I didn’t have an answer for that because Lina didn’t even know the whole story. Unless Rosie had told her, which I doubted. She’d never do that, I fully trusted her. I—
“Rosie…” She trailed off, as if hesitating whether she should say. “She’ll kill me if she finds out I told you but… she wrote you a goddamn book.”
The ground under my feet shook again.
“She what?”
“Her book. I’d read her first one, obviously. And it was good. She’s—”
“I know,” I rasped. I’d read it, too. I had it memorized by now.
“But this one? This one story you somehow inspired with your little experiment?” A pause, and I felt the thrumming of my heart in my temples, banging in my ears. “Jesus, that freaking book punched the air straight out of my chest. I don’t remember ever smiling that big, crying that bad, or clutching my chest that hard. And I…”
Lina trailed off again, leaving that unfinished.
“And what?” I breathed out.
“I could see you in those pages, Lucas. It was you. I have no idea how she did it, how she turned something great into something breathtakingly beautiful, but she did. And it’s like a goddamn love letter. To you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Rosie
Once upon a time I loved Christmas.
As a kid, I’d lived for this time of the year. It had nothing to do with the gifts or the never-ending supply of sweets. It had always been about the magic. The love.
It was suspended in the air, like pixie dust, sprinkled on top of everything and everyone, making the world look a little brighter. A lot better.
I thought I’d grow out of it at some point in my life, probably in middle school. It was only natural to stop being as excited for things like putting up the tree or getting your old Santa jammies out of the closet. I thought that I’d become a little more irritated by the snow blanketing the city or the harrowing quest to find gifts for everyone. But that never really happened.
My love for Christmas never faded.
Until this year.
For the first time in my life, the season had knocked on my door and I couldn’t have cared less.
I didn’t put up a tree. I left those red and green pajamas in the drawer. I finally saw the snow for what it was—a muddy and gray mess. And I hadn’t bought gifts for anyone.
I had even been tempted to pack my things and leave for somewhere far, far away. Somewhere where they didn’t celebrate Christmas.
Yes. Against all odds, I’d turned into the Grinch. My chest, once filled with fuzzy feelings, was nothing more than an open pit now. And the worst part? It wasn’t even bitterness. It wasn’t anger or frustration; it was hopelessness. The joke was on me, I guessed, because I couldn’t even become the grouchy, irritable Grinch. Instead, I had to be a sad, heartsick version of it.
Just like I’d figured out that day I showed up at my dad’s from the airport, for the first time in my life I had had my heart broken. Truly broken. And that took time to… deal with, to learn how to live with the notion of missing a future I’d barely had any time to imagine. To learn how to live missing him.
Because I missed Lucas.
I missed being in love with the idea of love, too.
Because now, I was an engineer turned romance writer who barely survived the most magical and romantic time of the year.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
And yet, I somehow managed to go through Christmas without a breakdown, only leaving the apartment twice—on Thanksgiving and Christmas Day—just to pretend that I was doing fine, that I was kind of okay. And eventually, my inner Grinch and I watched everyone take their trees down and sighed in relief thinking, Well, fucking finally.
And without really knowing how, I miscalculated and ended up faced with everything I had tried so hard to avoid.
New Year’s Eve.
New Year’s freaking Eve.
So here I was, in the middle of the fanciest party my best friend had managed to find, clad in a cocktail dress and a pair of high heels she had picked out for me. Holding a flute glass that she had placed in my hand. And trying and failing to smile at all these people drunk with hope and new resolutions.
“More champagne, Rosie?”
“Sure,” I absentmindedly answered, nodding my head. “I might as well drown it.”
Lina snickered. “Drown what?”
Sad Grinch Rosie. “Nothing.” She refilled my glass, and I noticed the bottle in her hand. “Where did you get that bottle from?”
“Contacts.” She smiled, pouring golden liquid until it reached the brim. “Now drink up.”