Page 48 of Once Upon A Christmas Song

“I used to sleep in your bed every night, Chris,” he reminded me, as if I needed him to. As if there was any way I could ever forget how well we fit together. “I want you to take me back, for no other reason than I’m home for you and you’re home for me.”

“I—”

“Chris!” he yelled. “You’re my home.”

I put his phone down on my desk, amazed it hadn’t gone dark already, and saw that number four was that he knew I had to sleep on whatever side of the bed was closest to the door so I could protect him.

“Aren’t I your home?”

I would never answer that, even with number five being that he missed holding my hand when we walked together.

“Chris?”

And number six was that he knew exactly what to order on my pizza, and from any Chinese restaurant, and that I was a freak who loved wasabi but not soy sauce. In parentheses, it said that I spread it on my sushi like an animal.

The chuckle was hard to stifle.

“What? What’s funny?”

“Like an animal?”

His flashing grin then, bringing out the swirls of cobalt in his inky eyes. “Well, yeah, Chris, come on, that’s just… Who eats just wasabi?”

I took a deep breath in and then exhaled it slowly. “Here’s the thing: us, me and you, that ship has more than sailed, yeah?”

“That’s not what I asked you. I asked if I was your home.”

“Why would you even want to stay here and live with me? You’re a big star now.”

“As I told you before, I knew I had to go and make a name for myself because otherwise I’d always wonder what could have been.”

“That makes perfect sense.”

He was staring at me. “You are so beautiful.”

“Knock it off. I’m gonna be forty.”

Suddenly he was scowling. “You are nowhere near forty.”

“It’s four years away, and as I get older, I realize I’m all about an easy, streamlined life, which is why you, sir, do not fit in.”

“But I could, and you still haven’t answered the question.”

“You want more, you need more, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re not listening,” he stated, coming toward me.

When he did, I slipped around the side of my desk.

“You really want me to chase you around that?”

“No,” I assured him. “I want you to stand still and talk to me or, I dunno, even better, just go somewhere else. Don’t you have to look for a place to live?”

“I’ve got that sorted out.”

“What? How? Are you going to live with Ben too?”

He scoffed. “I lived with Ben for six months. Screw that. And anyway, it turns out I know someone who has a place they aren’t using.”