Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
At the end of the day, I don’t want him in a cage. I’d rather he was free and happy, even if his future doesn’t include—
The sharp clang of a bell makes me snap my head up, and as the customer on the other side of the counter turns back to also see what this is about, I spot a familiar face in the middle of the shop.
Everything stills, and as Blake lowers a bell he must have borrowed from the Santa charity collector working outside, my heart thumps, accelerating. Last time I saw him, he was wearing formal clothes that showcased his body shape, but with his curls in a mess and a flush on his pale face, he’s somehow even more handsome than I remember.
More confusingly though, I recognize the sweater he’s wearing, and my heart stops pumping altogether.
It’s the one I made. Red, oversized, adorned with crocheted Christmas treats like gift boxes and Santa faces, as well as plastic candy canes. The big white words in the middle spell out Oh what fun!
And Blake is wearing it. In public, not just discreetly bringing it to me in a bag so no one sees what he called the most hideous thing he’s ever seen. I’m not sure what to make of this, but my feet slowly guide me to him like he’s a snowflake I have to catch with my mittens.
Most of the customers haven’t yet gotten the memo that something’s going on, but when the music dies, I can sense all eyes on me and the scared boy with the bell in one hand and a gift-wrapped box in the other.
I can’t believe he’s here. Shouldn’t he be in New York, skating by the Rockefeller Center? Or back at his home, far away from the Christmas cheer he claimed to detest? Instead, he’s at the very center of it, and when I come closer, about to ask him to follow me to the backrooms, he opens his mouth and… sings.
Disbelief makes my stomach drop, but I stay still, meeting his eyes as his voice trembles. He’s an average singer, and the tune he chose is Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’, which always kinda makes me tear up, even though it’s so cheerful. Hearing the words from his mouth, in the odd silence of the store filled with people melts the ice that’s grown around my heart since our parting.
I don’t know what’s changed his mind, or what he’s trying to achieve, but I don’t even wait until he’s done, and approach him in quick strides. He’s still singing the last chorus when I take him in my arms.
The customers don’t know about my plight, but a few still clap and whistle.
The crushing realization of what this might be about, settles on my heart, then squeezes as if it’s barbed wire.
I have to take a deep breath so my voice doesn’t tremble, but I manage to whisper into Blake’s ear. “There’s no need for this, sweetie. You have nothing to fear from me.” Because a normal person like him must have had sleepless nights worrying about the monster who killed his brother. I imagine him terrified that if he doesn’t appease me, I would come after him one day.
I expect him to pull away, happy, if uncomfortable with the situation he’s put himself in, but as the cheers around us die down, he puts the bell away and presents me with a meticulously wrapped gift.
When he confirms that he wants me to open it, I rip into it like I'm a greedy kid. The smell of fruit and cinnamon makes my mouth water.
“I made it myself,” Blake adds quickly. “Because I know how much you love fruitcake… Can we... talk? Please?”
I swallow, looking into those soulful green eyes. “Sure, I—Owen, will you be okay—”
Owen is right by my side with a wide grin and nods. “Of course. I can handle this, easy. Take all the time you need.”
“Let’s go somewhere private, hm?” My face is on fire as I lead him to the stairs so we can get to my apartment. I’m sizzling just thinking about him being at my place again, and I try to ignore all the joyous comments flying my way. It’s too much to handle, and I’m relieved the moment we are out of everyone’s sight. Blake grabs my fingers and lets me lead him to my door, and then inside.
I have so many questions. Why did he choose to come back? Why now? Was the song a way to express his honest feelings, or is this just me reading into things again?
“Fuck. It’s a mess. Sorry,” I grumble and nervously start clearing up the empty pizza boxes, and the stack of used tissues from yesterday's cry-fest. I’m glad I’m presentable because of my work in the shop, or he could have walked in on me in a fleece onesie with stains on it.