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I want to worship her beautiful body, soothe her fears, and win her trust.
But her worry runs deep. The chances that I’ll be able to convince her that falling for me won’t take professional success off the table for her are slim to none, but I have to try. Just one more time.
Pulling back, I gaze down into her flushed face. “Do you trust me?”
Without hesitation, she nods.
“Then trust me when I tell you that we can do this.” I cup her cheek, running my thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. “I’m already established in my career. I don’t have to prioritize it the way I used to. Your job can come first. We’ll plan around whatever you need to do to advance in your field. I’ll be your work at home boyfriend who makes sure dinner’s on the table when you get home from a long day of hard-hitting reporting.”
Her brows draw together. “But won’t you resent me after a while? If you’re forced to move away from your home and friends? To uproot Clyde and the kittens and run your house-flipping business long distance?”
“I seriously doubt it,” I say. “But if I did, then we could discuss it together and find a solution. Maybe I divide my time between Chicago and wherever you’re based at the time. Or maybe I hire a manager for the house-flipping business and spend more time on Clyde’s socials and toy development. I can be flexible.”
Fear creeping back into her eyes, she whispers, “I believe that you can. Or that you believe it, anyway. But…I can’t, Bear. I’m not built that way. I’ve only had one serious boyfriend, and I got so tangled up in him that I nearly failed algebra my freshman year of college.” I start to protest, but she pushes, on, “And my feelings for him are nothing like what I feel when I’m with you.”
“I feel it too,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “I love you, Rose. I don’t care that it’s fast or illogical. It’s real.”
“Me, too,” she whispers, unshed tears shining in her eyes. “But if we start down this road, I know how it ends. I’ll end up bitter and resentful like my mother, and you’ll be like my dad, secretly hurt that his devotion isn’t enough to make his other half happy.” She steps back, shaking her head. “I can’t do that to you. Or to me. I care about you way too much, and I wish you the best of everything. I wish that were me…but it’s not. I’m so sorry.”
She turns, dashing across the lobby. Before I can call for her to come back, she’s running out into the international terminal and disappearing from view.
Crouching to grab my discarded crutches, I start after her, but by the time I reach the first seating area near the piano, the voice of logic has convinced me that there’s nothing I can do. I tried being honest about my feelings, making assurances, and talking things through, and it wasn’t enough. Rose isn’t ready for this right now.
And she might never be ready.
I know a lot of career-focused people.
People who openly state they’ll focus on love and family “someday.”
But someday never comes. Two of my good friends in the pet influencer community are men in their seventies who never had time for a family and only had friends through work. Now, in retirement, their cats are their only source of companionship.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I can tell both Dale and Sammy wish they were sharing their lives with someone who speaks their language and doesn’t shed on the furniture. Dale jokes all the time about “not becoming an old cat man like me,” and Sammy flat out told me I should make more time to date.
But time isn’t the problem. I have time. What I don’t have is the will to put myself out there with a bunch of strangers, when I already know that no other women will ever make me feel the way Rose does.
“Rose,” I murmur aloud one last time, a foolish part of me hoping the word will summon her back to me, like magic.
It doesn’t and after a few more moments, I start toward the elevator, accompanied by the melancholy pianist’s rendition of “Greensleeves.”
Most people know the song as the Christmas carol, “What Child is This,” but it’s the original folk lyrics that echo through my head as I wait for the elevator car.
Alas my love, you do me wrong, to cast me off discourteously…
Rose wasn’t discourteous, she was kind. Sweet, even.
But the casting off still hurts like a baby alligator gnawing its way through my chest, on a collision course with my heart.
Chapter Nine
Dipsy
Too late, I realize my newly purchased toiletries are in the suitcase upstairs. I have my purse, wallet, and I.D. but no face wipes, toothpaste, or toothbrush. Also, no coat or warm clothes. I hadn’t needed one in my elf costume—the dress is heavily lined for outdoor events and my tights were thick and warm—but in these slick satin pants and this wide weave sweater, I’m soon freezing in the chilly terminal.
