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Be mine.
THE NIGHT AFTER Ash dropped off his amazing gift, I sent him a text to tell him thank you and that I loved it. He didn’t respond, but the message did show it was received and read. It hurt that he was distancing himself and cutting me off, but I knew I’d done it to myself.
Not that I blame him. He’d tried to talk to me, but I never responded.
I decided to make a grand gesture and surprise him at the lake, but the holiday season had us so swamped with holiday party gigs, I couldn’t break away until so much later than I wanted, every minute ticking by so excruciatingly slowly. So here it is, Christmas Eve, and I’m finally landing in Asheville.
Winding my way through the mountains, the sun has just started to rise. Not that it can be seen—the sky is dark and gray. Flurries swirl around the car, and I’m grateful the roads have been cleared. I didn’t expect this much snow, but then again we are at a higher elevation.
Turning onto his driveway, I slow the car to take in a few deep breaths. Butterflies are awake and have apparently called in for reinforcements. They are fluttering through my stomach and causing it to ache. I don’t even know if he’s here, but several of his last texts had been inviting me, so I’d like to think he is.
Pulling up to the house, the first thing I notice is there are three vehicles. Warning bells start going off, but I put them aside and chalk it up to anticipatory anxiety. It’s a holiday, and he must have invited several people, not just me. I will not be afraid. I can do this.
His words . . .Be mine.
Climbing out of the car, I walk across the driveway toward the front door. The snow has picked up, becoming denser, making it hard to see through, and the ground is a mixture of gravel and ice.
I know it’s early and I probably shouldn’t ring the doorbell in fear of waking up the whole house, but if he’s sleeping, he might not hear me otherwise. I push the button and my heart starts racing.
Is he going to be happy to see me, or is he still mad? Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should have called him first. With my stomach aching and my hands sweating, the front door opens, and on eye level, brown eyes stare back at me.
Death of my heart.
There in the doorway, standing three feet away from me, is the girl who’s haunted my every dream, or I should say starred in every nightmare.
Juliet.
And she’s standing in slippers, little pajama shorts, and a guy’s button down pajama top. Her hair looks like she’s just crawled out of bed, and she has no makeup on. She’s beautiful and sexy. I couldn’t look like her if I tried. No wonder he asked her to marry him.
I am such an idiot.
My heart slams into my chest, and it’s so fierce it hurts. I don’t know why, but when I put this little scenario together in my mind, it never occurred to me she would be here.
I can’t breathe.
I think I’m going to be sick and my eyes blur.
Why is this happening to me?
“Hi,” she says, smiling timidly at me, pushing her brown hair off of her face.
Why is she smiling at me? Why isn’t she yelling at me?
And then her eyes drop and run over the length of me. I feel pushed, and I take a step back.
This was such a bad,badidea.
I swallow to try and hold down the utter and complete humiliation I feel.
Her eyes come back to mine and her eyebrows raise in question. Yeah, I’d be questioning me too.
I need to get out of here—immediately.
Why won’t my feet move?!
Three seconds later, a little brown-haired boy peeks out from around her legs and I gasp at the sight of him. I knew he existed, but actually seeing him in the flesh just makes this so much more real and so much worse.
Am I the other woman? Why isn’t she trying to hide this from him? Is he going to remember me showing up at their door?
