sucked.” Felicity tugged on her boots, then slid her jacket on. She zipped it up, threw a scarf around her neck, and got out her gloves from her coat pockets. “Stop worrying. It’s annoying.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave in these conditions.”

Felicity paused in the midst of putting her gloves on and gave a short laugh. “Like you could stop me. I’ll destroy you if you do. Remember?”

He glared at her for a long moment. “Fine. Be stupid. Leave. See if I care.”

“Good,” she said, and stomped out the front door.

Her car was covered in snow, and the road leading up to the cabin hadn’t been plowed. The snow was thick, but her car could handle it. She would just have to drive extra slow and be a more cautious driver than usual. It would be a bitch to drive in, but she did not want to stay here.

She started to push the snow off her trunk. The snow was thick and hard on her car, but she managed to get most of it off so she could open the trunk and get out her ice scraper. She threw in her suitcase and slammed the trunk lid down.

Snowflakes plopped onto her like bird poop, and the wind howled, blowing her hood back. She slapped her hood back on and trudged her way over to the driver’s side. She cleaned it up and then started her car, throwing her bag onto the passenger seat. Then she got to work on the rest of the car, swearing at Harry the whole time.

S
HE REALLY WAS
an idiot sometimes. Harry glared at Felicity through the window as she continued to clean off her car. It was horrible outside. It wasn’t just any old snowstorm that made your morning commute longer and frustrating. The conditions looked like a blizzard, but the weather reports last night hadn’t predicted this. The forecast had been for a strong Northeaster.

Felicity couldn’t drive home in a blizzard. She wouldn’t be safe. She could die.

But the stupid idiot thought she would be fine.

Let her be a stupid idiot. He wasn’t going to stop her. He wasn’t going to care.

F
INALLY HER CAR
was clean enough for the ride home. She rounded the front of her car and mentally prepared herself for a very long drive, due to the weather. Luckily she could listen to an audio book to help pass the time, and she wouldn’t think too much about Harry if she could help it.

She was opening her door when something hit the side of her arm. She automatically looked down at the snow littering her sleeve.

A snowball.

Her head snapped up just in time to see Harry—not even dressed in a winter jacket—scooping up snow in his bared hands and rolling another wad of white stuff.

“And you’re the one calling me an idiot!” She furiously wiped the snow off her sleeve. “It’s freezing out here, and you have nothing on. If you get frostbite, then—”

A snowball struck her dead in the center of her chest.

“You . . .”

Another snowball clipped her shoulder, and her hood flew back with another gust of wind. Her teeth chattered together. Harry must be even colder than she was.
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care . . .

“I’m leaving,” she said and turned to the car door once again.

One instant she was opening her door, and the next Harry plowed into her and knocked her to the ground.

“You . . . you . . . asshole!” She twisted under him, pushing at his chest. “I’m going to kill you!”

“Don’t leave.” His breath blew out puffs of cold air. “I can’t let you.”

“It’s only snow!”

“It’s not only snow. It’s on the ham radio. It’s a fucking blizzard, and it’s been declared a statewide emergency. All the roads are closed.”

Just her luck.

“Now,” he said, getting off her and helping her up. “Get inside.”

“I hate you.”

“Hate me all you want, but get your ass indoors before I carry you myself.”

“Like you even could with your skinny ass.”

“That’s it.” And then he bent down and picked her up, fireman style, and hauled her inside. He set her down carefully even as his jaw continued to clench. “I did warn you.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she was breathless. Why had that turned her on? She was mad at him. Furious. She shouldn’t want to rip off his clothes and fuck him. It wasn’t like he even wanted to have sex with her anyway because of his hang-ups.

She went to the front door, but he blocked her.

“I said you’re not leaving,” Harry said. “You can’t.”

“I know that, but my suitcase is in my car. And I need to turn my car off.”

“You stay here. I’ll take care of it.”

Before she could even argue, he was out the door. Without a coat or gloves once more.

She hoped his balls turned blue.

