Page 89 of One Midnight Kiss

“I passed him in the hall. He left.”

“Do you know where he went?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I was hoping he would tell me Fox was taking the trash out or something like that.

The man scratched his head, looking at me with confusion. “Just saw him leave about five minutes ago. Seemed like he was in a hurry.”

My heart sank. I missed him. He’d probably gone out for a walk, needing to clear his head after everything I’d dumped on him. “Thank you,” I managed to say, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

“Are you okay?” the neighbor asked, clearly concerned.

“Yeah, I just…” I let out a shaky breath, then rummaged through my purse. My fingers brushed against a ballpoint pen, and I yanked it out along with a crumpled receipt. “Actually, do you have a piece of paper and tape or a post-it?” I asked, desperate.

The man raised an eyebrow but nodded, ducking back into his apartment. He returned with a small pad of sticky notes. I scribbled down my phone number as quickly as I could and stuck it to Fox’s door. “Thank you.”

The man nodded and went back into his apartment.

I stared at my phone number on the hot-pink paper. I was going to give it to him as a Christmas present, but I wanted him to have it now. I just hoped he was still interested in having it. I might have ruined any chance I had with him.

I started back down the hallway, my steps slower, heavier. I took off my heels, feeling the blisters forming after the breakneck run up the stairs. I stepped into the elevator and collapsed against the wall. I had run from him tonight, just like I ran from him in Paris.

A year of therapy after my divorce had done nothing to fix the part of me that bolted at the first sign of something real. It was like I was stuck in a loop, destined to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. I was rejecting happiness because I was afraid of losing it.

By the time I got back to the sidewalk, my body felt numb. The adrenaline was fading, leaving me cold and exhausted. Once again, I held up my hand in an attempt to get a cab. Luckily, I got a different cab driver. He didn’t need to see me leaving with my tail between my legs.

I got into the backseat and closed my eyes. I was home before I knew it.

My house was dark when I walked inside, the kind of darkness that felt suffocating, empty. I flicked on a lamp and immediately looked at the bookshelf in the corner. That should have been a clue he had genuine feelings. It wasn’t just a bookshelf. It meant something. It showed he was thinking about me.

I changed into my pajamas mechanically, pulling on an oversized T-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. It was Christmas Eve, and I was alone. Again. If I kept repeating my mistakes and keeping the walls up, I was going to be alone every Christmas Eve from now until my last one.

I collapsed onto the couch, pulling a blanket around my shoulders. My mind was racing, replaying everything that had happened tonight, the look on Fox’s face when I pulled away, the way his voice had cracked when he told me he wanted this to be more. He poured his heart out to me, and I had run. How could I explain that I’d been scared? That I hadn’t put the pieces together until it was too late?

I buried my face in my hands, letting out a strangled sob. I ruined everything. He would never forgive me for this. I should’ve stayed. I should have told him right then and there that I knew about Paris. That I’d always known, somewhere deep inside. I should have told him that I spent the last year waiting for him.

A noise made me lift my head. It sounded like something slipping through the mail slot in my front door. I sat up, confused, knowing there was no way the mailman was delivering on Christmas Eve.

Santa?

I stood slowly, making my way to the entryway, wondering if I should grab some milk and cookies first. There, on the floor, was a familiar black velvet envelope.

My breath hitched. I knelt and picked it up with trembling fingers. It couldn’t be.