Page 32 of Elf-ish

Love or loss. Appreciation or abuse. Novelty or neglect.

“I guess you could say I’m a bit of a lone wolf.” The admission expresses deeper sadness, a gut-wrenching melancholy.

“Well, if you’re a lone wolf, I’m the leader of my pack, because I am involved in everything.”

Jude turns his head. “Like what?”

“The holidays, for instance. You already know I had a shopping list a mile long, and it wasn’t even my list. Beau’s wedding. Breakfast with Santa. Cookie exchanges. Cocktails. Kids’ concerts—”

“You don’t even have children,” he cuts me off as we weave around a curve in the trail.

“My nieces and nephews.” I clarify. “I attend their holiday program.”

He nods slowly. “What do you have to do for your brother’s wedding?”

“Plan it.” I chuckle, the sound laced with bitterness I don’t want to admit. I’m not upset that Beau is getting married, but I am a bit put out that he’s asked me to do the hard work, like find a place to host the wedding.

“Why? You aren’t the one getting married.”

“His fiancée has finals.”

“Finals?” Jude barks.

“She’s finishing her first semester of graduate school. They are a classic age gap. Older man. Younger woman.” Only Beau and his future wife really are cute together, if a bit nauseating.

Jude’s mouth pops open but then clamps shut. “What’s her name?”

“Belle.”

Jude’s brows crease severely before he says, “Beau and Belle.”

“Yep.” I pop the -p and stare at the copse of trees we are walking toward.

Jude doesn’t ask for more details, and I don’t offer any. Even their names together are sickeningly cute.

“Julia lives in California?” I prompt.

“She’s a baker. Part owner in a business called Because Cupcakes.” For the first time ever, a genuine smile graces Jude’s lips. A small one but a distinct one. He’s proud of his sister. “She has red hair like you,” he adds, turning to look at me. But then his brows pinch again. “But also, not like you. I mean, you don’t look anything like my sister.”

I bet I don’t. I bet she’s beautiful if she looks anything like him, same father or not. And with that, I note that even though Jude told me I was beautiful last night, he said it in front of Walt. For our act.

With that thought, I pull my arm free from his. We haven’t seen anyone else on our stroll, and if we do near someone else, I can always slip my arm through his again.

For now, I need the slight distance as a reminder of my place.

“Do you do anything special for the holidays?” I ask next, needing something to fill the suddenly awkward silence. Our walk continues beneath a set of trees, which act as a canopy from the bright blue winter sky. Lights are strung limb to limb over the walkway versus being wrapped around each tree, giving the suddenly darker space a cozy, intimate feel.

With anyone else, the space would feel romantic. Out of view from the resort, it’s the perfect place to steal a kiss, but that’s the historical romance lover inside me wanting to toss her petticoat.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

Recalling he told me he doesn’t like the holiday, I stop short. “What?”

Jude takes another step forward before spinning to face me. With his hands in his coat pockets, and those glasses on his face, he looks like a bodyguard.

“Surely, you must celebrate somehow.”

“I don’t. Celebrate, that is.”