Christmas Sugar (Insta-Spark)

I stood in front of the window and sipped my coffee, staring blankly, unsure as to why I felt so strange.

Mr. Johnson left with a cheery wave, and Alex came and stood beside me, not touching, but close enough I could feel her presence.

“Where are the kids?”

“Susan came and took them sledding. She figured they’d be going crazy after being cooped up. School reopens tomorrow.” She smiled sadly. “The airport reopened again a short while ago. Your assistant faxed your flight information for you—I left it on the front counter. You’re booked out tomorrow at lunch.”

Tomorrow. I was leaving tomorrow. The ache in my chest grew more pronounced, and my throat turned desert-dry.

“Fine,” I managed to spit out.

My hand twitched, and my fingers brushed against hers. She slipped her hand into mine and squeezed, then pulled back. I flexed my fingers so our pinkies were still entwined, needing some connection with her—no matter how small.

“Alex,” I breathed.

“Don’t,” she pleaded.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. “Or what to say.”

“There is nothing you have to do or say. We’re both adults. You came here for a reason. Your reason will be done today, and it’s time for you to go home.”

“What will you do?” I asked. She knew what I was asking. I was buying her home. Where was she going to go?

She sighed, her pinkie slipping from mine, and crossed her arms. She took a step away, already beginning to separate from me. “I’ll find a place and a job. It’ll be a change for us all, but it was going to happen eventually. You don’t have to worry about us, Dylan.”

I turned to face her. “But I do. Let me help.”

“How?”

“I’ll buy you a place. Pick out a house, and it’s yours. Anywhere you want. I’ll open a bank account for you until you’re on your feet. Whatever you need.”

She stared at me, shock and hurt written across her face. “And what, Dylan? You’ll drop by for some nocturnal visits when you’re in town? A little somethin’ somethin’ on the side?” Her voice dropped.

“Do you know how confusing that would be to my children? To me? Not to mention, how insulting?”

“No!” I gasped. “No strings, Alex. I want nothing from you. I expect nothing from you,” I hastened to assure her. I was stunned she would think that way.

“Why, then?”

“Pardon?”

“Why would you want to do that? Because we fucked? You’re feeling guilty?”

“No! Because . . .” I stumbled over my words. “Because I care.” I stepped closer. “And don’t call it that. It was more, and you know it.”

“You set the ground rules, Dylan. Only here, remember? A limited time—no strings attached. Your offer feels as if you’re paying me for what happened between us.”

I ran a hand through my hair in vexation. “I’m not trying to do that.” I searched for the right words. “I’m wealthy, Alex. Very wealthy. I can afford it, and I want to do it . . . I just—I want-I want to help,” I sputtered uncharacteristically.

For a moment, she was silent. When she spoke, her voice was low and firm. “Thank you for your offer, but it’s not needed. I will look after my family. That’s my job, not yours.”

“But—” I began.

She held up her hand. “The answer is no, Dylan. And the subject is closed.”

I stepped back, defeated. I had royally fucked that up. Instead of making her see I cared, I made her feel like a whore. She had no idea how rare it was for me to care about someone. How special that made her to me. I had to figure out another way to help her. I lowered my voice.

“Will you come to me tonight?” I reached out and touched her hand tenderly. “Please.”