Christmas at Fox Ridge

18. Eira

Chapter eighteen

Eira

December 26

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

I throw my arms around his neck, kissing him until I lose myself. My fingers raking up the back of his skull, the pull of his hands finding their home on my hips.

Half-Pint circles my ankles, and I bend down to gingerly scoop her up. There’s one final nail drag over my knuckles—a gift to remember her by. Risking another injury, I give her a quick peck on the head, weaving out of the way as she turns to bite me.

“Bye, baby. I hope you find a family who loves you as much as I do.” Saliva binds up in my throat, aching and burning on the way down with a series of hard swallows. I crinkle my nose, staring down her tiny face, reminding myself of her copper eyes and the few random white whiskers like tiger stripes on her inky face.

Turning to look at Lucas, I ask, “You’ll take her to the rescue when they open after the holidays, right?”

My eyebrows narrow as I wait for his answer. I'm half expecting him to bring her right back to the stables we found her at the moment I pull out of the driveway.

“Promised I would, didn’t I?” He moves like he’s going to pet her, but thinks better of it when she flashes a look in his direction.

With a loud exhale, I set Half-Pint at my feet. “I guess I should go.”

Thinking about waking up alone tomorrow, slipping into my uncomfortable office attire and riding the train to a high-rise building so I can sit at a desk all day makes my stomach twist.

“Long drive ahead of you,” he says with a nod. “You’ll call me when you get there?”

“Promised I would, didn’t I?” My chin trembles.

For another few seconds, we both stand in silence, rolling our lips and gnawing on our cheeks. Emotion clings to every gently falling snowflake in the air, and neither of us wants to be the one to pull the trigger—say the official goodbye.

“So… um…” I try to clear the words lodged in my throat with a small cough into my sleeve.

“Should we just go put your stuff back upstairs?” Lucas tilts his head toward the staircase.

God, he’s only making it harder to refrain from calling my boss and lying about a dead grandma, or car accident, or illness that’ll keep me from work for another week.

Shaking my head with tears brimming my eyes, I say, “I’ll call you when I get home.”

“And I’ll figure something out to come visit you soon.”

I don’t know that he will. Of course, I’d love it if there was a logical way we could make things work between us, but that four-hour drive may as well be forty. I’ve pieced together enough between our conversations, Holly’s comments about his stress-level, and the fact he’s renting out a cabin seemingly against his will—he’s probably one missed pay cheque away from losing the things that mean everything to him. I can’t, in good conscience, ask him to spend time and money he doesn’t have.

But I also can’t bring myself to tell him that his words are bullshit.

“I’d love that.” I press up onto tiptoes, holding his scruffy face in my hands and kissing him. “Bye, Lucas.”

One long, deep, peppermint toothpaste-flavoured kiss later, he murmurs against my lips, “See you later, Doodlebug.”