If Only in My Dreams Read Online Free

tears springing to her eyes.
    “Well, it’s not Christmas here yet,” she repeats tersely. “The Rockefeller Center tree still isn’t even lit.”
    “So that’s what kicks off the holiday season in New York?”
    She shrugs. Technically, it’s Santa riding down Broadway at the end of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, but she’s not in the mood to expound on the joys of Christmas in Manhattan.
    “I guess you’re not big on holidays, huh?”
    “Who doesn’t love holidays?”
    “Then you just don’t celebrate Christmas?”
    “No, I usually do, but this year…” She shrugs again, wondering how the heck she’s managed to mire herself in this uncomfortable conversation.
    “What are you doing this year?” asks her nosy neighbor.
    “For Christmas?”
    He nods.
    Fighting for my life
.
    “Nothing.”
    “No family?”
    “My father’s going away, and I was supposed to go see my mother in Florida, but…” She shakes her head. “That’s not going to work out.”
    To Drew’s credit, he doesn’t ask why.
    “That stinks,” is all he says.
    “Yeah.” She takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. “Whatever. I’ll be fine. I mean, you know… I’m a big girl.”
    “Yeah, well, if you want to hang out with a big boy over the holidays, I’ll be on my own, too.”
    “You’re not going home to California?”
    “Can’t. No vacation time yet. I just started my job.”
    “What is it that you do?” she feels obligated to ask, not really caring.
    “I’m an investment banker.”
    Just like Jason. Which promptly squashes any potential attraction she might have eventually allowed herself.
    Stable, grounded, totally left-brained. Not a good match for her.
    “Hey, I just realized… you remembered where I’m from,” he says cryptically.
    “Oh. Right.”
    She’s embarrassed. Why?
    Because she remembered that detail from their first conversation, or because he looks so pleased?
    She wants to tell him that it isn’t what he thinks.
    The problem is, she doesn’t know
what
he thinks.
    She only knows what
she
thinks, which is that it’s time to go.
    So she adds, “Okay, well, have a good night.…”
    Drew
. But she doesn’t dare tack that on. Then he’d realize she remembers his name, too.
    “You, too,” he says. “And hey, if you get lonely over the holidays, just knock.”
    “Thanks, I’ll do that,” she says, knowing she never will.
    In her third-floor apartment, Clara flips a light switch, drops her bag just inside the door, drapes her wool coat over the nearest chair, and shivers.
Whoa. Is it cold in here, or is it just me?
    She checks the thermostat.
It’s just me.
    She turns it up a few degrees to seventy-two, and hears the hiss of steam heat in the old vents. Then she moves around the room, turning on all three lamps.
    There. Warmth and light. Two life-sustaining elements.
    She sinks into the couch and looks around, seeking comfort in familiar surroundings. The first time she set foot inhere, she immediately concluded that it looked like a Nora Ephron movie set: the kind of place middle America would imagine an up-and-coming New York actress living in.
    She’s been renting the one-bedroom apartment for over two years now. Compared to her former high-rise rectangle, this place oozes charm: high ceilings, hardwoods, even a fireplace. The neighborhood is almost free of skyscrapers, allowing the sun to stream in through three southern-exposure windows that overlook a flagstone courtyard tucked behind the townhouse.
    Clara signed the lease—with Jason, who was her roommate until this summer—a mere month after taping her
One Life to Live
character’s dramatic swan song. Her sudsy alter ego, the dastardly Arabella Saffron, was killed off at Clara’s request, thus releasing her from her contract and freeing her to take her first movie role.
    That was a bit part, playing Kate Hudson’s friend in a romantic comedy. But she got scene-stealer reviews—not to mention an offer to pose