“I saw you first.” He reached for her face, but she took a step back. “You should have been mine, Claire, and I’ve lived with that for seven years.”
“When did you see me first?”
“That night at the party, I’d been watching you and I was going to ask you to dance. But I made the mistake of going to take a leak first. When I came out, Brendan was talking to you. You were laughing and the chemistry was so obvious. Later that night he told me he’d met the girl he was going to marry.”
She tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying. “I never knew that. And Brendan didn’t, either. Or he never said anything.”
“I’ve spent the last two years telling myself I had to do right by my best friend’s memory. But hurting you doesn’t do right by him. Destroying myself doesn’t do right by him.”
“A few days ago you were calling yourself a lowlife asshole. Now, all of a sudden, it’s okay?”
“I found out the hard way I can’t live without you. And I realized Brendan would want us to be happy.”
She shook her head, afraid he was simply at a high point on the emotional rollercoaster. “Until the next morning-after rolls around and you feel guilty and push me away again.”
“I didn’t realize it on my own. I had some help from Brendan’s mom.”
“You talked to Judy about…us?”
“Pretty sure I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. Or suspect, anyway.”
While Brendan’s mother’s blessing probably went a long way toward easing Justin’s guilt, it was risky to hope it was some kind of magical wand that made everything better with a flick of the wrist and a bibbidi-bobbidi-boo. And it had hurt when he pulled away. A lot.
But her own conversation with Judy wouldn’t stay buried in the back of her mind. Don’t give up on Justin—or yourself—just because it’s hard right now.
He took her hand and she watched as he ran his thumb over her knuckles because it was easier than looking him in the eye.
“I know I hurt you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“The past few days of not having you at all hurt more than anything.”
“I don’t ever want to go through that again, Claire. It was pure hell.” Every minute of that hell was as evident on his face as she was sure it was on hers. “I can’t promise you there won’t be times it’s a little weird for me, but I can promise I won’t walk away from you ever again.”
Those were the words she thought she’d wanted to hear, but they weren’t enough. “This isn’t about Brendan and that’s the problem. It has to be about us. You and me, Justin. Just us.”
“I love you.”
She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. “Justin, I—”
“I love you, Claire. If you take away everybody else and everything else and it’s just you and me, that’s all there is. All that’s left is that I love you.”
Looking into his eyes, that was all that was left. Maybe it wouldn’t be magically easy, but he loved her and he could say it and that was enough. “I love you, too, but—”
“No but, Claire. I love you. You love me. And if we move just a little to the left, we’ll be under the mistletoe.”
“A little to the left, huh?”
“Yup. My left.” He pulled her sideways so she had to shuffle her feet to stay upright. Looking up, he took her by the shoulders and lined her up beneath the sad-looking sprig. “Right there.”
“I’m not letting you kiss me until we’re finished talking about this. About the but.”
He slid his hands down her arms to her hands, where he threaded his fingers through hers. “Then let’s talk about it.”
“I want it all. Marriage and a house, whether it’s yours or one we find together, and kids.”
“Is that a proposal?”
“I guess it is. Will you marry me and have kids with me and kiss me under the mistletoe every Christmas?”
He closed his eyes for a second as the tension seemed to drain out of his muscles, and then he was grinning and lifting her off her feet. “Yes, I want to marry you,” he said just before he kissed her.
When he was finished taking her breath away, he set her back on her feet. “I’d like to stay tonight, if it’s okay. Drive you down to your folks tomorrow and then stay tomorrow night. And the night after that.”
“I’d like that.”
He winced as Moxie started climbing his leg and, after disengaging her claws from his jeans, he cradled the cat and stroked her head.
“She missed you, you know. So did I.”
“I won’t walk away from you again, Claire. Ever.” Then the television caught his attention and he smiled. “You’re watching our movie.”
They made it to the couch in time to watch the Griswold family’s Christmas tree go up in flames and they were laughing as she curled up in his arms, nudging a reluctant Moxie out of her way. The cat sniffed and curled up in her lap.
“I love you,” Justin said against her hair. “I’ve waited so long to say that you’re probably going to get sick of hearing it.”
“Never.” She tilted her head back so he could kiss her. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas. And did I mention that I love you?”
About the Author
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Shannon Stacey lives with her husband and two sons in New England, where her two favorite activities are writing stories of happily ever after and riding her four-wheeler. From May to November, the Stacey family spends their weekends on their ATVs, making loads of muddy laundry to keep Shannon busy when she’s not at her computer. She prefers writing to laundry, however, and considers herself lucky she got to be an author when she grew up.
You can contact Shannon through her website, www.shannonstacey.com, where she maintains an almost daily blog, or visit her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/shannonstacey, her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/shannonstacey.authorpage, or email her at [email protected].
It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like…Love!
A man gives the gift of trust and receives a second chance at love in return. A woman helps to heal the wounded heart of a soldier. A couple finds that true love knows no distance. And a young widow learns that there can be two great loves in a lifetime. Love, romance and passion come together in this collection of four seasonal shorts. Anthology includes:
Mistletoe and Margaritas by Shannon Stacey
A Rare Gift by Jaci Burton
It’s Not Christmas Without You by HelenKay Dimon
This Time Next Year by Alison Kent
Stories also available for purchase separately.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9276-9
Copyright © 2011 by Shannon Stacey
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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