Clark paused. His blood rushed in his ears. He wasn’t born this way. Statues like him were carved and sculpted and hardened over many years and many miseries. But he’d never told anyone why he hated this stupid holiday, and he wasn’t about to start with Kate Buckner, who’d probably end up feeling sorry for him or kissing him or forcing him to let her into his Fort Knox vault of a heart.

“Some people are just the way they are.”

“I don’t believe that. No one is born lonely.”

He’d given her too much room to breathe. The threat to expose his past, the intrusion into his life… It all added up to an attack he didn’t know if he possessed the armaments to defeat. He could just push her away until she backed down.

“Christmas is a time where everyone spends money they don’t have on people they don’t really care about. Or, in this case, they spend other people’s money on people they don’t really care about.”

“I care about you.”

“What?”

“I mean…” She bit her bottom lip. “I care about everyone.”

No matter what she said, all he heard was, “I care about you.” The revelation plunged him into full-on defensive mode.

“I don’t. I care about my company, my family, and my legacy. I don’t care about Miller’s Point. I don’t care about your stupid festival. I don’t care about Christmas. And I don’t care about you. I said you could stay because I felt bad for you, but now I know…”

She stiffened. She froze. Something snapped behind her liquid-gold eyes. She seemed to consider her options. And then, without reaching for her coat or her scarf or anything belonging to her, really, Kate marched towards the nearest door.

“Where are you going?”

“Why are you even asking? You don’t care.”

The door slammed behind her. Clark knew he should have felt a rush of joy. He’d won. He’d claimed victory over the invading armies of Miller’s Point and their fearless leader. But happiness eluded him. It sprinted in the other direction, leaving him empty. The sustaining belief in goodness she’d carried all through their time together dimmed.

He’d broken Kate Buckner.

He’d been trying to do it all day, but now that he’d succeeded, he felt nothing but disgust.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Kate’s first thought, as it always was when things went horribly, horribly wrong (or, to be completely fair, even slightly wrong) was, “How did I screw this up?” If a stranger’s high heel broke or the set for the Fezziwig mansion got slightly burned by an errant candle fire or no one could agree on how to fairly split a bill at a restaurant, Kate’s immediate reaction always passed go, did not collect two hundred dollars, and zipped straight to self-blame.