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I hand her the map and stare down at my feet. I can’t watch them together. Their happiness makes me long for Daire so much it aches.
Xotichl screws her mouth to the side and runs her fingertips back and forth across the page. “Oh, it’s a map! Like a treasure hunt—how fun!” She returns it to me.
“How do you do that?” It’s not the first time I’ve asked such a thing.
But, like always, Xotichl just laughs as Auden jabs a thumb over his shoulder and says, “I think she went that way.”
I make for the door. Pushing past everyone who gets in my way, eager to be with Daire once again, see what she’s planned. When Phyre purposely inserts herself into my path and in a whispered voice says, “Hey, Dace.”
Her lips begin a slow curl as her gaze travels over me. But I don’t have time for this, and I’m quick to tell her as much. “Yeah, hey. Listen, I’m kind of in a hurry, so—” I start to move past her, but just like Leandro did in the alleyway, Phyre shadows me, insisting on having her say.
“Can’t you spare a few seconds for an old friend?” She cocks her head to the side, her eyes gleaming flirtatiously, but it’s wasted on me. Daire is my present. My future. Phyre is history. “It’s been such a long time.” She adopts the kind of timid demeanor that just doesn’t suit her. She’s not shy. Never has been. This is how she operates.
I mumble something incoherent and check my pocket again.
“So why do I get the feeling you’re trying to avoid me?” She places a hand on either hip, determined to keep me from where I most need to be.
I rub my lips together and glance all around. Seeing Lita glaring at me from halfway across the dance floor, Xotichl turning toward me with a curious tilt of her head, as Phyre stands before me, demanding an answer.
“Look—” I start, the words dissolving on my tongue the instant she steps closer. Gazing at me through a thick fringe of lashes, her catlike eyes tilting up at the sides. “A lot’s changed,” I final
ly manage. “Actually, no, scratch that—everything’s changed, and I think you should know that.” I meet her gaze straight on, hoping that’ll suffice. Let her down easy and work as my Get Out of Jail Free card, so I can get on with my night.
“You’re right.” She smiles, unfazed by my words, ignoring the determined expression I wear on my face. “A lot has changed. Including me.” She sort of swivels before me, encouraging her dress to sway around her legs in a way that’s meant to be enticing. Begging me to see her, appreciate her, in the way that I used to.
I turn away. Steadfastly refuse her. Wishing I could stomp out this tired old memory she insists on resurrecting.
“And I haven’t just changed on the outside,” she says, her determination proving to be a good match for my own. “The inside’s different as well. And I get the feeling you’re different too.”
I huff under my breath. Swipe a hand across my chin. This is ridiculous. Daire is out there somewhere, waiting for me in the freezing cold night, while I’m stuck inside this stupid club, trapped in a nightmare visit from the Ghost of Christmas Past.
I lift my gaze to meet hers. Determined to end this quickly and easily, I say, “Phyre, it’s good to see you. Really. But, I’m not sure what you’re after. We were kids when we—when you left. We’re not kids anymore.”
She inches closer, runs a purple painted nail from my shoulder to my elbow. The chill of her touch penetrating all the way through my heavy down jacket and the wool sweater beneath, leaving my skin pricked with cold. Her voice soft and lilting, she says, “Funny, I didn’t feel like a kid when I was with you.”
I flinch at her touch, aware of her sharp intake of breath as her hand falls back to her side. But I don’t feel badly. It’s all coming back to me now. The way she manipulates. Calculates. The wave of regret that washed over me the instant it was over.
“Are you well?” I figure I owe her the courtesy of asking.
She nods.
“And your dad—is he well too?”
“He gets by.” She shrugs, tilts her head from side to side.
“Okay then. I’m glad to hear it, but I really have to—”
“You really have to go. I know.” She stares at me for a long time. Too long. Her features darkening, she steps aside and says, “Don’t let me stop you.”
I push past her. Push into the night. Glad for the bite of frigid air blasting my hands, my face. Overcome with relief to finally be rid of her.
After a quick consult with the map, I navigate the path Daire outlined. Stopping before two long rows of glowing luminarias lighting either side of a trail that ultimately leads to the place where she stands huddled against the bitter night air.
When she sees me—when her eyes meet mine—it’s all I can do to keep from sprinting down the trail and taking her into my arms. But I force myself to walk it instead. Force myself to take the time to appreciate the stage that she’s set.
“Merry Christmas,” she says, once I’m standing before her. Her cheeks flushed and luminous, her eyes flickering with amusement. “I’m your not-so-Secret Santa.”
I smile. Content to just stand there and fill my eyes with the glorious sight of her.
