“Okay. But no hard feelings,” she says.
“None at all. I’ll have my sister bring cookies by the station later to prove it.”
Faith’s eyes light up. “Awesome. Thanks. I love cookies. Catch you later.”
“Later.” I wave good-bye, watching her go for a moment with a warm feeling blooming in my chest. At least I made headway with one of my critics. Jake will be a much harder sell, but I meant what I said to Faith—I’m hardcore. And I don’t give up on the people I care about without a fight.
Tonight, I’ll start fighting for Jake’s friendship in earnest.
And with a little luck and holiday magic on my side, I just might win.
Chapter Eight
Jake
Arms crossed at my chest, I stand motionless near the entrance to the Bliss River Holiday Fair, determined not to give any outward sign of the storm brewing inside of me.
I refuse to show weakness or let anyone see how much I’m dreading this evening…and all the evenings to follow.
I had an easy out, but like the stubborn ass I am, I refused to take it. Now, I have no choice but to suffer the consequences with a stiff upper lip.
Cutting off your nose to spite your face. Real smart, Hansen.
I exhale a ragged breath.
It’s true.
I’m an idiot.
I should have taken Naomi up on her offer to cancel. If I had, I’d be at home relaxing, watching the game with a plate of buffalo wings.
Instead, I’m standing on a street corner trying to keep my poker face in place while my stomach eats my heart.
But this afternoon, with Naomi standing there in front of me, her blue eyes filled with compassion and her concern so clear on her face, something inside me had rebelled.
I refuse to accept anything from my ex, even her compassion.
I don’t want her pity. I don’t want her to worry about me. I don’t want her to feel anything for me except the urge to avoid my presence at all costs.
In fact, I want Naomi Whitehouse so damned uncomfortable in my general vicinity that she reconsiders her plan to stay in Bliss River.
Until she swept back into my life, I was doing just fine. Not great, but not too bad, either. I had a routine, a close circle of friends, and a rhythm to my days. Now, I’m grumpy at work—knowing she’s right across the damned street—unsettled any time I’m in a public place where she might show up, and downright miserable when our paths inevitably end up crossing in this too-small-for-the-two-of-us town.
She drives me fucking crazy.
Crazy is the only word for it.
And what’s worse, it’s not all the rational kind of crazy.
When she was babbling outside the station today—as nosy and annoying as ever, but with her heart clearly in the right place—a part of me had wanted to rest a hand on her shoulder and assure her I was going to be fine, no need to worry.
Another, even more dangerous part, had wanted to cup her face in my hand, brush my thumb over her bottom lip, and find out if it’s still the softest thing I’ve ever touched.
Once, I’d been addicted to her lips. One brush of her mouth against mine was enough to make my blood rush, my spirits lift, and life feel full of wild, wonderful possibilities.
Naomi didn’t just kiss with her lips; she kissed with her soul. Her kisses took me to places I couldn’t have even imagined on my own, creating a world where nothing existed but the two of us, her sweet, addictive touch, and the promises she made every time her body moved against mine.
But she’d broken those promises.
Every single one.
Or her promises had been lies from the very beginning.
Naomi most likely never loved me the way I loved her. If she had, she couldn’t have left the way she did, or spent the next fifteen years bouncing from one man to the next like she was sampling ice cream and determined to try every flavor.
Naomi’s thirty-three, and to my knowledge has never come close to settling down. I believe people can grow and change, but she obviously hasn’t. She’s still the same flighty, reckless person she was back when we were kids, and I have zero interest in being her friend.
Because you can’t be her friend, not when you still want her as much as you ever did.
Maybe even more.
I’d love to deny it, to tell the inner voice to shut up and keep its stupid opinions to itself, but at that moment, Naomi appears around the corner. She’s wearing a short black coat over a red dress and black boots that skim the bottom of her kneecaps. As she moves toward the park entrance, the last of the sunset light catches the honey-colored streaks in her hair, surrounding her in a golden glow that makes her blue eyes shine and her pink lips look so tempting I can’t tear my eyes away from them.