Page 119 of Elf-ish

“I won’t,” I whisper to the room. “I won’t let you go.”

Rushing to the elevator, I repeatedly poke the down button, as if it will make the lift rise faster. Impatience gets to me, and I race for the escalators next, knowing the descent on the automatic stairs could take even longer.

I skip steps, hanging on the railing, like I did as a child, as if it will propel me faster down seven flights.

I’m running across the red carpet, about to cross where it intersects, when I stop.

Looking upward, I stand directly beneath the glass ceiling seven stories overhead. I tip my head further back and stare at the dome window arching toward the sky that I’ve seen a thousand times in my life.

And as I stand perfectly still, the light slowly illuminates the glass panes and spreads over the angles, forming a slow kaleidoscope of light against the west wall. The longer I stand, the brighter the window grows and the wider the stretch of light cascades down along the wall, bouncing off the gold railings around each level, reflecting like a prism.

While I still can’t define what Angelica sees in that rounded ceiling, I admit I feel something inside me. Something warm and longing, almost poking against my rib cage like it wants to be set free. Like it’s stretching the iron bars around my heart and reaching through the cracks, hoping to expand my chest.

I take a deep breath and find it easier than I would have thought to breathe, considering the ache.

Blood rushes through my veins, and my pulse pounds in my ears, and yet I’m not afraid.

This isn’t stress or shattering or an attack.

This is something more.

My lips curl, exposing my teeth, until my mouth opens and I laugh. Loud and echo-y in the emptiness of the store, where I’m suddenly reminded that I’m standing here alone.

All alone on Christmas in my legacy.

A building that proudly displays my name but has sucked the soul out of me.

A place that has taught me to chase bottom lines and top sales and the black on a spreadsheet.

The strangest sensation fills my eyes. They burn and itch and then water, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, blinking at the foreign dampness, and swallowing the thickness in my throat.

Because the one thing I’ve never chased: the girl. And love.

Ebenezar Scrooge didn’t get his girl in the end because too much time had passed. She married some other guy. The nameless, faceless one, who probably never put her first.

That will not be me.

A plan instantly forms. A new deal for Angelica. A better one.

A better me.

And I will not spend another minute without her.

chapter 38

[Jude]

As the sun has just risen, it’s early when I enter my condo for a quick shower and change before I rush to Angelica’s to discover an explosion of bags and boxes and wrapped Christmas presents.

“What the fuck?” I mutter, scanning the typically empty space that is cluttered by the pile of gifts, oversized bags near the entrance, and a double stack of pizza boxes on the kitchen island.

I’d question if I’ve been robbed, but this looks more like an invasion.

Tossing my keys on the kitchen island, I swipe a hand through my hair and prepare to storm down the hallway when the guest bedroom door opens.

A timid child exits and stares at me. I stare back at a miniature version of Julia. A little girl who looks exactly like her mother did when she was that age.

Despite the shock, I squat to my niece’s level. “Hi, Lollipop.” I don’t expect her to approach me. I haven’t seen her often enough in the four years of her life. Lolly Rochelle Paige has wild curly hair, reminding me of a certain someone who snuck out of Ashford’s this morning.