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The next afternoon as I make a mad dash into the village in desperate search of caffeine and reliable Wi-Fi, I am not any closer to being Zen about Simon. In fact, spurred on by racy confessions over shots, my fantasy-filled dreams probably made the situation worse.
I shouldn’t be wasting one thought on him, but I apparently have the same amount of control over my mind as I do over my mouth.
My heart rate accelerates as I pull into a parking spot out front of the Sugar Plums and Drugs store. Running my hands along my steering wheel, I try to calm the nerves making my pulse race. I can see the café from here, and while I came with the express intention of going there to grab a hot drink and some Wi-Fi, now that I am here, getting out of my van feels like an enormous obstacle.
We seriously need to get the Wi-Fi situation at the cabin figured out, because I am getting desperate. I can’t spend the next four days sneaking into town to beg for a simple coffee, so that I can use the Wi-Fi. It increases both my mint intake and the likelihood of running into Simon to a level that I am not comfortable with.
Which probably explains why I took the time to brush my hair and put some lip gloss on before making the trek into the village. Because I certainly didn’t do it for Jake’s benefit. He probably wouldn’t notice if I shaved my head and dyed my scalp poinsettia red.
Glancing over my shoulder, I scan the main street. My eyes skip right over the beautifully decorated storefronts, searching for Simon. I am not exactly sure if I am hoping to see him or not see him.
It is a few hours after lunch and Christmas Cove is bustling with people carrying shopping bags. I recognize the energy of shoppers frantic to get their last-minute gifts bought. The ache that has been squeezing my chest ever since the moment Greg announced his marriage to Julia throbs, and my seemingly ever-present tears press at my eyes. All around me are happy families getting ready for Christmas.
And I am alone.
It is too much. I grip the steering wheel, like maybe it can stop me from sliding back into a depressive state. My hand hovers over my keys. It would be so simple to crank the engine over and flee back to the cabin. I don’t have to be sad alone. I have five friends available to keep me company while I drink away my sorrows.
With a sigh, I let my hand drop. When I left, everyone was napping, trying to make up for last night’s fun. Recovery doesn’t come as easy as it used to, and it was our second night of overindulging. I have been a parent long enough to know that you don’t wake a sleeping dragon.
Grabbing my laptop bag, I step out of my vehicle before I can change my mind. I need to try and connect with Jake. I haven’t managed to contact him since our brief chat the morning of the wedding. Hearing his voice will ground me and make everything better.
If I have calculated the time change correctly, Jake should be just arriving in the lobby to get my call, assuming that Greg holds up his end of the bargain and makes Jake go.
The moment I step out of the warmth of my van, I am hit by a brisk wind. Shivering, I pull my jacket tightly around me. The breeze has an uncharacteristic chill to it, even for this time of year. People from other places in Canada make fun of our Vancouver Island winters. They might know what a minus thirty blizzard feels like, but they have never known a frigid wind blowing off the ocean. It brings a chill to your bones that you can’t understand if you haven’t experienced it.
I hurry into the café, and it isn’t until the bells on the door are jingling, the cinnamon infused air hits my nostrils, and my stomach is twisting in disappointment that I realize I was in fact hoping to find Simon sitting at our table. My viewing it as ‘our table’ is probably something I should examine closely, but I am feeling a little too vulnerable to unpack it right now.
The café is busy with the after-lunch crowd, but luckily the line is short, allowing me to quickly order a Christmas latte. I was planning to order a black coffee, but I don't have the energy to deal with convincing the barista that I don't want my coffee to taste like a candy cane. Just because Simon gets the special treatment and can have a plain black coffee doesn't mean the rest of us get that kind of service around here.
I still haven’t figured out exactly what the obsession with putting peppermint in every drink is. Just because this place lives and breathes Christmas doesn’t mean they have to literally shove it down our throats at every opportunity.
While I am waiting for my latte to be brewed, my eyes keep drifting to the mistletoe hanging innocuously just inside the door. That little sprig of white berries and greenery might look innocent enough, but I know the drama it can cause. And I would be lying if I didn't admit that part of me is wishing that it had been me stealing a kiss from Simon.
As the thought registers in my brain, I rip my eyes away. Those thoughts are just the remnants of my fantasy-filled night messing with me. It is dangerous for me to be mixing my dreams up with reality. Just because Marisol and the rest of the gang think that I should have a little vacation fun with Simon doesn't mean that I am ready for that.
I should probably work through the mess my relationship with Greg being truly over has caused before I add the complication of casual sex with a man like Simon Ascot into the mix.
