By the time I got home fifteen minutes later, I felt both relieved and slightly let down, which I realized was totally unfair. I should be glad he hadn’t tried anything, right? The whole point of going over there had been to reassure him we were still friends while firmly establishing the safe boundaries of that relationship.

We couldn’t kiss again. We couldn’t touch each other. I wasn’t allowed to wear the red dress, and he wasn’t allowed to call me beautiful. If we stayed inside those lines, eventually the burgeoning desire we felt for one another would ease up, right?

Of course it would. It had to. Last night had just been emotional for both of us—our first Christmas Eve alone—and we’d sought solace in each other.

But I had to admit there was a part of me that had been hoping we’d take one look at each other today and pick up right where we’d left off last night. It would have been reckless and wrong and irresponsible, but that little part of me was definitely alive and feisty and kicking at its cage.

After all this time, it would have felt good to set it free.

8. Henry

Eight

Henry

I shut the door behind Sylvia and went back to the couch, where I’d been lying around feeling sorry for myself one minute and hating myself the next.

I still couldn’t believe what I’d done last night.

Actually, that’s not true—I could totally believe it. I’d been thinking about kissing her since she walked into the winery the other night. But how had I lost control that way? Was I a fucking animal?

Maybe I could blame Santa. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been there so late at night, I wouldn’t have fantasized about being married to her, I wouldn’t have given in to that compulsion to know what it felt like to touch her, to pretend she was mine just for a moment.

But she wasn’t mine—that was as much a fantasy as Kris Kringle.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I tried to decide if I felt better or worse now that she’d been here. Better, I guessed. It was nice to hear that not only was she not angry, she’d actually enjoyed that kiss. I’d made her feel sexy and beautiful, which—unbelievably—no one had made her feel in a long time.

But I felt frustrated too. I wanted more, and I couldn’t have it.