Forbidden Christmas

CHAPTER 3: The Widower's Loneliness

Derek's Pov

The pencil in my hand had gone dull twenty minutes ago, but I kept sketching anyway, the lines getting softer and less precise with each stroke. The community center design was due next week, and I was nowhere close to finished.

"You planning to stay here all night again?"

I looked up to find Marcus leaning against my office doorframe, jacket already on, briefcase in hand. My business partner had that look on his face. The one that said he was about to lecture me about work-life balance again.

"Just want to finish this section," I said, gesturing at the half-finished elevation drawing.

"It's almost seven, Derek. On a Friday. Two weeks before Christmas." Marcus sat down across from me without being invited. "What are you doing for the holidays anyway?"

"Sophie's coming home. We're doing Christmas at the estate."

"Good. You seeing anyone these days?"

"Marcus..."

"I'm serious. It's been five years since Catherine. You can't keep using Sophie as an excuse not to date."

Five years. Had it really been that long?

Catherine had left me six months after Sophie's college graduation. Said she felt trapped, that she'd spent twenty years being a wife and mother and forgotten who she was. She needed excitement, needed someone who could give her the passion she'd been missing.

That someone was her yoga instructor. A guy named River who was thirty-two and drove a converted van.

I'd taken it hard. Not because I was still in love with Catherine. We'd been going through the motions for years. But because she'd looked at me like I was boring. Predictable. Safe in the worst possible way.

"I date," I said, even though we both knew it was a lie.

"Taking clients to dinner doesn't count." Marcus shook his head. "You're forty-four, not dead. You deserve to be happy, you know."

After he left, I sat there in the quiet office. Content. Was that what I was?

This was my life now. Work. Sophie. The occasional dinner with colleagues. Nights at the estate, alone in my workshop, building furniture no one would ever use.

My phone rang. Sophie's face lit up the screen.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Dad! Okay, don't be mad."

I leaned back in my chair. "That's never a good way to start a conversation."

"I invited Maya to Christmas. Like, to stay at the estate for the whole two weeks. She said yes. Please tell me that's okay."

Maya.

Sophie's roommate from college. The girl I'd met three years ago at graduation and hadn't been able to stop thinking about since.

My pulse kicked up. I told myself it was nothing.

"Of course it's okay. The estate is huge."

"Really? Because I know you like your space, and I should have asked first, but she just broke up with her boyfriend and seemed so sad..."

"Sophie. Breathe. It's fine. I'm happy you invited her."

Too happy. Way too happy.

"Oh thank god. But you remember Maya, right? From graduation? You guys talked for like an hour about architecture."

I remembered. I remembered way more than I should.

The way she'd looked at my library design with genuine interest, not the polite smile most people gave. How she'd laughed at something I said, unguarded and real, and how that laugh had done something strange to my chest.

I remembered thinking she was beautiful. And then immediately hating myself for thinking it.

She was twenty-three. Sophie's best friend. Completely off-limits.

"I remember," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "She seemed very bright."

"She is. But she's been so down lately. This guy she was with, Jake, total loser. Cheated on her and then acted like it was her fault. Can you believe that?"

Something hot and angry flared in my chest. "He sounds like an idiot."

"Right? Maya deserves so much better. Someone mature, you know? Not these man-children our age who can't even commit."

"She'll find someone," I said, even if the thought made my jaw tight for reasons I refused to examine.

"I hope so. Anyway, we're coming up on the 18th. I'm bringing Jason, maybe. And Melissa might come for a few days. Is that cool?"

"More than cool. I'll make sure the house is ready."

"You're the best, Dad. Oh, and fair warning, Maya's been super nervous about this trip. She doesn't have any family, really. Her dad left when she was a kid. So Christmas is always hard for her."

Her dad left. The information landed in my chest like a weight.

"I'll make sure she feels welcome," I said quietly.

After we hung up, I sat there for a long time.

Maya was coming. For two weeks. She'd be in my house, at my dinner table, in the space I'd been living in alone for five years.

I should have felt invaded. Instead, I felt something dangerously close to anticipation.

I opened my texts and found her number. Sophie had sent it years ago for some emergency contact reason. I'd never used it.

Until now.

I typed: "Looking forward to seeing you again, Maya."

Stared at it. Almost deleted it. Hit send before I could overthink it.

Three dots appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Disappeared.

She was writing and deleting. Writing and deleting.

Finally: "I'm sure it'll be fine. See you soon."

Not exactly warm. But not cold either. Careful.

I found myself smiling at my phone like an i***t.

Then I typed: "Sophie said you're coming. Made my day. See you soon."

Too much? Probably too much.

But I sent it anyway.

Her response came faster: "See you soon."

I set the phone down and ran my hands through my hair. What was I doing? This was Sophie's best friend. A girl half my age.

The smart thing would be to keep my distance. Be polite. Friendly. Paternal.

But I'd spent three years trying to forget the way she'd looked at me at graduation. Three years telling myself that moment of connection had been in my head. Three years failing to find that same spark with anyone else.

I looked at my phone one more time. Typed: "I hope that Christmas at the estate won't be as awkward as I'm imagining. There's something I need to tell you when you arrive."

My thumb hovered over send.

I should delete it. Should go home and forget this entire train of thought.

Instead, I hit send.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared.

She was struggling with her response.

Finally: "I'm sure it'll be fine. See you soon."

I stared at those words, trying to read meaning into them. Was she as nervous as I was? Did she feel this pull?

I typed: "Good. I've been hoping you'd say that. Safe travels, Maya."

Hit send and immediately regretted it. Too familiar. Too warm.

I pulled up my calendar and saw the 18th circled in red. Twelve days away.

Twelve days to get my head straight. Twelve days to remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

Twelve days wasn't nearly long enough.