by Kennedy Fox
“Whatever. Merry Christmas.”
With that, Mrs. Richards walked off.
I stared at Vaughn for a moment longer, all my fears coming to a head. I let out a shaky exhale and made my way back to the elevator, not even bothering to grab my coat.
I didn’t belong here. I certainly didn’t belong on Vaughn’s arm.
Once I was on the sidewalk below their towering building, my phone began to ring. Vaughn. I stared at the screen for a long moment before sending it to voicemail. There was only one person that could salvage my night.
“Adam?” I said after he answered on the third ring.
“Are you okay?”
I sniffled. “I don’t have a jacket.”
“It’s twelve degrees outside!” he exclaimed. “I sent you the weather report before your date!”
“Yeah,” I began, my voice a sob. “I’m really cold.” And sad.
Silence greeted me on the other line for a long moment. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate. Come over.”
I smiled to myself before hailing a cab. “Thanks. Be there soon.”
Chapter 8
“Thank you, Adam. It’s a great present,” I forced out while staring at the gigantic telescope he gifted me. I had no idea where I was going to put this thing in my eight hundred square foot apartment. I mean seriously, I had no desire to look at the stars, but maybe I could spy on the hot guy that lived in the building across the street from me.
“I knew you’d like it!” he said excitedly while looking through the textbooks I’d gotten him. There was no guesswork when it came to getting Adam gifts. Every year on November first, he sent me an itemized wish list organized by priority, need, cost, and availability. This year he wanted textbooks. Yep, textbooks. I also got him a few new comic book shirts, but he wasn’t as interested in that.
“I also got Vaughn a gift. I assumed he was coming by?” Adam asked, his tone pressing.
“I don’t think Vaughn will be joining us today,” I answered. I ended up turning off my phone last night to avoid chatting with him. I knew that I was running away from my problems, and if given half a chance, Vaughn would probably reassure me that it was me he wanted, but that wasn’t really the problem.
The problem was, I hated feeling like the girl that wasn’t good enough for him. My issues were mine. I didn’t feel secure enough to tell his mother to suck some ass. I let her words burrow under my skin and become my reality, and that was a problem. How could I start a relationship with Vaughn—a meaningful relationship—if I was still so uncertain? After seven years of pining after him, a week of doubting him, and one night of losing him, I realized that I couldn’t be with anyone until I had a little more faith and confidence in myself. This was the grit of why I was considering the San Francisco job. I needed to commit to a choice. I needed to feel confident in myself and truly dive into a decision.
“Oh? He texted me earlier and asked for my address. He should be here any minute,” Adam replied while flipping the page of his textbook.
“What?” I squeaked.
Adam was about to reply when a knock on the door echoed throughout his apartment. “Would you mind getting that? I just got to a really interesting chapter,” Adam said with a wave of his hand. I pressed my lips together into a thin line and stood up.
“You’re seriously the worst,” I growled before marching down the hallway and to the front door.
The second I turned the knob and saw Vaughn, my heart felt like it fell out of my ass. He had dark circles under his eyes. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were wrinkled. “Merry Christmas,” I said while crossing my arms over my chest and hugging myself, my shoulders slumped.
Vaughn had the coat I left behind last night folded over his arm. “You left this,” he said softly before handing it to me. I nervously took it. “What happened last night, Sena?” Vaughn asked. “You just left?”
I licked my lips and looked down at my feet. “You introduced me to your mom as a coworker, then walked off with a woman that looks like a Victoria’s Secret model, and then your mother basically told me I was trash and suggested I leave.”
“Fuck,” Vaughn cursed before pushing me aside and walking inside Adam’s apartment. “First of all, the only reason I introduced you as a coworker is because I was terrified that if I told my mother you were the woman I want to be with that you’d run for the fucking hills. I’m trying to keep you here, not send you to San Francisco.”
He had a point, but I hated admitting it. “Fair enough. But it still set a precedent for how the rest of the evening went.”
“I didn’t want to go off with whatever her name is. I was gone maybe two minutes to appease my mother, and by the time I got back, you were already gone. I was going to set the record straight with my mom, but you didn’t give me the chance.”
“I shouldn’t have left last night. And I should have answered your calls—”
“You think?” Vaughn growled. I flinched.
“Look, I’m doing a lot of soul searching. I’m really insecure. Part of the reason I never told you that I liked you was because I was scared that I wasn’t good enough.”
“I love you, Sena,” Vaughn said while cupping my cheeks. He pressed his forehead to mine, and I inhaled. “You’re more than good enough. You’re perfect. I’m so sorry it took me so long, but you’re it for me.”
“What about what your mom said?” I croaked.
“Part of the reason I wanted to leave the business is because it’s a world I want nothing to do with. My parents care about their image and the money. I just want to chase a good story. And, Sena, you’re the greatest story of my life. I don’t care if you’re in San Francisco, if you’re here, if you’re baking cookies with Adam, or anywhere else. I’m going to be by your side. Okay? Nothing will change that. This is new. This is scary for you. But this is so fucking real.”
