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Pajamas. Those flimsy shorts with the slit in the side were not pajamas. She was wearing a garment constructed by the devil, designed specifically to bring men to their knees.
A dream. It was a dream. For the first time in over a century, I had a dream. And I dreamed of Harriet.
“You can’t buy my forgiveness with overpriced holiday drinks.” That’s a lie. My forgiveness can absolutely be bought with overpriced holiday drinks, especially if he remembered to get whipped cream on top.
same
Because not even the people who are supposed to love me can find a way to do it. Because I’m so fucking tired of trying, only to come up short. All the time.
“You’re the first thing in a hundred years to make me feel anything at all, Harriet York, and I don’t think that’s an accident.”
“I could spend an eternity studying you and still not know what you might do next. You give so much of yourself, so freely. You’re . . .wild with your attentions. Miraculous. I’ve seen so many lives, Harriet, but I’ve never seen someone live like you.”
“What a gift that is. To still wish and dream and want. To find the good. To wear it on your sleeve.”
“It feels like a curse. Like I haven’t learned my lesson. Like I’m setting myself up for disappointment.” Like I’m being silly and naive, hoping things might be different. That if I’m as shiny and positive as possible, some of that might rub off on the people around me. That I can fix whatever it is inside of me that makes it so easy for me to be tossed aside. Disregarded.
I’ll forget that for one perfect holiday season, I was important to someone. That someone thought I was lovely.
I think about you all day long. I fall into a sleep I don’t need and I dream of you. Of your smile, and your laugh, and the way your mouth tastes. The sounds you make. I wake up wondering where you are, how you’re feeling, and I hope—” His eyes search mine. “I hope you’re thinking of me. You make me hope, Harriet. You make me want. I am haunted by you.” He slips his hand around my neck, his palm squeezing at my nape. “Do not mistake me for a good man. I am not here out of some misplaced sense of honor or duty. I demand your attention and I desire your affection.”
This is what I thought his magic would feel like. This spark in my chest that flares brighter every time his eyes crinkle at the corners. This tingling in my hands when his nose drifts across my cheek.
“I said she was foolish to have the incredible privilege of being loved by you, only to ignore it in favor of criticism.”
Nolan props himself above me and hooks one finger beneath the tangled, ruined material, a sly smile curving at the edge of his mouth. With a flash of heat, the dress is ribbons against my skin, his magic a tingling aftershock. A single strand loops around my torso, a pretty bow knotted between my bare breasts. “A gift,” Nolan pants. “Just for me.”
“Maybe I was always supposed to find you,” I rasp. Maybe, my heart adds, you were always supposed to be mine.
