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Great. She dropped her arms and stared at the damage. Bits and pieces of broken ornaments lay strewn everywhere like a holiday massacre. She didn’t even want to know what kind of damage lay beneath it.
“See! This is exactly why I didn’t want a Christmas tree,” she grumbled. They were far too much work, and with the whole Logan thing, she already had enough to deal with.
Turned out, the four days away hadn’t been enough to clear her head.
She felt something soft caress her leg and glanced down to see Fuzz, purring as he rubbed his side against her leggings. “Hey buddy.”
She reached down and scratched his head, then watched as he hopped off and pawed at a rogue ornament, dancing as he played a solo game of foosball across the floor. “See. You’re the only man I need in my life.”
With a sigh, Marti unplugged the tree lights in case Fuzz got any ideas. Kicking a chubby Santa out of the way, she watched is round little body spin around, then decided she’d had enough holiday cheer for one night.
Her back ached and the pounding in her head rivaled the beat of Jingle Bells. She shuffled to the kitchen in search of her abandoned cup of cocoa and the cookies her mother sent home with her.
Who needs a tree when you have sugar?
She grabbed her half-empty mug off the counter and a plate of cookies, then padded across the hardwood floor into the living room. Settling into the couch, she glanced over at the fallen tree on her left when Fuzz sat down in front of it and mewed.
“Don’t even look at me like that. I tried,” Marti told him.
Talking to her cat? Wow, she had reached a whole new level of desperate.
She took a sip of her cocoa and settled into the plush cushions as Fuzz moved onto a shiny
silver bulb. The quiet of her apartment normally soothed her nerves, but as she sat there, trying to decompress from the tree debacle and the five messages she had from her father, waiting in her inbox, she found it grating. Even taking a hot bath or starting a new series on Netflix sounded unappealing.
She briefly wondered what her friends were up to. Mel would be busy with her kids, but as long as Caroline wasn’t on a date, she’d be up for a drink. Still, a nightclub wasn’t what Marti had in mind either, and Caroline was always gravitating toward a new man.
Marti wanted a night in. She could use one, really, with everything that had gone on recently, but she was so . . .
Ugh! She was bored.
She jiggled her leg, even while she told herself to relax. Her thoughts shifted to Logan. She idly wondered what he was doing and had half a mind to call him.
But this was all a ruse. It would be weird to call him up and invite him over out of the blue. That was what real couples did. So what if his touch sent tiny flames dancing along her skin? Who cared that the brilliant green of his eyes rivaled the Northern Lights? He was a means to an end. A story for her, and she was his mouthpiece. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Right?
Her insides ached like they had all weekend. As if those cheesy holiday movies couldn’t get any worse, she thought of him the entire time.
The truth hit her—bright and blinding.
She missed him.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she missed him. In the short time they’d spent together, she’d grown used to having someone to talk to. Their little spats and banter had become a source of entertainment.
Her gaze moved over her apartment, needing to get her mind off of him. She hesitated on the large umbrella plant in the corner. “Aha!” she yelled and jumped up.
She crossed the room, grabbing the plant, then plopped it on the squat table next to her plate of cookies. With a smile, she grabbed a fallen bulb that lay at her feet, then hung it on one of the upper branches. The delicate green drooped with the weight. “Perfect,” she declared.
With a flourish, she turned to Fuzz and grabbed him, showing him her handiwork, but all he did was blink at the plant, unimpressed. When she set him back down, he hid under a branch of the Christmas tree. Be that way.
Plunking herself back down onto the couch, she bent forward and picked up the notebook she habitually kept on the coffee table for brainstorming sessions. She opened it to the nearest page and stared morosely at the blank pages.
A knock on the door broke the silence, and she nearly jumped in her seat.
If it was Mrs. Ramirez again, nagging her about her weak Wi-Fi connection, she was going to blow. Get your own flipping internet!
“Who’s there?” she hollered from the couch.
