"Holly, I—”
"May I ask a favor?" she interrupted me. I realized she wanted to send me off with a smile. I knew she didn't want me to say or do anything that would make my leaving more difficult on either of us. So, I smiled and nodded at her, masking my sadness.
"Anything."
"Will you call or text me—just let me know you got there?"
I pulled her closer. "Yes."
"Evan—"
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I kissed her. Long, slow, deep. I wanted her taste in my mouth for the long miles ahead. I wanted to smell her lovely scent on my skin. I wanted to burn the memory of her eyes and the way they looked at me into my brain forever. Nobody ever looked at me the way Holly did. I doubted anyone ever would again.
When we broke apart, the air was heavy. Her eyes glistened under the lights, and I felt a tear run down my cheek.
How could I feel so deeply for someone I had only just met? Why was she so insistent that I had to leave? I could stay and forget about my family. We could talk about us instead, maybe figure out a way of seeing each other again. Thoughts and ideas swirled in my mind, but before I could say them out loud, Holly stepped back, breaking the silence.
"You have to go."
I reached out and dragged her back to me. I held her close, kissing the top of her head, unable to speak. Finally, she pulled back. "Text me," she ordered.
I smiled despite the sadness I was feeling. Ms. Bossy was back.
My voice trembled as I spoke. "Holly—"
She shook her head, her voice firm. "Be happy, Evan."
She wanted me to leave. I had no choice.
I touched her one last time. One last kiss. One last glance. "You as well, Angel."
I couldn't look back as I shut the door behind me.
7
Evan
I pulled up in front of my parents’ house. It was decorated with an understated elegance that spoke of money and class. And of being done by a company for hire. It was all about appearance, not for the love of the season. I couldn’t even begin to imagine my father on a stepladder hanging lights, or my mother helping him.
When one was a Brooks, one simply didn’t do manual labor. You hired that out.
No wonder they were disappointed in me.
I was the manual labor.
I shook my head, trying to clear the melancholy that had settled in my body since leaving Holly. She had been right—I needed to come and see my family and explore the chance of having a relationship with them—any of them. Given the fact that my sister now had a child, perhaps she would be more open to staying in touch. Maybe she would be happy to see me, and we could forge some sort of bond.
I ignored the small voice in my head that informed me perhaps pigs would fly tomorrow.
I stepped from my car, grabbed the bag of gifts from the trunk, straightened my shoulders, and approached the front door. I rang the bell and waited. I wasn’t sure who was more shocked when the door opened—my mother seeing me standing on the doorstep, or me seeing her answer the door. She had people who did that for her.
Her greeting, however, didn’t disappoint.
“Evan,” she said with a frown. “What are you doing here? We weren’t expecting you.”
I forced a smile. “Merry Christmas, Mother. Surprise!”