The Christmas Pact by Vi Keeland

Kennedy

Trying to keep my focus on work lately was a bitch. This manuscript wasn’t going to edit itself. Yet as much as I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about Riley—the way she whimpered into my mouth when we kissed, the way her skin felt when I was massaging her back. How happy she seemed when she looked up at me from that chair in the middle of the dance floor—the moment right before I freaked out. It was like the Happy Police came and hijacked my brain. Our time together had been amazing before that. And now, the more I tried to block thoughts of Riley from my mind, the more I thought about her. It was messed up.

“Riley!”

My stomach dropped because I thought someone was calling her name. But it was my co-worker, Alexander, approaching my office.

Every time someone would refer to me by my last name, it was jarring. My head would turn toward the sound because I’d convince myself that she had walked into the room. It wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility, given that we worked for different arms of the same company.

Swiveling my chair around, I said, “What’s up?” The adrenaline was still pumping through me from hearing that name.

“We’re heading out to lunch. Wanna come with?”

“Nah. I’m just gonna eat at my desk. Thanks.”

Translation: I don’t feel like talking to anyone and would rather sit here and lament over the fact that I’d acted like a coward and driven away the best thing that had ever happened to me.

“You alright? You seem a little out of it.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Catch you later, man.”

When he walked away, I tapped my pen in frustration as I continued to ruminate over whether I’d done the right thing in pushing her away. I seriously felt like I’d done her a favor. That didn’t stop me from missing her. Or from wanting to contact her, which would’ve been a selfish decision considering how terrible I am at relationships. Riley was the kind of girl you didn’t just mess around with. Still, not one day went by when I didn’t have to stop myself from texting her to ask how she was doing. But each time I pulled up her contact info, I’d nix the idea, telling myself that keeping things the way they were was for the best.

Later that afternoon, I was just about to shut down for the day when I saw an email pop up into my inbox. I recognized the name. It was that advice person that Riley used to email. Crap. What the heck? She was still writing in to that column? That had to mean she was upset or sad about something. But more than that, why the hell were they still sending the responses to the wrong address? Great. I’d be forced to have to interact with her in order to forward the message. Or maybe this time I’d just tell them—not so nicely—that they sent it to the wrong person again and let them do it.

So I ignored it for a while, through two cups of coffee, a conference call, and three chapters of a manuscript I’d been editing.

Finally, I pushed back from my desk and tugged at my hair with both hands. Fuck this. Curiosity got the best of me and, yeah, I clicked on the email. I soon learned that the intended recipient wasn’t Riley at all—it was me.

Dear Fool,

First off, let me preface this by saying that my ass would be on the line if Ida knew about this breach of confidentiality. But seeing as you’re the entire reason for my having to write this email response in the first place, you already know what this is about—what you did. Or what you didn’t do. Take your pick. My point is, none of this will be news to you.

It’s a shame. This actually could have been a damn cute story. Two people meet because their emails got crossed, they fall in love—yada yada. Things were going great with her until you screwed up. Seriously? Why do men always have to go and ruin a good thing with their asinine behavior?

Thankfully, she’s smart enough to suspect that maybe the fact that you ghosted her has to do with your own fear of getting hurt. I’m proud of that insecure little wench for actually not rushing to blame herself. She’s growing. Which is more than I can say for you.

And if what she suspects is true—that you’re afraid of getting hurt—to you, I say: “Grow some balls!”

She’s expecting a response from me. I want you to know that my answer will be: “Move on.” That’s right. She wrote to me again and asked me if she should contact you, and I’m fully prepared to tell her: “Hell no.” She shouldn’t have to chase after your ass when YOU screwed up.

So, here’s the deal, Kennedy Riley or whatever your name is, I’ll be pressing send on that reply to her in one week. You have that long to find yourself a white horse, make your entrance, and get the girl. Oh, and send me a photo. I’m not kidding, either. Otherwise, I’m telling her to forget about your sorry ass. Then I’m suggesting she bone the next man with a pulse who makes eye contact with her. What’s it going to be?

Man up, Kennedy. You know what to do.

Giddy-up!

Soraya Morgan

(Remember, pictures or it didn’t happen. I’ve got that finger on the send button, ready to go.)

What the fresh hell? My mind was racing. So much to process here. But my first question was: Horse? What is she talking about?

Even though I felt badly about looking at Riley’s email to Dear Ida, seeing as though it apparently had to do with me, I needed to read it. My eyes scrolled down farther on the page to check out the forwarded message from Riley that Soraya had so kindly included.

I’d gone over Riley’s words too many times to count. I’d known I’d screwed up, but hearing it from someone else made it impossible to deny. Riley was walking around believing I wasn’t really into her when she was all I could think about.

I made her heart go pitter patter?Well, shit. I didn’t know whether to pat myself on the back or kick myself in my own ass for ruining a good thing.

And on top of my confusion and, yeah, guilt, now I was being threatened by a faceless advice columnist who was determined to lead Riley in a questionable direction if I did nothing. Riley actually listened to what this nutjob had to say. What if Riley did something rash, put herself out there in a way that wasn’t responsible, gave herself to a guy who would never truly appreciate the woman she was…just to spite me?

Now I was not only conflicted—I was jealous as hell.

I moped around all weekend, unsure of how to fix what I’d so royally messed up. I hadn’t answered my phone, or taken a shower, or left the house.

Sunday afternoon, my mom texted to let me know she’d sent me an email she thought I might like. Though I seriously doubted anything could make me feel better, I grabbed my laptop and signed on to my Gmail. Underneath a half-dozen spammy advertisements, there was the message from Mom, with an attachment. I clicked. Her message read:

Before your father and I got married, he told me he knew I loved him long before I ever said the words aloud. He said I had ‘the look of love’. I always thought he was crazy. Until I watched this footage the videographer captured at the wedding reception. Your father was right after all. Sometimes the person in love is the last to know he’s already fallen.

