Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
December 18th
I feel like my secrets are accidental. Secrets that wouldn’t need to be secrets if you weren’t the woman you are. Does that make me any less deceiving? Will you forgive me for withholding?
December 19th
I just wanted to make today better. I love you so fucking much. I just want to take the pain away, and I feel like I’m just adding to it.
December 20th
I couldn’t stay away. And I’m glad I didn’t. You’re right. Today was a conflicting mix of amazing and really fucking heartbreaking. What you did for me and Albi . . . incredible.
December 21st
I think Albi’s as in love with you as I am. We want forever with you and everything that comes with it. I just have to ask and pray you say yes.
December 22nd
Why now? When I feel so content, so complete, why now? You ran. I can’t even be mad with you. I just feel . . . broken.
December 23rd
I wanted to come to you so badly today. Albi isn’t himself. I’m definitely not myself. I couldn’t leave him—I was scared to leave him. I just need to figure out how to fix this.
I retract my hand, bracing myself for today and what it might say, exhaling, as if I’ve been holding my breath the whole time. I slowly flip the page.
December 24th
It’s been you since December 1st, Camryn. It’ll only ever be you.
All the air is stolen from my lungs again when I slowly turn and find him sitting in the exact same chair he was when I first saw him.
On December 1st.
“I love you,” he murmurs, staying exactly where he is. I want to go to him but can’t feel my legs. I want to throw my arms around him but can’t stop them shaking. My head is being blitzed by endless questions. What happened? How is Albi? Where is Chelsea?
“You love me,” I whisper instinctively, convincing my legs to move. I get off my stool and cross the bar, biting down on my lip to stop it wobbling, and he rises to welcome me, opening his arms for me to walk into. His arms around me are everything.
“It crushes me that you thought for a second I wouldn’t choose you,” he says into my hair, squeezing me to him. “Never think that again. Ever. Do you hear me?”
I can only nod into his chest, damning my self-doubt and racing mind for diluting what I know about Dec with misplaced possibilities.
“Come home,” he orders gently, breaking away and wiping my tears. “And never leave us again.” Brushing my hair back, he holds my face. “Leave the room when you need to, go for a walk, remove yourself and take a moment, but never leave us.”
I snivel, his face blurring past my tears, and he smiles sadly, kissing each of my cheeks before he settles on my mouth, sharing my salty tears. My lips quiver against his as I fall into the soft, slow pace of his kiss, clinging to his wrists like the lifeline he is.
“Ready?” he murmurs, taking his adoring mouth away from me way too soon.
I nod, burying my face in his chest and letting the last of my sobs leave me as he holds me.
“Come on.” He tucks me into his side and walks me to the bar, pulling my coat off the stool and holding it up for me to slip my arms in, before he collects my bag and slips the snow globe and calendar inside. He places a twenty on the bar, just as Julio reappears, nodding his approval. “Merry Christmas, you two.”
Dec nods, short and sharp, and I smile as I’m led out of the bar.
To go home.
April opens the door before we make it there, the relief on her face to see me with Dec appreciated more than she’ll ever know. “He’s still out for the count,” she says, as Dec drags my coat off my shoulders and hangs it. A tray of champagne glasses is on the console table, each glass still fizzing, recently poured. April slides it off and offers me one.
“Christ, April,” Dec murmurs, and she shrugs.
“Take one,” she orders me. “Blaine!”
He appears from the kitchen with a roll of wrapping paper and various bits of sticky tape lining his bare forearm. “You made it,” he says, joining us and taking a flute. Dec rolls his eyes as April puts one in his hand, then mine, and takes one for herself.
“To you two,” she says, chinking each of our glasses. “We’ll leave you alone, but if you’re peckish, I’ve prepared a sharing board. Cheeses, meats, pickles, nothing too fancy.” She gives me an excited smile and hauls me in for a fierce hug, forcing me to lift my glass to avoid spilling it.
“April,” Dec breathes. “Too much.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” She releases me and grabs her husband, dragging him back into the kitchen. “How many left?” she asks.