Tears streamed down my face, and Vaughn wrapped me up in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m not going to San Francisco,” I whispered into his ear.
In the other room, Adam cheered. How did he even hear me from across the apartment?
“You’re not?” Vaughn asked.
“I’m not,” I replied. “But I’m not going to work for your mom’s company either. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”
Vaughn nodded his head. “Okay. So what do you want to do?”
“I want to finish opening these presents!” Adam yelled.
Vaughn grinned and kissed me on the cheek. “We have time to figure it out.”
“I’m waiting!” Adam called out once more.
“I love you,” I said while looking him in the eye. His brows lifted.
“I love you too.”
Lifting up on my toes, I passionately pressed my mouth to his. It felt like home. It felt like Christmas morning and magic.
I loved this man, and I was done lying to myself about it.
By the time we made it back to Adam, he was standing with a pile of presents in his arms. He looked down at Vaughn’s feet. “You’re a size thirteen, right?”
Vaughn coughed. “Yeah, man. How did you know?”
Adam scoffed. “It’s all mathematics. You’re symmetrical and proportionate. With a simple equation, I could probably tell you how long your di—”
“No,” I interrupted. “Not going there, Adam.”
“It’s for science, Sena,” Adam argued.
Vaughn clapped his hands together. “Let’s open presents, shall we?”
Chapter 9
ONE YEAR LATER
“When are you coming home?” Adam asked.
“Three days. We got everything we need for the story and are ready to publish the exclusive,” I replied as Vaughn got off the highway.
“I have an itinerary for Christmas already planned out, and we are a day behind schedule for baking cookies. I mean, I compiled the recipes, but we always shop together.”
“I’ll be there soon,” I replied with a smile before looking around us.
&n
bsp; Eight months ago, Vaughn and I bought a news van and started our own independent journalism site. Our two-person team was quickly becoming one of the fastest growing news sites in the country. Where there was a story, Vaughn and I did what we did best—we got in the car and went. We’d been on so many adventures, and we didn’t have to answer to anyone. We were our own bosses.
Right now, we were in Vegas covering a major sex trafficking ring that was just busted by the FBI.
“Where are we going?” I asked Vaughn. He had one hand on the steering wheel and was smiling playfully.
“Sena, are you listening to me?” Adam asked. “The cookies! What are we going to do about the cookies?”
I let out a patient exhale. Adam always got antsy when we were gone for too long. He had a rule of no more than three weeks before his clingy ass chased us down. We’d never risked meeting that threshold but had gotten close.
“I solemnly swear that we will get the cookies made in time for Christmas. I know how important they are to you.”
Vaughn came to a full stop, but Adam’s insistent nagging kept me preoccupied. It wasn’t until I got a loud knock on the window that I realized…
“Adam? What are you doing in Vegas?”
Vaughn got out of the car, and I clutched the phone to my ear. What was going on? Why were we at a…
Chapel.
Vaughn opened the car door and helped me outside. Adam, in all his glory, had a vintage, oversized camera on his shoulder and a fanny pack filled to the brim with items tied around his waist. Vaughn dropped to his knee.
“Sena, I love you so much, baby.”
“So do I!” Adam interjected. “I had to book a last-minute flight to Vegas of all places. The man next to me was inebriated, and don’t get me started on the black light situation in my hotel room. Would it kill you to plan ahead, Vaughn? Three days’ notice! Who does that?”
Vaughn and I started laughing. Tears streamed down my face.
“You made a last-minute trip to Sin City for me, Adam?” I asked. My throat was closing with emotion. I knew how hard that must have been for him. I was so proud and shocked that he was willing to do that for me.
“Yes. Now hurry up so he can propose. We are on a strict schedule for the ceremony.”
I started laughing through my tears. Vaughn grabbed my hand. “Sena. I love you so much. I’ve been obsessing over how to do this. But honestly, I just want to be your husband already. I want to be yours forever, baby. You challenge me to take risks. To go on adventures. To be my most authentic self. I love you more than anything in this world. Will you please do me the honor of being my wife?”
Vaughn opened a ring box, but I didn’t even see it. I was too excited to marry the man I loved to notice that it was my grandmother’s wedding band.
“Yes,” I replied.
Vaughn stood up and wrapped me in a hug. Adam checked his watch. “You have four minutes and thirty-seven seconds to celebrate before we have to go inside.”
Vaughn and I stood there for seven minutes. Hugging. Kissing. I couldn’t help but think of all the things that led to this moment. A drunken night at my holiday company led to getting the man of my dreams and a fulfilling job.
Thank fuck for Bloody Mary Christmas.
About the Author
Coralee June is an international bestselling romance writer who enjoys engaging projects and developing real, raw, and relatable characters. She is an English major from Texas State University and has had an intense interest in literature since her youth. She currently resides with her husband and two daughters in Dallas, Texas, where she enjoys long walks through the ice-cream aisle at her local grocery store.
