Never Sleigh Never (Man of the Month Club: Christmas Novella)

12. Thomas

Thomas

T he twinkling lights strung crisscross above Main Street blur as I force my way through the bustling crowd toward Phillip at the photo booth. My boots crunch on the light dusting of biodegradable fake snow Cara insisted we sprinkle along the sidewalks, but the sound does nothing to drown out the voice in my head telling me I’m a fool.

It’s been a week from hell ever since Monday morning when I discovered the truth and my heart was shattered. But it’s my own fault. I’m the one who didn’t pick up on the fact I was the rebound. I’m the clueless oaf who believed Cara’s interest in me—a man nothing like the guy that dumped her—was sincere when clearly it was a cut and dry case of getting over one man by getting under another.

The realization was like a sucker punch to the gut. But I deserved every ounce of pain it delivered. After all, I was the one who fell for the girl who’d never go for the likes of me. And so, here I am, sucking it up and putting on a good face to fulfill my vow to support the festival.

Thanks to the way so many folks from town have pitched in, the event is going smoothly. There aren’t any fires for me to put out, which I should be grateful for, I suppose, but the deluge of holiday cheer I deflect as I lurch down Main Street isn’t helping my mood one bit. In fact, my guys helping out at the craft booth tonight shooed away my grumpy ass, which isn’t surprising considering the way I’ve been stomping around the store all week.

I touched base with Cara earlier, and seeing her up close, rather than the glimpses I’ve caught through the blinds over the past few days, only made things worse. She looks flawless, her emerald eyes sparkling and her pale blue sweater hugging her curves in all the right places.

She tried to apologize again, to bring up what happened, but I cut her off. It’s too late. There’s no reason to rehash the conversation. We were both there the first time. We both heard exactly what she said. We both know she meant it.

The scent of peppermint lingered in the air long after she headed off, and the way she moved through the crowd, with such grace and confidence, only confirmed something I already knew deep in my bones. I’d served as a way for her to blow off steam, nothing more, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant showing her how amazing of a woman she is.

I finally weave my way to the photo booth, my hands shoved deep in my pockets as I skirt the long line. Mia, Phillip’s daughter, is holding the Polaroid camera as a young couple poses in front of the snowy winter wonderland backdrop Cara and I painstakingly created together. The memory of working side by side with her, the easy banter and stolen glances, makes my chest ache.

“Hey there, Mia,” I say, forcing a smile. “Your dad around?”

She points toward the far side of the booth, and I nod my thanks, ruffling her hair as I pass. Sure enough, Phillip is there, organizing the props Cara insisted would make the photo booth a hit. Based on the line that winds down the street, I’d say she was right. Not that I’m surprised.

“Need a hand?” I ask, grateful for any distraction as he wrangles the table full of snowflake-shaped frames, fuzzy earmuffs and mittens, Naughty and Nice signs, and fill-in-the-blank whiteboards that say, All I want for Christmas is… into some semblance of organized chaos.

Phillip looks up, surprise flickering across his face. “Don’t you have other, more important, festival co-chair responsibilities to be taking care of?”

I grunt, leaning against the booth’s frame. “Co-chair my ass. I just provided the muscle.”

My friend studies me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Things still not fixed between you two?”

The knot in my stomach tightens. I’m not one for heart-to-hearts, especially with my longtime friend. When he fell for Gabby, the feeling between them was mutual. Nothing like the one-sided emotions I have for Cara. I take a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs, and blow it out slowly.

“What’s to fix?” I ask, the question feeling like gravel in my throat. “Things were over between us before they’d even begun.”

Phillip’s eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a low whistle. “You’re in deeper than I thought.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Hey,” he snaps, glancing around. “Watch your language. There are kids here.”

“You’re right,” I reply, immediately regretting my outburst. “I’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Wound a little tight.”

“I…” I start, thinking back to the soft vulnerability in Cara’s eyes that night at her house when she looked at me as if I were someone she had actual feelings for. But then her words on the street, overheard just days ago, come roaring back, and I shake my head, pushing aside the memory.

“Doesn’t matter now,” I mutter, tossing some fake snowballs back into a basket on the table. “Cara made it clear where she stands.”

Phillip chuckles, the sound unexpected. “You know, when Gabby first came to town, I couldn’t wait to send her packing. I thought she was nothing more than a rich princess from the city, and she thought I was a stubborn, grumpy local standing in her way. And you know what? We both had it all wrong.”

I frown, not following. “And your point is?”

“Things aren’t always what they seem. Feelings can be messy, especially when people are total opposites. Or when there’s an ex…or a suitor involved. Hell, you remember how Gabby was only down here because she was trying to impress that billionaire her father wanted to set her up with, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And look how that turned out.”

The implication hangs in the air between us, but I scoff and lift my cap to run a hand through my hair. “You weren’t a rebound she slept with when she’d sworn off men.”

“No, but…” he says, with a shrug. “Do you think Cara’s really the type to sleep with a man when she doesn’t have feelings for him?”

I don’t bother to answer. We both know what I’d say as much as I hate to admit it.

“You need to be honest with yourself, man,” Phillip presses. “And with her.”

I nearly crush the prop mug in my hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He levels his gaze at me. “If you really care about Cara, you won’t let some jackass ex, or some vow she obviously broke for a good reason, get in the way. You’ll tell her how you feel, regardless of the outcome.”

Phillip’s advice hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest, and something about it feels right. As if he might know what the hell he’s talking about for once.

“You think?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Phillip claps me on the shoulder, a knowing smile on his face. “I do. You owe it to yourself—and her—to tell her how you really feel.”

My gaze drops to the table, landing on one of the fill-in-the-blank whiteboards that reads: All I want for Christmas is…

Before I can second-guess myself, I set down the mug and grab a marker from the nearby bucket to complete the wish with the honest truth: All I want for Christmas is for Cara Livingston not to swear off men . But as I finish, I hesitate, then cross out the ‘n’ in men. My heart pounds as I look at the revised message: All I want for Christmas is for Cara Livingston not to swear off me .

Suddenly, Phillip tenses beside me. “Heads up,” he mutters, tugging me behind the backdrop. “Our women are heading this way.”

“She’s not my woman…yet,” I growl as we duck behind the wintery scene, my pulse racing with a fierce determination I haven’t felt all week. Through the fabric, I can hear the women’s voices grow louder.

“Give it a minute,” he whispers, laying a hand on my arm as if he can sense my impatience, now that my mind is made up and Cara’s only inches away.

“Do you think this will work?” Cara asks, her voice soft with uncertainty.

There’s a rustling sound then Gabby’s excited squeal as she claps her hands together. “If it doesn’t, then I don’t know what would.”