heard a feminine snort through the phone line. “Well, you are wrong. Most of the time.”
“Of course I am,” Blaise said, no sincerity in his tone at all. “And, as much as I’m enjoying the reunion, Luc, I think you have some more pressing matters to attend to.”
“For once,” Ella said, “my husband is not wrong.”
“I will call again,” Luc said.
“Hopefully with good news.”
Luc got off the phone with his brother and sat back in his chair. That was one step. One step in fixing the mess that was himself.
Blaise had talked about love. And Blaise was right. Luc loved Amelia. More than he’d ever loved another person, more than he loved himself.
And that was scary. Really scary. It was, he realized, exactly why he’d fought so hard to convince himself he couldn’t love her. Because the thought of being that exposed to her, of needing anyone that badly, was utterly terrifying.
But life without her would be worse than terrifying. It would be empty. Like his office. Like his chest.
He stood up. It was Christmas Eve, and that meant Amelia was at her parents’ house upstate. And soon, he would be, too.
AMELIA STIRRED THE POT of gravy quickly before taking it off the burner for a moment, letting the bubbles calm down.
She looked around the room. At the little country village her mother had put on the counter, a roll of batting beneath it, acting as snow. There was tinsel tacked around the perimeter of the room, and the warm smell of boiling potatoes and cranberries filled the air and made it humid.
She and her mother were getting as much precooking done as possible before the big day.
Christmas in her family’s historic home certainly didn’t have the glamour that flying around the country with Luc did, but it was a lot less painful, too. And less incredible. And less sexy. But then, her family would never let her go either. As days went, it had been an incredibly draining one.
First she’d lost Luc. Then she’d gone to Clint’s apartment and broken it off with him. They’d both cried. And it had been awful. And she’d held his hand and told him that neither of them would be happy living that way.
And he’d agreed, his hands trembling in hers.
And then she’d gone to her parents’ house and broken the news. Thankfully, her sisters weren’t there yet with their husbands and spate of children. They all spent Christmas morning in their own houses and converged on the family home in the afternoon, for more presents and food.
At least this way she’d been alone for the hard talk with her parents. Clint had given her permission to explain, as long as they didn’t tell his parents. Which he was going to do after the holidays. Ensuring tomorrow would be extremely awkward, since he and his family were coming for dinner.
Though, they’d both agreed they weren’t pretending to be a couple.
“Are you okay, Amelia?” her mother asked.
“I’m fine,” Amelia said, lying.
“You don’t seem fine.”
“It’s been a hard day.”
“I know. I’m so sorry about Clint. I really had no idea.”
“I should have,” Amelia grumbled.
Her mom threw up her hands. “I don’t want to know.”
“No, Mom, you probably don’t. Or hey, you even might. Since the truth is so very, very tame,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, thank you for understanding. And please, please, no hints to his parents tomorrow about why. That’s not exactly the thing you want to give your parents for Christmas.”
“No, no,” she said. “Though, I think things will be okay for him.”
“I hope so.”
“You aren’t mad at him?”
Amelia shrugged. “I’m upset that he wasted my time, but I sort of understand, too. And if I’m honest with myself, I wasted my time, too. I don’t think I ever really loved him, Mom, or I wouldn’t have been happy with the relationship we had. He definitely doesn’t deserve all the blame.”
“You sound too well-adjusted to look so sad.”
Amelia sighed. “The sad is another story. And one that probably doesn’t belong at Christmas dinner either.” She put the gravy back on, keeping her focus on it. The gravy, at least, provided purpose.
“Amelia!” her father shouted from the other room. “Someone at the door for you!”
“Who?” she shouted.
“I don’t know. Guy in a suit!” her dad called back.
Amelia frowned. “Stir the gravy,” she said, handing the whisk to her mother before walking out into the entryway.
She looked out the door and froze. On the step, in the suit, with snow falling behind him, was Luc.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
“I … Yes.” She pulled a coat off the peg—her mother’s it turned out, something misshapen and not at all fashionable—and turned to look at her father. “I’ll just be a minute.” Or a second if all he was here to do was ask for her to come and make coffee again.
Oh, Lord, what if that was why he was here? Not for her at all, not really. But to ask her to take her job back on Christmas Eve because he didn’t know how to run his coffeemaker?
She stepped outside and closed the door, crossing her arms under her breasts, her lower lip quivering from the cold and the emotion building in her chest. “Okay, Chevalier, why are you here? I swear if you came all the way down here because you miss my coffee I will—”
“I do miss your coffee,” he said.
“Oh.” She tightened her hold on herself, the lip quivering intensifying. “Well, then, at the risk of sounding like a grumpy old lady, get off my lawn.”
“I miss your coffee. And your singing. And the way you whistle. I miss you talking to yourself. Your loud clothes, your shopping on your phone during business hours.”
“If you put that in my letter of recommendation no one would hire me,” she said, sniffling, blaming her running nose on the cold.
“Probably not. But I would. All over again.”
“Are you kidding me, Luc? This is what you’re here for? To beg me to come back and assist you because of my amazing coffee?”
“No. That’s not why I’m here. And I’m not finished. I also miss your smile. Your laughter. The way you make me laugh. The way you kiss …” He took a step toward her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I miss the way it feels to be inside you. How it feels to hold you. I hate myself for never having fallen