I give my whole body a shake to wake myself up to reality. Even if I was interested, there isn't even the slightest hope that Simon Ascot is thinking about having a little holiday fun with me. He is here with his family, and he is so far out of my league it is not even funny.
Except he offered to be my distraction.
The barista calls my name, and I wander back over to the counter to snag my drink, giving her an awkward smile. It is the same barista that was here both times I fled this place like a lunatic, and I am pretty sure her smile has the same pitying edge to it that Mia Grady’s did.
I take a sip of my drink, revelling in the way the heat slides down into my body, pushing some of the chill out of my bones while I scan the room for a seat.
Purposely avoiding the table where Simon and I sat yesterday, I slide into a table for two in the corner with a perfect view of the main street. I can pretend that I am checking out the beautiful Christmas displays in all the shop windows, but deep down I know I am keeping an eye out for him. It is stupid and immature, but I can’t quite seem to shake the feeling of disappointment at not finding him waiting for me at our regular table.
I shake my head, needing the physical sensation to remind me that I am being ridiculous. We don’t have a regular table. We had no plans to meet. And he doesn’t even know that I am here. I came here for Wi-Fi and nothing more, but the truth is that I desperately want to find the courage to take Simon up on his offer.
Assuming that it still stands after my less than graceful exit.
I take another sip of my drink, absentmindedly watching the street as I unzip my laptop bag. Maybe I should borrow a little of Kelsey’s enthusiasm and embrace the Christmas atmosphere. It really is lovely here. What could it hurt?
Just as I pull my computer out, I catch sight of a poster on the wall. It looks so much like Simon that my breath catches. Intrigued, I let my computer slide back into the bag and go take a closer look.
Biting my bottom lip, I stifle a grin as a warm caramel feeling suffuses my core. It is Simon, and he looks beyond dreamy. Then my smile freezes and the caramel hardens to sharp points. The caption reads: Come to the Mistletoe Mixer and bid on your chance to be wined, dined, and romanced by one of Christmas Cove’s most eligible bachelors. My mouth drops open, and my heart pounds erratically. My breath comes quick and fast. Apparently, Simon was right that he is considered an honorary resident around here. Or maybe when you’re a player, it doesn’t matter that you’re only transient.
I have completely misread Simon.
“Not interested in games my ass.” I mutter under my breath, snatching my laptop bag and latte before stumbling towards the door.
Nauseating waves of heat roll over me. I am overreacting. I know I am. A bachelor auction is a fundraiser. It is a good thing. It isn’t the same thing as being a player. He can be into me and be in the auction. They aren’t mutually exclusive. They aren’t connected.
Tears bunch behind my eyes. I am helpless to stop the whirlwind in my brain. For a moment I actually believed that Simon might be interested in me, but that just makes me the same fool I was when Greg swooped into my life, spotting me for the sucker I was. And this fool has already fallen so far under Simon’s magic that she just might be unredeemable.
Shuffling between tables, trying not to bump into anyone, I race for the door. I need to get out of here and back to the cabin. The girls will talk me down. They will remind me of all the things that I can’t get right in my brain. Simon in a bachelor auction doesn’t mean he is toying with me.
It doesn’t mean anything.
And yet it means everything.
Dashing towards the door, I bump up against the Christmas tree, getting my bag wrapped up in tinsel. I do a little half spin as a sob is wrenched from my throat, trying to release my bag. It comes free, yanking a coil of tinsel with it. The tree sways dangerously, and I turn to bolt before it can crash to the ground—colliding right into a solid chest. Strong hands grasp my upper arms, steadying me. An earthy scent mixed with cinnamon and vanilla engulfs me, and the world sways.
I don’t have to look up to know who it is.
His scent is imprinted on my brain.
Our eyes meet, my heart stutters, and my breath is ragged and shallow. His full lips are there, just waiting for me to be brave enough to taste them. Neither of us moves. Our mouths are mere millimetres apart. I can feel his breath on my skin, and I am sure he can feel the ragged movement of my chest against his.
The mistletoe is above us. Kissing him would be the right thing to do. It is what I want.
A clattering sound from behind the counter snaps me out of my trance. As everything comes back into focus, I realize that I am standing in the middle of the café, pressed up against Simon.
I can't be here.
The image of his smiling face on the poster flashes through my mind, and even though I know on some level it is a fundraiser and not some nefarious scheme, I can't help but think he is too dangerous. I let Greg mess with me for years until my heart was a crumpled mess, and I can't go there again.
“Now you get here!” I blurt out. Pushing away from him, I dash out the door, my laptop bag banging against my leg and the jingle of the bells rattling my nerves. For the third time in three days, I run from Kay Kringle's Cup O’Christmas Joy and away from Simon.