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“I’m not letting you meet them ever.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re just another asshole, and I hate that I’ve already slept with you.” I opened a drawer and pulled out a glittery red envelope—tossing it to him. “After we left the resort and I bought all your bullshit about liking me—
“I do like you.” He interrupted.
“Yeah, whatever.” I shook my head. “I decided that I wanted to try to pay you back for some of the nice things you’ve done for me, decided to try and be a really good friend.”
“Girlfriend.”
I ignored him. “So, a few days ago, I went down to The Wish Tree and stole your ornament right when they were closing. I figured I could get a few things for you, but you’ve already gotten everything you wanted. So, fuck you, and Merry Christmas.”
He raised his eyebrow, looking confused. As he opened the envelope, I shook my head at the words I’d read several times already.
1. Wish One. Fuck a random woman in Cedar Falls. Six months has been too long to go without fucking …
2. Wish Two. If the sex is good, fuck the same woman a few more times, but no more than a few. (This shit can’t last for longer than a month.)
3. Wish Three. Fuck a different random woman in Cedar Falls. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
He looked at the list for all of five seconds before crumpling it and tossing it into the trash. Then he had the audacity to smile.
“You know,” he said. “This is a perfect example of the number one issue I have with certain heroines in the romance books.”
“Not wanting to be a doormat for the hero isn’t an issue.”
“Failing to communicate with him is.” He smiled. “You couldn’t have texted me and asked me about this? Accepted one of my phone calls and told me that this was bothering you?”
“Are you seriously blaming me for the words you wrote?”
“I never wrote any of those words,” he said, stepping closer. “And I know we’ve only known each other for a short while, but do I honestly seem like the type of person who would participate in a goddamn Wish Tree tradition?”
“Yes.”
“No.” He brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “I specifically recall us discussing how I didn’t participate when we were riding to the resort …”
“Maybe you were lying.” I shrugged. “All types of people want to win ten thousand dollars and a week at a luxury resort.”
“I just spent a week in a luxury resort with you,” he said. “And if I wanted to win that badly, I would’ve found a way to cheat the night I broke into the Plaza and stole your wish ornament. Don’t you think?”
I stared at him.
“My brother was with me when I broke in that night.” He paused. “He filled one out under my name and sealed it without showing it to me. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Even if I wanted to believe you—”
“You do believe me.” He smiled. “Nonetheless, I apologize for letting him seal it without reading it first.” He clasped my hands. “But I really wish you would’ve talked to me about this instead of just ignoring me. We could’ve had way more dates by now.”
“You’re saying ‘dates’, when you really mean sex.”
“Yes.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I really do like you, and I do think we’re damn near a one hundred percent match.”
“Damn near?”
“We’ll be a perfect match after you go a few years learning how to communicate better than the romance heroines.”
“What makes you think we’ll last longer than one year?”
“I can’t see myself ever letting you go,” he said, pressing his forehead against mine. “I honestly can’t.” He pressed his lips against mine, kissing me slow and senseless, making me forget why I was ever upset.
When he let me go, I looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you about the list first.”
“Don’t be. Am I still allowed to come join your family for dinner?”
“Maybe.”
“Why is it a maybe?”
“Depends on how well the make-up sex goes.” I smiled and he pushed me against the wall.
“I can deal with that,” he said, kissing me all over again. “Did you really delete that recording?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Would you like to make another one?”
“Yes…”
“Now or after Christmas?”
“Now.”
EPILOGUE
Christmas
(No, not this Christmas. The one in July.)
CHRISTINA
“GIVE ME ONE REASON why I haven’t left this town yet,” Nathan said, leaning back in his seat. “One good reason.”
“I can give you three.”
“As long as one of them isn’t what’s currently happening in front of us, I’ll believe you.”
I laughed and looked ahead. We were sitting in his squad car, watching a group of residents prepare for the annual “Winter Wonderland” party. The town’s founder had donated five million dollars to bring this year’s celebration to life, and for whatever reason, that meant blowing up over five hundred, six-foot snowmen.
