AllFreeNovel
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But because we’re perfect for each other.
I have more to say, but I’m running out of poster, even though I bought the entire inventory.
And because I love you.
I’m in love with you.
(And don’t bother telling me I’m too late.)
(I’ll win you back. You know I will.)
All I want for Christmas…
Is you.
As I slide the last poster aside with a slightly shaky hand, I glance over at my best friend.
Kelly’s awake. Watching me.
Her eyes are watering as she gives me a small smile. “Hi. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say, hoping she’ll think my voice is husky from lack of sleep, and not because my own eyes are dangerously close to watering.
She sits up and runs a hand through her messy hair. The right side of her face is lined from sleeping awkwardly on her arm, but she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Um…” She gestures toward the posters. “I was going to do this a little differently. Last night—”
“I didn’t get your messages until just now,” I say, clasping my hands between my knees as I stay crouched near her side. Near enough to touch her, but I don’t. Not yet.
“You were at your parents’?”
I nod.
“How are they?”
I smile. “You really want to talk about my parents right now?”
She laughs. “Well, no, I’d rather know what you think about what I said…what I wrote…” Kelly gestures to the posters again.
Instead of answering, I push up to my feet and stand. “I’ve got something for you.”
I rummage in the duffle I brought with me, pulling out both a fussy gift bag with red and gold stripes and another package, this one wrapped in ten-year-old newspaper.
I turn back to where she’s now sitting cross-legged by the Christmas tree, but before going to her, I push play on her iPhone, which is plugged into the speaker. Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra—hell, I never can tell the difference—starts singing about snow.
Returning to her side, I lower to a seated position beside her and hand her the newspaper bundle first.
She gives me a curious look. “What’s this?”
I glare at her, my command clear. Open it.
She does, carefully pulling back the old newsprint and staring down at the dry, brownish lump in her lap.
I clear my throat, feeling a little foolish. “It’s, ah, a corsage.”
She gingerly picks it up with two fingers. “Pretty. Um, how old is it?”
I smile. “Ten years.”
