All Madison wants for Christmas is the same person who once wanted her. Free from the shackles of her broken heart, she's finally ready to give love another shot. But is Madi too late to win back the man of her dreams?
SEQUEL to The Heartbreak Hypot...
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I've always thought that the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
As soon as I pulled the slip of paper out from Dex's beanie, I knew what it was going to say. Before I unfolded it and read the name scrawled messily between the blue lines, I knew what it was going to say. And, even as I read it, even as the word itself became a blurry, swirly mess of smudged black ink, I knew what it was going to say.
James.
Because of course I got James.
I sped-walked through store after store, scanning the posters of ridiculously-attractive models and their ridiculously-overpriced apparel for even the tiniest hint of inspiration.
It was futile. Because what on earth was I going to get the heir of a seventy-acre estate for Christmas? An heir who I was very inconveniently head-over-heels for to the point of not being able to think clearly in his very intoxicating presence?
Did I get James something basic—a decorative mug filled with Christmas sweets? Did I get him a gag gift—a picture of his face on some socks from the graphic kiosk opposite Barnes and Noble? Or did I get him something more intimate? A gift with a message? The message being that I was totally, completely, and irrevocably into him?
No. I couldn't possibly do that.
But all of the other ideas that I had—cologne, clothes, aftershave ... They weren't quite right either. They all felt too basic. Like James and I were acquaintances. Or co-workers. Like we didn't have the bond or history that we did.
At the end of the day, I knew that I couldn't win. Because buying a gift for an ex-fling-turned-best-friend is impossible.
"Can't I just tell you who I got?" I asked Noah, throwing my head down on the makeup counter in our second department store in ten minutes.
He was busy comparing two (identical) shades of purple eyeshadow, barely looking up from his latest swatch when he groaned, "It's Secret Santa, Madi. Secret."
"I get that, but I have half an hour—twenty minutes now, actually—to come up with something. So far, I have a gift tag. But," I explained matter-of-factly, "if I tell you who I got, then you can help me, and we can cut this whole process in half." I pursed my lips together, completely persuaded by my very persuasive logic.
Truthfully, there was more to my attempt to get Noah onside than mere logistics. Because maybe if I told Noah that I was James' Secret Santa, I could also tell him about my real problem.
My real problem being that I didn't know what the hell to get James because I didn't know where the hell we stood. I didn't know who Blair was, either. I didn't know what she wanted and, worse, I didn't know what—if anything—James wanted from her.
But Noah would know. Surely, Noah would know.
My friend, however, didn't fall victim to my very persuasive logic like intended. He simply moved on to examine a third pot of glitter.
