I’ve got two exes and six days to go.
The suspicion that’s been lurking since the very beginning of this is feeling increasingly true—that my ex list is more or less due diligence, to make sure I don’t tempt fate by not exploring all my options. I mean, did I really think I’d reunite with a guy I’d barely thought about since high school? Not so much. And Doug? I think maybe I knew he was a douche all along.
The rest? Meh. And that includes Adam, one of the two remaining guys.
It’s the last one that’s giving me sweaty palms.
Colin.
I’ve mentioned him before, but only briefly, and, okay, a little vaguely. The truth? I avoid talking about him. I avoid thinking about him. Because of all the guys, he was, well . . . I thought he was it for me. Sure, we were in college and perhaps too young in the grand scheme of things, but I’d been blindsided when he’d ended it with a gentle yet brutal “This just isn’t working for me.”
I’d also been hurt—crushed.
Colin is that guy, you know? The one that deep down you worry you never got over? The one you wonder, what if?
And yet it’s because he’s the most likely candidate that I haven’t been trying all that hard to find him.
If I’m wrong with the other guys, no big deal.
If I’m wrong with him? I don’t want to go through that kind of pain all over again.
But that’s not even what’s got me all tied up in knots. What’s confusing the crap out of me is that the closer I get to having to face Colin, the more indifferent I seem to be. And that’s even scarier. Because if it’s not Adam the woman was referring to, and it’s not Colin, it means that Mark was right—she was a fraud.
And it means I’ll be all alone—still.
“Blue Christmas” has always been my least favorite Christmas song. And I’m terrified it’ll be what I’m listening to on Christmas morning.
I pull out my phone and, determined to be brave, I text Stephen again, to at least double-check that he’s really, truly out of the running.
It’s semi-tempting to get straight to the point and ask if there’s any chance he’s still so in love with me that he’d brave a blizzard to see me.
Instead, I settle for a snowflake emoji followed by a sad face. That pretty much sums it up.
I’m making a much-needed pot of coffee when my phone buzzes with his response.
Ha, yeah, I sort of wondered when you said you were planning on coming into town with the storm coming. But then, you always were the optimistic sort. Liked that about you.
See, Mark? Some people like that I’m optimistic.
Stephen sends another message. Raincheck for after the holidays? Or should I say . . . snow check?
I smile. He’s cute. Sure, sounds great.
I set my phone aside, thinking that’s the end of that, but it buzzes yet again. This may be awkward, but are you seeing anyone? I’ve just started dating this girl, and weird as I think it sounds, you guys would totally get along. If you’re game for a forward-thinking double date, let me know.
Well, then. Guess that definitively answers the question of whether he’s The One.
I dig around the pile of papers on my counter until I come up with the list, dragging a fat line through his name. Doug’s, too, obviously.
I tap the pen against my lips as I look at the remaining names.
Truth be told, I haven’t tried that hard to get in touch with either Adam or Colin, but the clock’s ticking. Up until this point, I’ve been lucky enough to either have each guy’s phone number or to be friends with him on Facebook, so getting in touch has been as simple as a text or a Facebook message.
It’s time to up my game.
Adam used to work as a bartender at a couple of bars. Google tells me one closed down a year ago. The other won’t open until eleven, but I write down the phone number.
I also text a sort-of friend who used to date one of Adam’s friends. It’s a long shot, but at this point I’ll do anything to get hold of him.
And to put off getting hold of Colin.
Which makes two guys I’m trying not to think about: Colin Austin, dumper to my heartbroken dumpee of yesteryear, and Mark Blakely, best friend who’s not acting like it.
Yeah, yeah, I’m being kind of a baby, but a good night’s sleep has only served to make me more annoyed about him.
I’m not saying he has to believe that my future is written in the stars, but as my friend, shouldn’t he at least respect that I believe it?
I mean, I don’t really get off on saffron, but I still listen patiently as he explains its versatility. I don’t care about the different kinds of salt, but I still pick up fancy sea salts from Manhattan for him, don’t I?
It’s what friends do—support each other, even if one must gently (gently!) roll one’s eyes while doing so. Heck, maybe it’s his crappy attitude that’s making me cynical about how all this will work out. And believe me, no one’s ever used the term “cynical” to describe me.
The coffeemaker beeps, and I pour myself a cup, adding a liberal splash of my sugar-free peppermint mocha creamer, and then walk to the back door, where Rigby does an impatient need-to-attend-to-business prance.
“All right,” I say, pushing the door open. “But remember that you hate the snow.”
Sure enough, the dog bounds outside, only to come to an instant halt and look around him as though the universe itself has betrayed him.
He gives me a sad look over his shoulder before trudging through the snow, which is already up to his shoulders, to do his business under a tree, where there’s at least partial protection from the storm.
A gust of wind blows snow right at my face, and after a startled squeak, I let out a delighted laugh, as I finally realize what we’re dealing with here.
Snow just a few days before Christmas? This is what holiday vacation dreams are made of!
Even better if it’s cleared up by the twenty-third, in time for the Haven holiday parade.
Did I tell you? I ordered an elf costume online, after verifying with my old English teacher, who’s now parade master, that they would in fact love to have me on the float handing out candy.
And now you’re like, That’s great, Kelly, but how does that fit in with your plan to win over your exes?
Well, let me tell you. In my fantasy, Colin comes into town that very day because he’s been thinking of me. He’s already realized he’s still in love with me, but seeing me adorable in a sassy elf costume seals the deal. He can’t help but propose in front of the entire town. Fortune-teller lady was right, and Mark was oh so wrong.
See? It’s a beautiful fantasy.
I squint to see if Rigby’s coming back my way, but as I sort of expected, the dog does his post-poop moonwalk and then takes off at a sprint toward Mark’s back door.
I tell myself that I linger at my own door only so that I can verify that Rigby’s not left out in the blizzard, not because I want to know if Mark is awake.
He’s awake.
Through the white blur, I see his back door open just a crack, but it closes just as quickly.