SEVEN

F
ELICITY WAS STILL
not speaking to him, and it had been six hours since the almost getaway. The weather emergency reports were getting worse and worse on the radio. Both of their cells and tablets had long since disconnected from WiFi, and they had briefly lost power. Thankfully the generator his father had bought a few years ago kicked in and the lights went back on. Still, Harry had turned off his cell to charge it.

But Felicity had not uttered one word to him. She avoided him—even now as she sat on the couch and read on her Kindle, with earplugs plugged in to her iPod. The message couldn’t be any clearer: Stay away.

He had really messed things up in an epic way.

He should never have said anything. He should have just gone with the flow last night and done what he wanted and had sex with her. He shouldn’t have let his concerns and worries get in the way. And most of all he shouldn’t have hurt Felicity.

Even if he did think it was the truth.

She would destroy him.

He loved her, but he knew she would destroy him. Goddesses and mortals never mixed well. She was something more than he was. He’d always known that. And he wouldn’t survive when she left him. Because she would leave him. Sooner or later, she would leave him. Why wouldn’t she? He wasn’t anything. He was an accountant, for crying out loud, and while he had a nice nest egg, it wasn’t like he was a billionaire or even a hundred-thousandaire. He didn’t shine like Felicity did. And she would grow tired of his reluctance, of his shyness, of his hang-ups and worries. And she would think him odd and weird—and any love for him she had would die a cold, brutal death.

But that love probably had already been killed with what he had said last night. She was always “the one” for him. She would always be “the one” for him. But sometimes being “the one” wasn’t enough. It wasn’t worth the risks. The gamble. The eventual heartbreak.

It was better to let her hate him. Let her remain silent.

And let the friendship die.

He knew this would happen.

He had just underestimated how much it would hurt.

F
ELICITY ADDED PASTA
shells to the boiling water and set the Velveeta cheese to the side for when the pasta was ready. She was hungry and didn’t feel like going all out for dinner like she had last night. And she just wanted some cheesy, so bad for you but you don’t give a shit because you’re hurting mac ‘n’ cheese. She was an emotional eater. Sue her.

Harry came downstairs, his hair still wet from a shower. He stopped for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, looking wary. Yeah, he should look wary, the bastard. She turned her attention back to the shells and stirred them. She had ten minutes or so until they would be ready, but she would busy herself here to avoid talking to Harry.

She normally wasn’t one to avoid confrontations but she was still hurting from his words. Her heart broke every time she thought on what he said. The shards of her heart stabbed into her over and over again. She never should have said anything. She never should have whipped creamed herself. She never should have come here. She never should have befriended the bespectacled boy next door.

Never
was fast becoming a mantra for her.

Harry opened a nearby cabinet and grabbed a jar of peanut butter.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making dinner.”

“Why? I’m making mac ‘n’ cheese.”

“I just assumed that you wouldn’t want me . . .”

Yeah, she was still hurt. And pissed. “It’s mac ‘n’ cheese. It’s nothing special, but if you want a peanut butter sandwich, go ahead. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Harry put the jar away. “Mac ‘n’ cheese sounds great.”

She returned to the shells, not even knowing why she had offered. She hadn’t been planning to, but she had. And although she tried to tell herself that she didn’t know why she cared so much, she did.

She cursed her heart for its foolishness.

Didn’t it know any better by now?

Apparently not.

H
ARRY STARED UP
at the ceiling, and then, for what seemed like the hundredth time since he’d gone to bed, checked the clock on his nightstand. 12:01 a.m. It wasn’t even really that late, but he went upstairs about an hour ago. And all he had done was toss and turn since then, ruminating on . . . well,
everything
.

Felicity was on the other side of the cabin, presumably asleep, since she had escaped to her room around nine. Not that he could blame her for that. But . . .

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like the distance that had grown between them since their fight. He thought he knew what was for the best . . . that letting her go would be easier in the long run. He’d save his heart from a world of hurt.

His heart kicked against his rib cage, pounding into him with its swift, hard thumps.
You idiot
, it screamed,
you didn’t save yourself from anything.