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Angie melts away after breakfast as the rest of us troop into the large drawing room where Uncle Bill distributes the gifts from underneath the tree. It takes a while to get through them all. I wonder what Angie is doing. I wish she was sitting here next to me.
I’m not the only one pondering her whereabouts.
“You know,” Max mutters low from behind me, “if you married Angie, she’d be here right now.”
Scowling, I flip him off, turning to smile at Mom as she thanks David and me for our thoughtful gifts. I’m a little discomposed that Max could read my mood so easily. Also, what’s with them all suggesting that I marry Angie. I mean, sure, I like her. I really like her. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. But in order to marry her, I’d have to love her. And that’s not what this is. Right? Surelyloveis something that you know you feel. Like, it’s all-encompassing and all that shit. Right?
Dad opens his gift, smirks at David, who is clearly looking as interested as Dad is to see what he got. Oops. I never told the prick what I bought.
“Thanks, David andTim.” He heavily emphasizes my name, which has David grinning and flipping me off from behind Mom’s back.
We all troop upstairs to deposit our gifts, and Mom and Aunt Sharon are talking about having tea in the drawing room. I tap on Angie’s door and stick my head in, but she’s not in there. Wandering downstairs, I ignore everyone else, heading into the drawing room, going in search of Angie.
I find her sitting in the X-Box room, reading a book. She looks up when I enter; her face lighting up, which has my stomach clenching. I cross to her and drop onto the couch beside her, tugging her against my side and wrapping my arms around her.
“Why did you cry earlier?” I press a kiss to her temple as Angie tips her head back to smile up at me.
“Your uncle got me a really nice gift.”
And she cried?
“What was it?” I nuzzle my face into her hair, and Angie sighs.
“Matinee tickets for a West End musical before we head back to Chicago. He’s going to come with me.”
“And that made you cry?”
That’s not what I was expecting. Angie sighs wistfully, rubbing her thumb along my arm.
“I told you I never really knew my dad. And I told you that Bill feels a bit like a dad sometimes….” she trails off, blushing.
“And you cried because he’s taking you to a musical and that seems like something a dad would do?”
Angie nods, still not looking up at me. Yeah, she’s blushing. Placing two fingers beneath her chin, I tip her head back and search her eyes, pressing a kiss to her lips.
“I don’t think that’s something that you need to be embarrassed to admit. Not to me.”
Angie beams at me and wraps her arms around my neck, her book dropping to the floor as she kisses me deeply.
There’s a light lunch before we all rug up and take a long rambling walk before sitting down at the incredibly mouth-watering turkey dinner. We’re so full that when Angie and I collapse into bed, she snuggles into my side and we’re both asleep before our heads hit the pillows.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Timothy
Uncle Bill has a full day of family activities planned the day before everyone leaves. So, I don’t have a single second alone with Angie, who is back in work mode and organizing the transport and everything for the next day, and for when Uncle Bill returns to Chicago. Even when we’re back at the Manor, Uncle Bill has us each in his office one by one to run through what he’s envisioning for the companies for the next year.
All the while, Angie is still AWOL. I spend the day with Mom, Dad, and David, since I have no idea where Angie is, and she’s not answering any of my texts. After tomorrow we’re going to be scattered back across the country, so it’s nice to have a quiet family lunch in the conservatory.
Mom makes a comment about this being a good idea of Angie’s, that everyone has small family lunches today. It makes me smile, because of course it was Angie’s idea. The woman is as thoughtful as you can possibly imagine.
I don’t see her again until drinks before dinner, and I keep my hand on her back the entire time. It’s suddenly dawning on me that after tomorrow, whatever this is between us is going to be over, and the idea has me feeling like my tie is too tight.
I keep my hand on her thigh throughout dinner, answering whenever someone talks to me, but the entire time, I’m running scenarios in my head. Any and every idea that comes to me about how I might be able to keep seeing Angie when we all return to the States. I know she lives in Chicago, and I’m in San Diego, but there’s air travel. I could schedule regular flights to Chicago to see my parents and Uncle Bill. And Angie.
Plus, Uncle Bill has a vacation home in Malibu where he and Angie spend the summer. That’s an easy drive from San Diego. I could be there regularly too. Angie seems to notice that I’m distracted, because every so often she squeezes my hand where it’s lying on her thigh and offers me a small smile.
Finally, we’re moving back to the drawing room for port and coffee and, once again, I keep my hand on Angie’s back. I’m mapping out in my mind all the flights I could make to see her when everyone bids each other goodnight. Tangling my fingers with Angie’s, I lead her upstairs to her room.
