Chapter Twenty-Nine
Melanie
I had never known a town to look so aggressively merry at ten in the morning.
Reckless River wore December like it had been tailored for the little river town. Wreaths on every lamppost, bows fat enough to have their own postal code, garland so lush it looked Photoshopped. Even the snow seemed to fall politely with soft little flakes that drifted instead of hurled, turning Main Street into a postcard I didn’t want to admit I liked.
Which was probably why I’d slipped out early and ducked into the coffee shop before Lydia could hustle me into a full day of “light” festival errands that always somehow became heavy lifting. I told her I’d meet her here, and I chose a table by the window—half for the view, half so I could stare at something that wasn’t the inside of my head for a change.
“Triple gingerbread latte,” Riley sing-songed, setting the mug down with a flourish that would have earned applause in a larger city. She wore a forest-green beanie and a grin that saidshe’d already milk-foamed three life crises for other customers this morning and had room for one more.
“Triple?” I raised a brow. “That’s… a lot of gingerbread.”
“Consider it community service.” Riley winked. “After the last twenty-four hours you’ve had, you deserve liquified cookies.”
I tried to play it cool. “What do you mean?”
She laughed. “Please.”
I rolled my eyes, but my mouth tugged upward in a betrayal. “It’s good to be back.”
Riley’s grin softened into something kind.
“Good. About time the universe gave you something nice.”
She drifted back behind the counter, already calling a hello to someone new, and I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and let myself exhale.
Nice.
That word felt small compared to what last night had been.
I hadn’t slept much—too wired, too blissed-out, too aware of Drew’s steady breathing beside me and the way the cabin smelled like cedar and heat and a life that didn’t scare me when I let it.
Morning had been all soft jokes and burnt toast and him humming under his breath while he fixed a cabinet door like it owed him money. He’d brushed a thumb across my cheekbone and said, “You look happy,” and I had, which was both the simplest and most terrifying thing I’d done in years.
I took a sip. The latte tasted like a bakery had decided to hug me with molasses and spice, and darn it, I loved every sip of it.
Outside, snow dusted the awnings, and two kids in puffy coats argued about the relative merits of tree toppers, angel versus star, with the kind of passion normally reserved for courtrooms.
Despite myself, I could see it. A version of this, of me—coffee here on weekday mornings, knowing smiles from people who knew my name, plans that didn’t require three calendar apps and a color-coding system. I could picture walking up the hill after, breath making little clouds, stopping at the bakery for bread that still steamed when you tore into it. The thought settled deep in my chest.
The door chimed, a cold gust curling around my ankles. I glanced up, expecting Lydia with her mittens and her thousand-watt cheer.
Not Lydia.
A blonde woman breezed in, shaking snow from a sleek coat, her hair pulled into a low ponytail that saidI have a drawer full of matching containers with lids.
It wasn’t the ski-bunny blonde from the bar last week—no neon lip gloss or giggle like trouble; this one was tidy, composed, expensive in that you-can’t-put-your-finger-on-why way. She took in the room as if she were cataloging it for an appraisal.
Riley looked up and lit up like a string of lights. “No way. Sawyer!”
The blonde’s face split into an easy smile. “Hey, Riles.”
They met halfway with a quick hug over the pastry case, and something in my stomach gave a small, irrational twist.
“Look at you,” Riley said, reaching out to flick the end of the ponytail, immediately scolded by her own health code instincts.“What are you doing back in town? I thought you were allergic to winter now.”
Sawyer—that was a name people trusted with their second homes and their life savings—laughed. “As it turns out, my tenants are bigger snowbirds than I am. They bailed. Figured I’d swing up, check the place, and put the rental back on the market. Holiday bookings are snack-cake level—going fast.”
