Page 2 of A Perfect Christmas Romance (Kringle, Texas #8)

“You didn’t have a date for Mom and Dad’s party, and I just happened to catch the sports news on local news…” Amy said, in a tone that suggested she was about to drop another bomb on Liv’s already cratered day.

Amy wasn’t into sports. She thought a quarterback was someone who gave refunds. Liv braced herself to hear one more thing she wasn’t going to like.

“Anyway, Nick Matheson, the guy you brought home for Christmas once, is now the backup sportscaster for the local CBS affiliate,” Amy chirped, as if she were announcing she’d won the lottery.

Liv’s brain short-circuited. “What are you talking about?”

“I called him now that he’s back in Dallas, and I invited him to Mom and Dad’s anniversary party. That’s his phone number. You’ll need to uninvite him.”

“You did what!” Liv screeched.

“Don’t blow a gasket,” Amy said as if she’d just borrowed a sweater without asking, not inviting Liv’s ex to a now-canceled party. “He was quite nice and really seemed as if he wanted to attend, and he asked about you.”

Liv’s heart did a little flip, traitor that it was. “He did?”

“Yep, he said, ‘How’s Liv?’”

“What did you say?” Liv asked, hating how eager she sounded.

“I said you were single.”

“Holy cow, Amy! Are you insane?”

“Anyway, you gotta call him and give him the scoop,” Amy said, blithely ignoring Liv’s meltdown.

“Why me?” Liv felt like she was in a bizarre game of hot potato. Except the potato was her ex-boyfriend, and the stakes were her sanity. “You invited him. You should be the one to tell him the party’s canceled.”

Being dumped by Jerry had stung her ego for about ten seconds, like a paper cut.

But Nick?

Nick was a wound that took years to heal, and now Amy was ripping off the bandage like it was a waxing strip.

“I don’t know him that well. I’m sorry, Liv. I shouldn’t have meddled with the guest list. Oh, I have a call waiting. It’s Sean. Love you!”

And just like that, the line went dead, leaving Liv holding the phone and her sanity by the thinnest of threads.

Nick Matheson.

She’d never totally stopped thinking about him, like a catchy song that occasionally popped into her head at the most inconvenient times, but she was surprised by the pang of regret that hit her at the mention of his name.

If Liv didn’t love her sister so much, she could cheerfully strangle her with a string of Christmas lights.

Reluctantly, she put another item on her list. Call Nick Matheson.

But she wasn’t sure she could make herself do it. Nick might misunderstand and think she was trying to rekindle something. How mortifying. She’d rather eat an entire fruitcake—and Liv hated fruitcake—than face that level of humiliation.

Once upon a time, in what felt like a different life, she’d really wanted the kind of relationship her parents had, but she’d made the mistake of falling for Nick, a man whose commitment to his career in the cutthroat world of sports journalism made him about as likely to settle down as a tumbleweed in a tornado.

They’d met when she was a senior at Northwestern, and he was a graduate student in communications. They’d shared a seminar she’d finagled her way into.

The first time he walked into the classroom, she’d wanted him like she’d never wanted anyone before—which, given her limited dating experience at the time, wasn’t saying much, but still.

He was tall, lean, and looked like he’d stepped out of a J. Crew catalog—all dark curly hair and deep blue eyes that made her tingle whenever he looked at her.

But he was more than just a pretty face. His sharp wit had bowled her over like a Category 5 hurricane of charisma.

Now Nick was ancient history, filed away in the dusty attic of her memories, and ironically, they now had one new thing in common. Parents who decided that “till death do us part” had an asterisk that said, “or until we get tired of each other.”

It was his parents’ divorce that had initially brought them together. He’d needed sympathy and understanding, and she’d been more than willing to give it, along with her heart, soul, and a few other things she’d rather not think about right now.

Ancient history. Water under the bridge. A bridge she’d prefer to burn instead of cross again.

