Page 33 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

My feet ache with every step, my legs growing heavier the closer we get to the cottage. It’s not far from the bar, maybe a ten-minute walk. Henry should still be on the front desk tonight, Scott doing dinner service, their shifts coincidentally aligning now that Henry has taken over scheduling.

“I fixed my shower,” James says, rubbing his gloved hands together.

“Wow . . . after ten months. I’m impressed. How’d you do it?”

“I didn’t. I called Dave.”

Of course he did. Nothing wrong with calling the town’s resident plumber, but waiting ten months to do it seems kind of weird now that the idea of James kissing me is getting less and less appealing. A week ago, I would have been dying to get him back to my place, undressing him with quick, fumbling hands. But now there’s a thick knot in my throat that I can’t seem to swallow.

“I told you I could have fixed it for you. You wouldn’t let me come take a look.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I can’t have the girl I’m sleeping with fix my shower . . . it’s weird.”

“Why is that weird?”

“You know why. I’m the man.”

Lord, give me strength.

“Right . . . you’re the man who doesn’t know how to fix a shower, denying help from someone who does, because it makes you feel like less of a man to accept help from a woman.”

He has the gall to look sheepish. “I didn’t like the thought of you not needing me. A man is supposed to be needed.”

I laugh at that. I’ve done fine without a man my whole life, no dad, no significant other. James was the only man I felt attracted to long term, and even that has become lackluster. I’m too tired to have this conversation. To explain that what he’s saying isn’t just wrong, it’s frankly offensive.

Plowing through the freshly fallen powdery snow, I kick my boots and watch as the snow kicks up around me.

He coughs. “Did you sleep with him?”

I give him a pointed look.

“I know I have no right to ask . . . I just didn’t think you would move on so fast.”

“You literally ghosted me the day after Holly got back, James.”

“I know . . . I think I just got caught up in it all. I thought you would—” He stops talking, his brow pinching together, and he clamps his lips shut.

“You thought I’d wait for you,” I help, knowing he won’t say it out loud all on his own.

He sighs, his chest deflating. “Yeah, I’m gonna be honest with you, Ind. That’s exactly what I thought. I don’t think I realized how much you meant to me.”

I reach my doorway, and James instantly steps onto the little wrap-around porch, no doubt assuming I’m going to let him in. “I want to be with someone who doesn’t have to watch me with another man to realize that, James. You should go back to Holly, sort out whatever argument you’ve had. You belong together.”

I step into my house, the cat hissing at James until he backs up.

“Wait, Indy . . . I—Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Well, can I see you tomorrow?”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m working. You should sort yourself out. Figure out what you want, James, because I’m not going to be a secret side piece anymore.”

I shut the door and wait until I hear him shuffle away, picking up the cat and slipping into my bedroom.

◆◆◆

The snowstorm gave us eight inches overnight, not the kind I would have liked, but beggars can’t be choosers. Mav didn’t come home, leaving me with a persistent slosh in my stomach, like soured eggnog. I’d made it to midnight until I finally crashed and slept, and waking up at 5:00 a.m. to start my shift, his bedroom door was open, the bed made. Clearly, he hadn’t made it back, which led me to assume one of two things.