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Chapter One
MARIAH
Whoever contrived, the customer is always right, motto clearly never worked in customer service.
The customer isn’t always right.
In fact, ninety-five percent of the time, the customer is wrong.
Working retail sucks.
Add in the holidays, and that hell becomes ten times worse. There’s no Christmas cheer in people screaming over expired coupons and punching each other over the last discounted TV.
“I need to return these.”
With a phony smile on my face, I peer up at the next customer in line as she thrusts a shoebox toward me. A crushed-up box with a missing lid containing a pair of shoes that have seen better days. I take the shoes out one by one, inwardly sighing as I inspect them—observing the dirty bottoms and scuffed heels.
“Do you have your receipt?” I ask, returning the shoes to their box.
She shakes her head, popping gum in her mouth. “Lost it.”
“I’m sorry, but we only honor returns with receipts.”
With a harsh voice and a pinched face, she barks, “I want my money back now.”
Here we go.
Second customer freak-out of the day coming in three, two, one.
“Ma’am, not only do you not have a receipt.” I grab a heel from the box and hold it up. “But these shoes have obviously been worn.” A lot.
“I may have strolled around my house to make sure I liked them, but that’s it. They hurt my feet too much.” Holding out her palm, she wiggles her fingers. “Give me my money.”
Not rolling my eyes is a struggle.
No way did she only wear them around her house.
Unless she lives in a damn barn.
I’ve had the immense pleasure of working in customer service long enough to know when someone is scamming, and this chick is scamming. She’s worn these bad boys inside, outside, in the mud, in the street, everywhere.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” I point toward the opposite side of the store. “We have a great sales rack over there that you can check out.”
“I want my money!” she screams.
“I can’t do that.” I shove the box in her direction. “I’m politely asking you to leave.” While silently screaming at you inside my head.
“I ain’t leaving!” She snatches a heel from the box and flings it toward me. Thankfully, my reflexes are decent, and I step to the side, dodging a stiletto to the face.
Someone is going on the naughty list.
Every customer in the store’s attention is fixed on me and the shoe thrower. I can take one of two actions at this time: refund her money or call security to make her leave.
“My money, you bitch!” she screams, hurling the other shoe at me. “Or I’m coming over there and taking it myself.”
This time, my reflexes suck, and the shoe smacks into my shoulder.
My head aches as I grab the shoe and fling it back at her—careful to make sure I miss.
I’m not trying to go to jail or anything today.
Ten minutes later, I’m fired.
“You know, it’s not normal for a sister to be this excited when you get fired,” I grumble into the phone.
After going home, stress-baking two loaves of banana nut bread, and soaking in my now unemployed sorrows, I called her and broke the news.
“It is when said sister has been waiting for this opportunity so she can finally convince you it’s time to move home,” my older sister, Phoebe, argues. “Your excuses have always been your job—even though that job has changed multiple times within the past few years. How many more signs do you need that California isn’t right for you? It’s time to get your butt home.”
“Blue Beech doesn’t have any opportunities for me either.” I shove a piece of bread into my mouth.
“Mariah, you have yet to find the job you went there for. You can work at the coffee shop, open a pastry shop here, something. Mrs. Rufus recently retired, closing her candy shop. What about renting that space?”
There’s a glimmer of excitement at the idea of opening my own pastry shop, something I’d wanted to
do here in California. Then reality hits me and erodes that excitement into disgust.
“Do they, does he still own the building?” My mouth turns sour at the thought of them.
She hesitates before replying, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’ll see them. It’d be the perfect space for a pastry shop—right on Main Street, where people used to buy their sweets, and everyone walks around there.”
“There’s already a smoothie and coffee shop. No room for me.”
“Boo, you suck.”
I laugh.
“You’re already coming home for Christmas, so think about it.”
Even though she can’t see me, I shake my head. “No way am I ever going into business with the Lancrofts. I can’t believe you’d even suggest it.” She knows all the pain they caused our family.
“Things have changed around here.”
I wince. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, it’s just … time to let go of grudges.”
“Why? I like grudges. They provide me with entertainment when I’m bored.”
“I hope you know I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.”
“I hope you know I rolled my eyes and nearly vomited when you mentioned the Lancrofts becoming my landlord.”
“Am I picking you up from the airport, or are you driving?” she asks, thankfully changing the subject.
Any subject is better than the family we despise.
“Driving. I hate flying during the holidays. Germs galore.”
“Hm, I know the perfect way to avoid holiday flights.”
“Don’t say it,” I jokingly warn.
“Move home.”
“I’m hanging up now before I return your Christmas present.”
She laughs. “See you in a few days. Love ya.”
I tell her I love her before ending the call. Grabbing my laptop, I search for jobs but decide to wait until the holidays are over before applying anywhere. Maybe she was right. Maybe being fired was a sign—a sign to stop holding myself back from my dream.