I groaned and tossed my chopsticks into the plastic dish. I wasn’t hungry anyway. Who could eat after screwing up the best thing that ever happened to them?
The drive back to the city last night had been brutal. The looping carols on the radio made me want to cry, so I’d switched them off, riding in silence. Which, funny enough, did make me cry. So I switched the carols back on and sang through my tears. That back-and-forth, realizing my heart wasbroken either way, and all I could do was sit in that discomfort, was the world’s cruelest joke.
It was literally my job to recognize and nurture love, and instead of actually telling Grant I loved him, I’d delivered a masterclass in emotional miscommunication.
I was the trope everyone hated.
Myself included.
And I knew what came next. I should be hiring a skywriter—except no one’s done that since the nineties. Or sprinting through an airport to catch the plane before it takes off—but TSA kind of killed that move.
It was grand-gesture time, but I didn’t even know where his grandparents lived, so crashing the Delaney family Christmas with a Bluetooth speaker was officially off the table.
So I did what any self-respecting woman in love does at seven in the morning on Christmas Eve: I stared at my phone, drafting and deleting a dozen versions of the perfect text. One that wouldn’t leave me gutted when I got the three-dot typing bubble that vanished and left me onreadfor eternity.
I was on version thirteen when my phone rang.
I fumbled for the screen, swiping so fast my finger blurred. When Sage’s cheerful face popped into frame, I slumped back in my chair and scowled.
She frowned right back, her voice crackling through the speaker. “Hey, I know I sent you a vanilla candle set I re-gifted for Christmas, but this reception isveryfrosty.”
“The candles are fine. I sent you one of those planners no one actually uses, so we’re even.”
“So what’s the problem, then? I got your text. You solved the case, won the key—congrats, by the way—and now you can ditch your accidental husband. It’s a Christmasmiracle!”
I dropped my head into my hands. “Yeah, about that. I kind of want to stay his wife. Permanently. Only, I may have… implied the opposite.”
“Wait. Back up,” Sage said. “Youwantto be married to Grant?”
I nodded and gave her the short version of the past two weeks. By the time I finished, Leo had joined her on the couch, both of them staring as if I’d sprouted nine heads with antlers and was auditioning to replace Santa’s team of reindeer.
Leo folded his arms, disappointment settling over his face like I’d tripped a bro-code landmine, and he’d been remotely activated.
“So let me get this straight—you told a man whose entire identity is wrapped up in feeling like a stand-in that you wanted to keep a key that could erase him from your life?” He shook his head slowly. “Wow, Val. Way to twist the chiseled candy cane right in his emotional wound.”
Sage winced. “He’s not wrong. What’s next? You gonna hit his grandma with a sleigh?”
“Stop it, both of you!” I growled into the phone like a feral groundhog. “This is serious. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. I thought he’d be happy. I thought I was telling him that Ididn’twant to things to end. I just—” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “—didn’t pick up on the nuance until I heard it out loud.”
Sage’s expression softened. “Val…”
“But I think I was just scared,” I said quietly. “I did exactly what I’ve watched my aunt do for years.”
Leo nodded as if the couch had granted him a psychology degree. “Classic. Fear dressed up as logic. You tell yourself you’re protecting your heart, but you’re really breaking it.”
“That is so wise, honey.” Sage rubbed his shoulder.
I stared at the ceiling. “I hate this call.”
“So what are you going to do?” Sage asked.
“Find a way to apologize, I guess. Maybe send one of those giant cookies to the office with icing that saysWill you marry me… for real this time?”I shrugged. “But it’ll probably just end up in the breakroom. Nancy will make sure everyone gets a perfectly proportioned piece.”
Leo snorted. “Romanticandfair.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed with another incoming call. My stomach clenched. For one irrational second, I thought it might be Grant.
It wasn’t.
