That last one is an absolute ‘hell no’ from me.
Then there’s Lincoln's message, the one I feel bad about not yet answering. He seems like a good guy, if the eloquence in his message was anything to judge by. He’s a doctor—that’s an honorable profession. And he was honest and upfront about why he needed my help.
Julian is a bit of a drive, about an hour, but it’s not out of the question. Christmas Eve is slated to be spent alone and on my couch anyway, probably with some Vietnamese takeout or something. Why not spend it with this guy and his family? Plus Julian is beautiful, and at Christmastime I bet the small town does something special. I wouldn’t mind getting some of their famous pies too…
Okay—yeah, why not?
Christmas Eve in Julian with the Stokes family.
Subject: How many messages have you received?
Julian isn’t that far
Count me in. Let me know the details when you have them.
-Holly
___
Chapter Three
Message received
Subject: Not a party
I can’t wait to find out which of us is the better cookie decorator. See you tonight.
Mateo Reyes
___
Light raindrops scatter against the windshield of my car, the sound mingling with the softclick-click click-clickof my turn signal as I turn from Rosecrans Street and into the area of San Diego known as Liberty Station. The old Navy training center has become a popular spot to hang out, shop, and eat, and is situated on hundreds of acres of businesses, parks, and venues. It’s gorgeous—one of my favorite places to visit.
In theory, I should be more excited than I am to be here, but the nerves have taken over. The reality that I’m about to meet a stranger has settled in.
Pulling into a parking spot, I turn off the car and look out toward the small strip of water that separates Liberty Station from the airport. The marine layer is thick, and I shiverpreemptively, already knowing I’m going to be cold the second I turn my car off and exit its warmth.
I’ve parked a little far from where Mateo and I are meeting up, but it’s busy tonight, and parking was hard to find.
We’re meeting inside Public Market to grab a coffee before we decorate cookies, and I question whether agreeing to this date was a good idea since it goes against the entire point of why I’m doing this.
I’m not looking to date someone. Ever since my family died, that part of me shut off—my love just…disappeared. Think Stefan Salvatore inTheVampire Diariesturning off his humanity. That’s me, just with love.
I’ve accepted it, and it’s the exact reason I’m seeking no-strings-attached companionship this holiday season. I just want to be someone's date to an event they don’t want to show up alone to, but for whatever reason, I was compelled to say yes to meeting Mateo.
To rip off the Band-Aid, so to speak.
You’ve got this,I give myself a pep talk as I white-knuckle the door handle. Closing my eyes, I try to envision the date and how it will play out, hoping that I’m right.
As soon as I push the car door open, the thick, chilly air kisses my nose and cheeks, sending a shiver through me. While walking away from my car, I click the key fob to lock it no less than six times for extra lockiness, then once more for good measure, but I end up being too far.
The closer I get to Public Market, the upscale food court that Liberty Station is known for, the more intensely my heart starts hammering in my chest. Standing just outside one of the entrances is a man looking almost as nervous as I am as he bounces on the balls of his feet. He’s wearing a navy blue puffer jacket—but it’s one of the thin ones, not the ultra puffy ones like I prefer for myself—and dark wash jeans, with his hands stuffedinto the pockets of his pants. His hair is dark and styled, and I’m surprised to see he’s wearing glasses.
They look good on him. Really, really, good.
Scanning the parking lot again, his eyes meet mine as I emerge from between the two cars I momentarily hid behind so I could scope him out.
“Holly? Hi!” he calls out as I draw closer, and my smile widens. He’s giving off good energy—kind energy. Not ‘I’m actually a creepy stalker serial killer who wants to wear your flesh’ kind of energy.
