The Christmas Cookie Crush (Arcadian Falls Christmas #4)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Nora

Austin’s arms around me make me feel immensely better and infinitely worse. Because it’s clear that Dylan’s right in his assessment of the situation. Austin has strong feelings for me. Yes, we’ve only known each other a short time—because the time we knew each other as kids doesn’t really count in my opinion—but that amount of time is long enough for him to get very firmly attached.

And truthfully, it’s not one-sided. I feel as strongly about him as he seems to feel about me.

The thing is, if Dylan’s right about that, what else is he right about? He has experience with long-distance relationships. I saw him and Lydia together last Christmas. Even if he irritates the shit out of me, I know he was falling in love with her before he had to go back to school.

As much as I want to believe that I’ve changed, that I’m different, how true is that really? Yeah, I’ve done a good job as Lead Elf this year, but so what? Is that enough to believe I’d be a good girlfriend? Or more? Is the short time I’ve been dating Austin really enough to change my whole life plan?

When we’re together like this, I want to believe the answer is yes. I love spending time with him. I love the way he touches me, how caring and considerate he is. Even this, when he’s ready to face off with my dick brother because Dylan upset me only makes me like him more, especially because his first priority is making me feel better, not ranting about how he’s going to tell Dylan he’s an ass or whatever.

I dated a guy like that once after ending a particularly terrible relationship. When we were talking about past relationships a month or two in, I mentioned some of the dick moves my ex had pulled, and the guy I was dating went off about how he wanted to punch him in the throat if he saw him. Which, on the one hand, felt somewhat gratifying that someone would want to defend me like that. But on the other hand, it felt like my experience somehow became more about him and his offended feelings than what I went through.

With Austin, though, he wants to offer me comfort and let me talk about what’s on my mind instead of ranting about his own feelings about me being upset. And it’s so refreshing.

And that makes what I’m about to say so much harder.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say at last, and Austin, who’s been rubbing my arms gently with his fingertips, stills.

“Oh yeah?” he prompts when I don’t continue.

I suck in a deep breath, gently moving away from his embrace, feeling suddenly trapped and stifled instead of comforted, knowing he won’t like what I have to say.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head and plow forward. “I guess I’m just … I’m wondering what your expectations are here.”

He lets out a weak chuckle. “My expectations? What do you mean?”

“I mean with us. Like, where do you see this going? I still have a semester of school left …”

“Right,” he says, the word clipped. “Phones exist, though. Video chats. And Portland isn’t that far away. Plus, your parents live here. You must come home for visits all the time, right?”

I lift one shoulder. “I wouldn’t say all the time. Mostly just the major holidays and summer. Usually, I go with a friend for spring break.”

His fingers drift down my back, and I hunch my shoulders at his touch. He makes a frustrated sound in his throat. “So, what? You’re saying you’d rather hang with a friend for spring break instead of coming back to see me?”

I hunch my shoulders more, wrapping my arms around my knees, wanting to hide from the frustration in his tone. “No. I’m not saying that, exactly.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Straightening, I let out a dejected sigh. “I’m saying I don’t know what should happen. That long-distance relationships are hard, and I don’t know if I can handle that.”

He doesn’t say anything, and neither of us moves, the silence broken by a stray drip falling from the faucet. “I see,” he says at last, his tone quiet and controlled.

I risk a glance over my shoulder to find him staring at me. “Do you?” My voice is so small it sounds like it belongs to someone else.

His jaw clenches, the muscles bulging once, twice, and again before he sucks in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “So, what then? What happens now?”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shake my head, hoping the tears I feel gathering behind my eyes don’t fall. “I don’t know.”

With another irritated grunt, he grips the side of the tub and pulls himself to his feet, water swirling and sloshing around. I watch silently as he climbs out of the tub, grabs a towel, shakes it out of its rolled state, and towels off with quick, jerky movements before wrapping the white terry cloth around his waist.

Arms crossed, he looks at me. “I feel like I should ask you the same question. What was this? What were your expectations?”

With my arms still wrapped around my knees, I shake my head, feeling cold and bereft despite the warmth of the bath. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

He grunts, looking up. “You don’t know,” he repeats softly. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I was hoping for. I was hoping we were building a relationship. Something real. I thought we were on the same page that I don’t do casual, short-term things. I thought—” His mouth hangs open as he seems to grope for words, his eyes scanning the room, but I don’t think he really sees anything. His gaze finally lands on me again. “I thought you might want that too. You said you didn’t have plans after graduation other than the possibility of coming back here. I know you said that wasn’t your top choice, but it seemed like it might be inevitable. And I thought maybe we could build something great together. You told me how you wished you could have ownership in your family’s business, but that you didn’t see that future for you there. And I know it’s early, but I thought if we were together, maybe you could find that ownership in my family’s business. I guess …” He closes his mouth, his lips a firm line, his jaw bulging again. “I guess I was just dreaming, though. Thanks for clearing that up for me.” With that, he turns and strides from the room.

I stay in the bath as the seconds tick by, not sure what to do, listening to him moving around in the room, though I’m not sure what he’s doing. But then I hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper, and that propels me out of the bath.

Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around myself and stand in the doorway, finding him fully dressed and standing over his bag. That must’ve been the zipper I heard. “What are you doing?”

He picks up the bag and strides for the door, stopping to step into his boots and pull on his coat. “I paid for the room already. This was your Christmas present. I want you to enjoy it. But I can’t …” His voice cracks, and he looks down, takes a second, then meets my eyes again, his red and shiny. “I can’t stay. Not when …” He makes a helpless gesture, then bends and picks up his backpack. “Thanks for the present,” he says, voice so hoarse I know he’s barely this side of crying.

“Austin, please …” But I don’t know what I’m asking. Please stay? Please don’t cry? Please don’t hate me?

All of the above I guess.

“Goodbye, Nora,” he whispers. Then he opens the door, and he’s gone.

I stand frozen after the door closes behind him, staring at the wood, my skin growing cold. I’m nearly dry by the time I sink to the floor, wrap my arms around my knees again, and give in to the tears that have been threatening all day.

Eventually I climb into the bed, clutching the pillow he used to my chest, trying to convince myself that it still smells like him, when it really only smells like the resort’s laundry detergent, until I fall into an exhausted sleep.