Page 98 of Go Back to December
“I know. I’m afraid to touch anything.”
She pets the sleeve like it’s a lapdog. “Did you and Baz have a fight?”
I sigh. “Not exactly.”
“He’s been in such a mood, and when he came without you—” She pauses. “Was it because of me?”
“No, of course not. I’m so glad he’s here with all of you.”
“I’m not sure we are. He’s been a complete bitch. But he’s here.” Her expression softens as she peers at me. “What happened?”
“What did he say?”
She snorts a laugh. Of course, he said nothing.
Luiza waves her mittened hands back and forth. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here. Which means he’ll come out. For First Night. And the dedication.” Her voice shakes around the last word.
I force myself to ignore it with a smile. “So how are we getting him here?”
Her phone rings. “Hang up in mid-conversation at a party with copious amounts of unattended alcohol?”
She straightens her expression and slaps the phone to her ear. “What.”
Perfect, I mouth.
Luiza grins. “Then I guess you better come right over and save me from ruining myself.”
When she clicks off, she says, “He’s in the house. I can hear the music through his phone.”
“How did he get here?”
“Golf cart. They’re a plague in these parts.”
“But necessary if you’re on crutches in the tundra.”
“He ditched them. The doctor said he only needs the brace for a couple of weeks.”
I can feel it the moment Baz steps onto the deck. There’s a ripple in the frosty air. A current. Then someone shifts, and he’s fully in view.
His hair is tousled, like he mercilessly raked his fingers through it after leaving the shower. There’s a glorious amount of stubble lining his fine jaw. My favorite coat is slung over him, hanging open over a dark sweater and black thermal version of the techie pants.
All I want to do is push closer to him. All I can handle is breathing.
Slowly, Baz limps across the deck, searching for Luiza. As his head finally turns in our direction, someone shouts his name.
Alicia steps between us in flawless makeup and a perfectly fitting pink cashmere coat, blocking Baz’s view.
Luiza curses. “Again. Fucking Alicia.”
The name rings in my ears.
Alicia. A-li-cia
Allie.
The scene unfolds before me like trains colliding in slow motion.
Baz draws Alicia—Allie—into his arms. The embrace mirrors the way he held me that day in Manny’s apartment. It hurts worse than a slap in the face, which is startling, but instantly over.
