Cooped Up for Christmas - Sabrina York Page 0,1

well… He wasn’t—

Okay. No.

Had to stop that thought dead in its tracks.

Nope. No comparing Dirk to Coop.

They were two different men from two different times in my life. I had been a different woman with both of them, for pity’s sake.

Which, of course, led to the uncomfortable question, who am I now? Now that Dirk was—let’s admit it—starting to pall? Gorgeous, smart, funny, great in bed, shies away from commitment. He should be a perfect match for me.

He was.

We just needed a little…break.

He’d gone off happily alone—just called “seeyabye” as he sprinted off to catch the plane, which said a lot.

But I hadn’t cared that he hadn’t cared.

That said even more.

Whatever. I had a week to think things over. A week to wallow in nostalgia. A week to revisit the girl I’d been here, and take a look at the woman she’d become. I anticipated the calm and quiet week such deep thoughts required. It would be nice to be away from the pressures of my usual rat race for a while and, even though it was hardly a chalet in the Alps, this wouldn’t be a bad place to be for the holidays.

I parked the car by the staff lodge, which was hidden from the main lodge by shrubbery. It had always kind of amused me to be one of the people behind the shrubbery. You know, where the servants live.

Some people don’t cater to the idea of serving others. Don’t want to live behind the shrubbery, invisible and mute until, God-forbid, someone has a sudden craving for a blackberry almond milk smoothie at 3:42 am.

I, however, disagree.

I believe there is great nobility in serving others.

And in this business, great rewards.

The way I saw it, I was sacrificing my youth for my very comfortable middle and elder years. And it wasn’t a total sacrifice, was it? I lived a fabulous life hobnobbing with the rich and famous. Taking their castoffs. Welcoming their tips. I respected them and they—for the most part—respected me.

I really had loved it down here in the trenches. But it’s always easier to see it that way, isn’t it? In hindsight? Not that I didn’t love my current job with its cushy executive office—and private bathroom, thank you very much—a voice at the corporate table, and use of the company jet. But you never forget the place where you fell in love for the first time.

And I’m not talking about falling in love with a potential career when you’re eighteen—even though that happened too. I’m talking about that first, deep romantic love. The one you almost always screw up somehow.

God, I’d loved him.

It flooded me then, that memory, that feeling. The ache that sliced deep. Being in love. I shuddered involuntarily. It was hard to believe this emotion was running through me. And even the memory of it was intense—as though coming to this place had somehow cracked the protective shell I’d created around my gooey emotions, and I was in dire peril of having them ooze out all over the rental car.

Fact is, doctors haven’t been able to detect a romantic one bone in my body since…

Well, yeah.

Since here.

Because, yes, romance and this kind of life simply don’t mix.

With the full benefit of painful experience, I do what I can to avoid such disasters now. Now, I have two rules. Number one? Always be professional and remote with the clients. These are powerful people, but they also have powerful problems. You don’t want to get mixed up in their dark web. Do your job, keep your nose clean, and say thank you when they tip.

Rule number two? Don’t fraternize with the clients or the staff. For those of you who are unaware, that means no sex.

Been there. Done that. Burned the t-shirt.

Too bad Darcy hadn’t learned that lesson.

Then again, it could be a good thing, this sentimental romp down memory lane. Aside from the heartbreak at the end, that had been the most magical summer of my life, one that lingered in my memory. If I closed my eyes, I could almost smell the fresh-cut grass, hear the hum of the bees seeking pollen, feel the warmth of Coop’s cheek beneath my palm.

God, we’d been young then. Too young to be making any real-life decisions. Stupid, impulsive decisions. Like, Hey! Let’s join the Navy!

Do you think he might have chosen differently? If he’d known how much I loved him? Or would he have gone anyway?

Oh, it hardly mattered. He’d disappeared into the wild blue yonder.