Forever Wilde in Aster Valley (Forever Wilde 9)

I cried into the crook of his neck, clinging onto his soft sweater and taking comfort in the familiar scent of his skin. Darius’s large hands rubbed circles on my back as he murmured soothing sounds in my ear.

“I’m so sorry you’re hurting. I can’t imagine how much you miss her. She must have been incredible to have raised such a caring, considerate, beautiful son.”

His words made my stomach feel light and fluttery, but I could tell Darius was frustrated he couldn’t give me more specific words of wisdom about the situation. He didn’t know enough of our family history to truly understand my resentment, but having the comfort of his embrace was enough to calm me down. When the tears stopped, I took a deep breath and reached down for some snow to wash my face off with. I was freezing by then, out of the warm radius of the gas heaters inside the tent.

“Sorry I brought you out here to die of hypothermia,” I teased lamely as I threw the melty snow remnants down and shook off my hands.

“You’re worth the loss of a few digits.” Darius winked at me and offered me an actual linen handkerchief.

“Where the hell did you get that?” I asked. “1954?”

He looked sheepish. “I actually get nosebleeds because of the altitude. When I tried carrying tissues around, I inevitably ended up running them through the washing machine and making a mess. My mom sent me these for my birthday.”

I looked a little closer and saw a tiny embroidered cupcake in the corner of the handkerchief. My heart squeezed. “That’s the sweetest thing ever. She must have loved stitching this for you.”

Darius laughed softly. “She totally would have if she hadn’t been too busy launching a new version of the HR software she manages. It’s more likely she found someone on the internet to do the stitching. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

I couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, even though I wasn’t sure if it was funny or not. “Do you get a chance to see her very often?”

Darius took my hand to lead me back inside the tent, where we took our seats partway down one side of the long table. “I went back to Chicago for Thanksgiving with the family a few weeks ago. And she was here in the summer helping me decorate my house. When I lived in the city, she helped me grow the business, so I saw her plenty. I have two sisters back in Illinois that keep her pretty busy with grandchildren.”

As Darius continued to tell me about his mom and the rest of his family, I was torn between being happy for him and sad for me, which only served to make me feel like a selfish asshole. What kind of monster couldn’t simply be happy to hear about someone’s warm and loving family? Me, apparently.

I wished it had been my mom who’d helped me run a business. I wanted it to be my mom who’d been so busy living her big life that she had to outsource a handmade gift. And I needed it to be my mom who hosted Thanksgiving dinner and made sure I came home for it.

A burst of laughter from farther down the table caught my attention. Smiling faces shone behind sparkling crystal wineglasses, and it was clear everyone was having a nice time. The fact I was feeling sorry for myself instead of celebrating with everyone else made me feel like the worst kind of ungrateful human.

I turned to Darius. “I’m sorry I’m such poor company. I didn’t expect… well, scratch that. I knew this holiday was going to be hard for me without my mom, but I didn’t mean for you to witness it. I don’t want to ruin your holiday, too.”

His eyes held warmth and understanding, which helped me finally let go of some of my stress. “Miller, you’re allowed to grieve, even if it happens on Christmas Eve. And you’re not ruining anything for me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be at home by myself watching Christmas movies with a frozen pizza.”

Sam Marian sucked in a breath on Darius’s other side. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but dear god. Frozen pizza on Christmas? Don’t do me like that, man.”

“He’s a chef,” I said to Darius in a stage whisper. “You know how they are.”

Darius and Sam both laughed and began swapping culinary stories. I let out a breath and sat back. The food Mikey had lovingly prepared for us was delicious, but my appetite was virtually nonexistent. My stomach was tied up in knots. I didn’t want to be angry and resentful toward Tilly, but even after venting to Darius, I couldn’t seem to shake these feelings. After everything that had happened with my mom, I hadn’t had the emotional energy to tackle the “Tilly situation” for a while. But now it seemed my subconscious was serving it up to me on a silver platter.