“I’m not upset.” I force a smile, marveling over the fact that it’s painful to stand so close to him without touching. How did that happen so fast? “I’m fine.”
He scrutinizes me in silence. “I know I probably ruined this thing between us last night,” he says for my ears alone. And for the first time, I notice the black, U-shaped shadows beneath his eyes. “Believe me, I’ve been thinking about it non-stop, Stella. Going back and forth between kicking myself and being sure I did the right thing, wanting better for you than secrecy and lies.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Maybe you just think I’m a self-righteous jackass now. I don’t know. But you can talk to me.”
I want to. Badly. I want to bury my face in his peppermint-scented neck and let it all pour out. He’d probably have really good advice, too, even if he’s definitely never had a friend get released from prison or experienced the conflicting emotions that come along with it. Aiden has done enough for me, though. I need to start doing for myself. Speaking of boundaries, I’m his employee. I’m only his employee. He established that the hard way last night and I respect him for it. So I need to swallow my feelings for him and start acting like a professional. Someone he hired to do a job.
“Thank you. Really. But I’m fine.” I start to move past him, holding my breath so I don’t get a catastrophic whiff of his after shave. “I have a lot of work to do.”
“Stella, wait.” God, he looks miserable. All he wants to do is the right thing, but I am definitely the wrong thing. He just needs a little time and breathing room to realize it. I assume he’s going to assure me again that he can still be my confidant, but instead he offers me one of the envelopes from his jacket pocket. “Christmas party invitation,” he says in a gravelly tone. “Sorry for the short notice. It took us a while to find a venue. Our usual place never reopened after last year. It’s this Friday night—Christmas Eve. Kind of a tradition to close the store early and celebrate a successful season.” His chest rises and falls. “If you don’t have plans.”
Finding it hard to keep eye contact with Aiden when he’s radiating so much intensity, I open the envelope, scanning the scripted invite for a location.
The High Line Hotel.
I’ve never been there, but something tells me it’s ritzy.
What would I wear? Nothing I own, that’s for sure. I don’t have a single thing that will be suitable for a place that warrants a scripted invitation. There’s almost no chance I can go. But I also can’t bring myself to lie about already having plans. Not to this man. I’m already lying to him about being fine. “I will try my best to be there,” I say, still looking down at the invite. “Oh. It says to bring a plus one.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he says in a rocky voice, drawing the rapt attention of the smoking sales girl who is passing by, on her way back to the main floor. “I don’t have any right to ask you that. I’m not ready to let go of the belief that you’re mine yet. Whether it was ever true or not.” He exhales, as if impatient with himself. “Just come alone. For my sanity, please.”
Somehow I want to laugh and cry at the same time. “Aiden…”
“I should pass these out and get back to work before I embarrass myself.” He swallows, his eyes running a lap around my face. “Have a good day, Stella.”
He’s gone before I can respond and I know it’s for the best to walk away. Just walk. And with a squaring of my shoulders, I do. But I can’t help but glance backwards as I leave the merchandise room and I find Aiden watching me go with his heart in his eyes. As for my heart, it stays locked inside my throat for the rest of the day.
12
Stella
It’s the Monday before Christmas—the last week to shop before the big day.
I’m sitting cross-legged in the window box eating a ham sandwich from the deli, the glass no longer able to muffle the increasing din of humanity crowding the sidewalks outside. The exclamations as they pass my red dress window make me smile into a bite, but it fades pretty fast when I remember the morning of the unveiling. Aiden’s face when he saw it. The way we touched in the backseat of his car, pulling and pushing at each other like we didn’t know what to do with all of the gravity between us.
Avoiding each other turned out to be the only solution. I haven’t seen him since Saturday morning when he gave me the Christmas party invitation. Although, when I unlock the window box every morning and step inside, I swear the scent of peppermint is lingering in the air. Then again, that might just be wishful thinking on my part. I mean, come on. It’s not like he’s coming in here and pining for me before the store opens.