Chapter 7

She imagined herself snapping her fingers and getting one wish, like a heroine in a black and white movie. So many outcomes she could choose from.

And if she looked at wishes from a lifetime standpoint, the biggest one would be that he'd never done what he'd done that Christmas Eve.

Or, as she sidled a glance at him standing there all determined and self-righteous, that she'd known who the hell he really was before she'd allowed her heart to pair with his.

Who knew unpairing a heart would be so damn bloody?

"I put the thermostat up," Eli grumbled, squinting at the errant knob on the patchy wall. "I don't think it made any difference at all. I’ll check the settings in the basement, see if that does something."

His voice brushed over her, and she jolted. She strode to the back window in the kitchen, shifted the raggedy old curtain just a touch with her finger, and peered outside for a few minutes. Anything to get away from him. Heard the basement door squeak. He must have gone down to see about that furnace.

For a man who made no difference to her now, to whom she wasn't attracted to at all—it was odd how her reactions were so...extreme.

She sighed, and the effort it took to inhale and then exhale, felt like too much. She just had to handle the situation as best she could until the party across the street burned itself out.

Joy. She could practically hear the angels sing.

You'd think the one time she really wanted him to stay, he would have stayed? Or...the one time she really wanted him to go—he'd oblige and go?

But no. Whatever she happened to want at the moment was apparently what he wasn't going to do.

A light weight settled suddenly around her shoulders, and she glanced up abruptly. Eli's face at close range. Not looking at her particularly, just there. Arranging his big jacket over her winter coat, tucking it around her for added warmth.

She furrowed her brows. He was checking in on her, just in that short absence from each other.

He stepped away then rubbed his arms, started slapping them again. Stomped heavily around the room. Lost in thought.

She cleared her throat emphatically. "You seem a might cold."

A look of surprise, and a light grin laced his expression. "Occupational hazard."

She snorted. "And what occupation would that be?"

He started to speak, then stopped abruptly.

"Oh, no you don't. What occupation?"

"I could say knight on a white charger, but I think your assessment would be different." And he grinned, full out. "You know?"

"Oh yeah?" She didn't want to ask the question, but a little spark of fun ignited, even as it intermingled with a smattering of irritation at him goading her, getting her to play.

How had he gotten her to do that? When she didn’t want to have anything to do with him?

She huffed. Were the so-called angels that were present everywhere on this ‘sainted’ eve meddling?

Or...she thought…the devil. More like the devil. The devil was surely here with them this Christmas Eve, wasn't he?

If there was ever any bastardization of Christmas and anything leading up to it, this scene was it.

She tossed a look at him. “What do you think my assessment would be?"

He waited a beat. "Doofus."

And his grin spread. She wouldn't say there was a twinkle in his eye, but he was a bit less strained.

A speck of warmth touched her.

Things going from constricted to relaxed—she could sure use more of that in her life. Normally, in the past, he'd tease and cajole her at this point, press his advantage. But he just got quiet. New thing.

Seemed it was her chance to monitor and check on him.

He looked wan. She'd heard people talk about "a shell of a man" in past but hell, part of that actually applied to how he looked right now. Not completely, but some.

Of course, if you'd never known the man, you'd never know that.

But she'd known the man at his best.

A bit of unease began to trickle through her.

"Here. Have your jacket back." She moved abruptly toward him, and his jacket fell from her to the hardwood, sliding off the silky fabric of her coat. She scooped it up, and it felt...light. Not like it would produce much warmth.

He looked hungry, too. Hadn't he said something about food before?

"Where were you en route to before?"

Suddenly, she wanted to know, and it mattered somehow. Though it came out as a demand, even she knew that.

She didn't care. Niceties be damned.

This was the devil's own Christmas Eve, remember?

Ha! Maybe she could give herself the Christmas present of killing him.

But he wasn’t answering her. ”Well?"

He'd been watching her, but looked away now, didn’t meet her eyes. "Just something I had to do tonight."

“Did you get it done?” She looked at him. "Maybe you should do it."

"No." He shook his head. "It's fine. I'll figure something out.”

“But if you…”

“There's no way in hell I'm leaving, Tish. You may as well get used to that."

Irritation sparked through her, but curiously, she saw something else too. It was the first time his face had looked like the old Eli.

Someone who had a mission, and that mission was taking care of her.

And suddenly, things seemed so normal, so right, abruptly. Like a favorite suit of clothes she hadn’t had on for three years that she’d just slid back into easily.

But no. No, she couldn't go there. Nuh-uh.

And now he'd gone back to looking like a vague reflection of who he'd been. Sure, he walked and talked, smiled and joked like a human.

But something was missing.

"The kitchen."

He pulled back, wrinkled his brow. "Huh?"

But she'd already gone past him into the old kitchen and tossed his coat onto the peg that was still there, jutting out of the wall, as it had been three years ago. "This way."