He shook his head back and forth like someone in shock and rubbed his jaw between his thumb and forefinger before he put out his hand. “Well, good-bye, Jenny. It’s been—”
“Good-bye, Sam.” She didn’t touch his hand. She turned and rushed out of the room, through the corridor, down the stairs, across the lobby and through the double doors into the cold Montana air. It hit her face like needles, making tears spill down her face in torrents. Only when she reached her car did she finally surrender completely to her sorrow, wrenching sobs filling the otherwise quiet of her car all the way back to Gardiner.
Chapter 10
“Sammy!” Ron Johnson knocked lightly on the door to his office. “Good weekend?”
Sam looked up from the documents he’d been reviewing. He shrugged. “It was fine.”
“Where were you again? Minnesota?”
He shook his head and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. “Montana.”
“Ouch! The boonies! Kill me now!” Ron said, inviting himself to sit in one of Sam’s guest chairs. “You missed an awesome time at the Spy Bar on Saturday. Remember that cute Asian chick? She. Was. On. Seriously, I was fighting her off, man. And tell me this, Sam-bro, are you ready to PAR-TAY next Friday?” Sam raised his eyebrows in question. “The Christmas Party, man!”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, right. Well, you know me…”
“Another year to remember, eh?” Ron winked. “You old dog!”
Sam scoffed uncomfortably, looking down at his desk, rapping his pen on the desk softly, distractedly. “Yeah…”
Ron popped up and headed for the door. “And no girlfriend this year, Sammy. You’re a free agent, man! Some lucky lady’s gonna get it!”
“Yeah. A free agent.” He smiled and saluted a departing Ron, then threw his pen across his desk where it hit his stapler with a loud clatter.
“A free agent,” he muttered, clenching his jaw until it ached, seeing Jenny’s pretty face in his mind and using all of his energy to push it away.
She doesn’t want to be with you, Sam. Let her go.
He turned his attention back to the spreadsheets, determined to overcome this infatuation.
***
After work, Sam started his Christmas shopping, hoping that being out and about among the citizens of his fair city would give his spirits a lift. Colleen had sent him a list of books for the girls, and in lieu of five minutes online at Amazon he decided to go to Barnes & Noble on the way home and buy the books himself.
He admired the huge Christmas wreaths on the windows of the store as he approached the front door, noticing the Gingerbread Village on display in the front picture window. See, Jenny? Christmas cheer, right here in terrible, awful Chicago!
It wasn’t real gingerbread, of course, but it was still festive; a gingerbread mountain village covered with precise white glitter, a working train at the base of the mountain, and a tiny chair lift that magically transported tiny gingerbread men and women to the plastic brown gingerbread chalet at the top of the mountain. Once there, they skied down the glittery slope on plastic licorice-looking skis and were picked up by the tiny chairlift once again. Several young children crowded around the window, watching the scene with wonder.
Sam smiled too, but his cheer faded to poignancy as he recalled the messy white gingerbread house he and Jenny had seen in the window of the saddler’s shop during the Christmas Stroll. She had named the messy confection her favorite and he had called her a “soft touch.” Then she smiled at him, sharing, “I love the little ones.” He could see her blue eyes sparkling before him, the gentle curve of her lips, the sweet—
“Excuse me! Mister! You’ve had a turn to look! It’s for the kids! Can my daughter take a peek now?” The woman behind him tapped him on his shoulder, pushing her chubby daughter forward. The girl’s lollipop snagged on his cashmere coat, sticking there and drooping sadly as he stepped out of her way, stumbling backward, moving away from the crowd of children.
He’d only left her two days ago, but it felt so much longer. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way they’d said good-bye—or hadn’t said good-bye. It hurt him to remember her face as she’d run from the room where, just moments before, they’d shared the most soul-shattering kiss of his life. The same room where he’d held her beautiful, sad eyes and whispered “I will” to her. The same room where minutes later she’d declared “This never would have worked out.”
He clenched his jaw with sorrow and regret and frustration, dodging around people until he found some open sidewalk where he walked at a fast, angry clip. Taking a deep breath of cold air that burned his lungs, he scolded himself. Stop thinking about her! It’s over. Let it go.