Page 48 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise
What can I do but listen?
“Let’s go,” he says, not meeting my eye. His gaze jumps to the single tear that’s managed to escape, and he watches its journey down my cheek, looking uncomfortable. “You wanted to find Christmas decorations.”
I swipe at the tear, nodding. “Yeah. Go on in. I just need a second.” There’s no point in lying to maintain my dignity. It’s pretty clear this is a rejection.
When he hesitates, I pull out the best smile I can manage. It’s bright and cheerful, and it clearly takes him aback, because he blinks with surprise.
“Go on,” I say around the smile. “I’m honestly fine. Just give me a second, okay? I’m tired and overly emotional from everything going on. I need to breathe for a minute.”
Beckett’s answering nod is slow, unconvinced, but he backs away anyway before turning and heading into the souvenir shop we’re outside of.
I let my smile fall away as soon as the door closes behind him. Then I wipe at my cheeks and my eyes, forcing myself to take deep, even breaths.
It’s better this way,I tell myself firmly.You’ll leave tomorrow or the next day and not see him for probably another ten years.
One thought cuts through all the others, though, the more I think: Now that I’ve gotten reacquainted with him, now that I’ve seen his sweetness and his gruffness and the spark that burns between us…how am I supposed to get over Beckett Donovan?
Fifteen
Beckett
I lookat Molly out the window of the souvenir shop I’ve just disappeared into. She said she needed a minute, and I understand the need for space.
I can’t help but watch her, though.
Her smile is gone now that she thinks I can’t see her. I’m not surprised; I could tell it was fake. It was too brittle, too sudden. Her mouth is pressed instead into a miserable little line, and she’s wiping her eyes again.
It’s a physical effort, resisting the urge to run back to her. I hold myself in check, fists tight and body rigid, as I watch her shoulders heave with every breath she takes. My jaw clenches around the words that want to escape me as I fight this desire.
This feeling is…strange. The regret gnawing at my heart, the guilt that hits as I watch her cry—I’ve felt similar emotions before, of course, but never like this.
She’s a ray of sunshine, and I have dulled her light.
I am scum.
And yet I know—Iknow—that it would be unfair to everyone involved if I started something with her now. She’s going to be with me for another day; that’s it. And who’s to say that all these feelings are even real, anyway? Isn’t it more likely that they’re a byproduct of the super-charged situation we’ve found ourselves in, and the vulnerabilities we’ve been forced to share? Yes, I’m attracted to her, but the other, more complex things I’ve been experiencing…I don’t know where those feelings are coming from or how solid they are.
I won’t go so far as to make assumptions about her; maybe she really does have feelings for me. But I can’t promise her anything, and I can’t do a fling. Not with Wes’s sister. She deserves more than that by a long shot.
So it’s better to stay away.
Easier said than done,I think as I watch Molly square her shoulders, stand up straighter, and then march toward the door of the souvenir shop. I duck my head away from the window and quickly busy myself looking at a shelf of personalized Virgin Island shot glasses, none of which I have any interest in. My glazed eyes trail aimlessly over some twenty differentKnames before jumping to theMs, and I’m only seconds away from reaching for theMollyglass when I realize what I’m doing.
“Okay, I’m back.” Her voice pipes up from behind me, and I whirl around.
Molly’s there in front of me, her eyes red but dry. She smiles, another one of her desperately-faking-it smiles, as I do my best to discreetly make sure she’s okay. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if she’s all right, but I make myself hold the words in. I’m not sure how she’d react, and it feels like distracting her might be the best option. So I point instead to the back of the shop. “Let’s try there,” I say, and she nods.
We spend the next fifteen minutes scouring the souvenir shop with minimal luck. All we’re able to find are a few rows of island-themed Christmas ornaments. Molly stands in front of the shelves with her lips pursed into a little frown as she looks them over, finally shaking her head and turning to me.
“No,” she says. “These aren’t worth the money.”
I agree wholeheartedly. We exit the shop without buying anything.
And it’s while we’re on our way to the next store that Molly looks at me and makes an interesting request.
“Help me practice saying no,” she says.
I slow to a stop and blink at her, surprised. She looks back at me expectantly, her head tilted to the side, the breeze tugging at her hair. Even though the rain has stopped, it’s still a bit cooler out now, and I find my eyes skating over her bare arms and shoulders. Is she cold? Should we go buy her an overpriced sweatshirt?