Liv went to her kitchen, with its pale-yellow cupboards and uncluttered green marbleized countertops. She put the kettle on for tea because if there’s one thing that could solve all of life’s problems, it’s a hot beverage, right?

As she waited for the water to boil, Liv vowed not to feel sorry for herself.

This divorce wasn’t about her. It was about her parents, two grown adults who had decided that separate lives were better than a shared one.

The important thing was whether they’d be happier apart, but Liv was having trouble believing it. They’d always seemed so right together, so in sync, they could finish each other’s sentences.

She carried her mug of tea to her office, the steam rising. Time to begin making calls.

Liv found the party list and punched in the first number on her phone, feeling like she was playing some sort of twisted game of telephone roulette.

A few minutes later, she’d talked to one actual human being and left three voicemail messages.

She should call Nick and get him over with.

It was ridiculous to stew over talking to a man she hadn’t seen in five years.

The sooner she did it, the quicker she could forget him again, right?

She punched in Nick’s number, her finger hovering over the call button like it was about to detonate a bomb.

What if he thought the invitation had been her idea? Would he think she was interested in him?

His phone rang three times, each ring echoing in her ear like a countdown to awkwardness.

She took a deep breath, hoping her nerve wouldn’t fail her now. Nick most likely hadn’t given her a thought in years before Amy’s call.

Liv didn’t know where he’d been or what he’d been doing for five years, but she’d bet her last pair of comfortable shoes that he hadn’t been lonely for female companionship.

“Nick Matheson. Leave your name and number. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

His voice mail.

Whew! What a relief, even though hearing his voice made her shiver as if she’d just walked through a ghost.

He still had that deep, mellow voice that matched his drop-dead good looks.

Liv could see him in her mind’s eye, six-two with dark curly hair and bedroom-blue eyes lively with intelligence and passion.

It was like looking at a memory through Instagram filters—everything more attractive than in reality.

“This is Olivia Kearns. Just a heads-up—don’t bother coming to my parents’ anniversary party,” she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. When the call ended, she let out a slow breath, clutching the phone a little tighter than necessary.

Of course she’d had to be the one to call him. She could’ve ignored it, let him show up and find out the hard way. But no—she’d never been that kind of person. If anyone had to smooth over the fallout from a canceled event—and an ex who’d reappeared out of nowhere—it was her.

The familiar knot tightened in her chest. Nick’s name alone still carried weight, like a stray thread tugging at seams she thought she’d sewn shut years ago. Even now, the call left her restless, stirring up memories she didn’t want to revisit.

Shaking her head, she tapped the phone against her chin. There was no point in dwelling on it. The message was sent. It was just a polite gesture—nothing more.

But it gnawed at her anyway, as if just saying his name had pulled him closer, when all she wanted was to keep him firmly in the past.

Had her message been too abrupt? Had she sounded rude?

Should she call back and leave another, more tactful message? But what if he answered? No, that was a can of worms she wasn’t prepared to open.

Face it—she was afraid of how she’d react if she had to speak to him directly. She didn’t want to awaken feelings she’d buried deeper than her high school diary.

No, a second call was a bad idea, right up there with, “Let’s see what happens if I cut my bangs,” and “I bet I can eat this entire ghost pepper.”

She slashed his name off her list with a thick black stroke, the ink a perfect match for how she wanted to blot out this entire day.

Mission accomplished. Move on.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself as she tapped the pen against the notepad.

She knew it was just a polite call—nothing more, but it gnawed at her anyway.

Even a simple message felt like it gave him too much space in her head, as if speaking his name had pulled him closer instead of shutting him out.

The familiar knot tightened in her chest, reminding her how easily Nick had slipped back into her thoughts.

It wasn’t just the call that unsettled her—it was what it stirred up. Something restless, like a shoelace that wouldn’t stay tied, or a snowball gathering speed on its way downhill.

Liv gave her head a shake, clearing away the thought. She’d done what needed to be done. He wasn’t her problem anymore.

Time to cross him off the mental list too.