Clicking on the attachment, I sank into the couch as a scene from my brother and Felicity’s wedding reception began to play on my screen. The camera panned around the room and then focused in on Mom and Riley egging each other on out on the dance floor. Riley put her hands on her hips and gyrated in a little circular motion that had me leaning in to get a closer look. My mom watched and attempted to replicate the move, only Mom’s hips didn’t move like Riley’s—thank God for that. The two of them started laughing and held onto each other as they bent over in a fit of giggles, while simultaneously trying to keep up with the others line dancing. They crashed into a few people, and that only made them laugh more. It was funny stuff, and showed a lot of Riley’s true personality. I had a smile on my face while watching it—the first one in days. But I wasn’t exactly sure how footage of the two of them dancing pertained to Mom’s cryptic message.

Then the camera turned. It scanned the room and stopped when it landed on me. I’d had no idea anyone was paying attention to me—much less recording the moment.

The camera zoomed in, and I watched myself watching Riley. Apparently, I was as enraptured with her as the cameraman was with me. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, I stared off at the dance floor. My lips were parted, and every few seconds a little smile would tug at the corners. I followed her every move like she was the only person in the room. Hell, it looked like I had no idea anyone else in the universe existed. Eventually the song ended, and the video clip Mom sent did, too.

I sighed and thought about the last sentence of her message.

Sometimes the person in love is the last to know he’s already fallen.

I didn’t love Riley…did I?

I hadn’t even known her that long. And I was pretty sure that she hadn’t been able to stand me for at least half the time we had spent together.

But…

I couldn’t eat.

I couldn’t sleep.

I couldn’t think of anything but her.

Not to mention, my heart rate skyrocketed every time an email pinged at work—thinking maybe, just maybe, it might have been her.

Starting to sweat, I ran a shaky hand through my hair and blew out a rush of hot air from my lungs.

It didn’t make any sense.

I couldn’t love her after knowing her for such a short time. Could I?

There had to be something else going on with me.

I felt overheated, like maybe I had a fever. And a bit lightheaded while I considered all the other possibilities. Eventually, I settled on the answer that seemed to make the most sense—the one I could accept.

I must be sick.

I ventured out of the house long enough to stock up on cold medicines, Tylenol, Vitamin C, D, and E, plus a multivitamin and some antacids. Something had to alleviate the way I was feeling, loosen the aching tightness in my chest.

“Not feeling well, huh?” the guy in a white lab coat at the pharmacy commented as he rung me up.

“Yeah. Must be a bug or something.”

He nodded. “It’s going around.”

I knew it!

His eyes pointed toward the glass window to the left of us. “Better bundle up. Flurries just started.”

It looked like someone had shaken a snow globe while I was inside. I paid and shoved the plastic bag inside my wool coat, before buttoning and pulling the collar up to cover my neck. Even though it was snowing, I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I’d been cooped up for a day and a half already, so I just started walking.

An hour later, my navy peacoat was almost fully white with a layer of snow. I found myself a few blocks away from where Riley had said she lived. I had no intention of dropping by, but I started to walk toward her apartment anyway. When I arrived across the street from her building, I realized I didn’t even know which apartment was hers. She could live on the first or twelfth floor for all I knew. I started to survey each of the windows to the individual apartments.

A few had Christmas lights around the window frame; one had a menorah. Some Scrooges had a whole lot of nothing going on and just kept their blinds closed. But one apartment on the left side of the third floor caught my attention. It looked like someone threw up Christmas all over it. There were blinking lights lining the edge of the window, a decorated tabletop Christmas tree was centered in the middle, and garland draped on the outside below the sill.

I smiled, certain it was her apartment for some reason. She’d bitched about her mother overdoing it, yet it would be just like her to find her own way to honor her father’s love of Christmas by doing the exact same thing. I’d bet she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

I stood across the street looking at that window for a while, enjoying the view and the possibility that she might be inside. Eventually, I shook my head, laughing quietly at myself. It was time to leave. I definitely didn’t want to have Riley look outside and see me. She’d think I was stalking her. Though that was, apparently, exactly what I was doing, I just didn’t want her to think that.

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave just yet. So instead, I walked to a coffee shop on the corner, a few buildings away from Riley’s. Shaking off as much snow as I could, I went inside and asked for the table next to the window. My fingers were probably starting to get frostbite anyway, so it made sense to warm up before beginning the long trip home. After all, I was already sick—I shouldn’t make it worse.

I ordered a cappuccino and settled into a chair that gave me a straight view of Riley’s building. I’ll just warm up and then get going. I really wasn’t stalking.

Yet an hour and a half and two more cappuccinos later, I was still staring at her building. Nothing much had happened either. My hands and face had warmed up, a few people had come and gone from her building, but no sign of Riley.

This is ridiculous.

I sighed and waved the waitress over to pay my bill. She deserved a decent tip, since I’d taken up her table for so long. So I plucked a few bills from my wallet and tossed them on the table, before standing to put my coat back on. I took one last look at Riley’s apartment building, and just as I did, the window I thought might be hers went dark.

I froze. Maybe she was going to bed early.

Or maybe that wasn’t even her damn apartment.

Or maybe she was going out…and moving on.

I waited a few minutes and nothing else happened, so I shrugged and decided to finally head home.

But as I opened the door to the coffee shop, I froze mid-step. Riley was coming out of her building.

And she wasn’t alone.