I almost said something ugly, just to reassert my right to the high ground. Instead, I nodded like a statue might nod at a pigeon.
“For Callum and Lydia’s sake,” I repeated, because repetition makes a thing feel official. “Amicable.”
His mouth twisted. “I don’t want amicable.”
“I do,” I lied.
Lydia tugged me toward the door. I scooped up the boxes, the tote sliding bumpily against my hip, and the bell chimed as we stepped into the white.
The cold hit like a blessing and a slap. I stared hard at the wreath on the Stag’s door so my eyes would water for a reason that wasn’t humiliation. The tag tied to the bow read JOY in Lydia’s looping hand, which felt like satire.
We walked in silence for half a block. Reckless River glittered like a set designer’s dream. Kids threw snow at the kids they loved and apologized mid-giggle. The air smelled like fir and sugar and the smoke of someone’s woodstove. I wanted to hate it. I couldn’t.
“You want to go back in and let me do the yelling?” Lydia asked finally, not unkindly. “I can do it in three registers and with two Bible verses.”
I laughed, short and sharp. “No.”
“Do you want to go back in and kiss him hard enough that everyone forgets the blonde’s name?”
I made a sound like a wounded accordion. “Also no.”
“What do you want to do?”
I looked down at the to-go boxes in my hands, small, hot comforts I hadn’t earned, and tried to name a thing that didn’t make me feel foolish.
“I do not want to be dumb,” I said, and the honesty surprised me. “I let it feel good, and now my stomach is in my shoes because of a woman with a ponytail and a history. I hate that about me.”
Lydia slowed, bumping her shoulder against mine.
“I love that about you,” she said. “The part where you let it feel good. The stomach location we can work on. I’ve met her a few times. She’s got nothing on you.”
I snorted. “Thanks.”
“And for the record,” she said, tilting her head back to watch a snowflake flutter onto her nose, “I’ve known Drew Benedict a long time. He’s got a past. So do you. So do I, and mine involves a Halloween party and a mariachi band I am not prepared to explain. But his present is the kind that doesn’t lie.”
“Tell that to my anxious brain.”
“I will,” she said solemnly. “I’ll say it over and over.”
We reached the square. The tree glittered as if pleased with itself; the gazebo wore a skirt of garland; the river moved in its quiet sheet of steel. I could feel my anger settling into its less showy cousins, hurt and fear.
She squeezed my hand once and then got down to business, because that is who she was—she saves the town and the people in it with the same list.
“We drop these at the gazebo, we string the last set of lights along the booths, and we make fun of Callum’s attempt atcalligraphy until he cries. Then we reassess your desire to make poor choices.”
“Perfect.”
We set the boxes on a bench and divvied ribbon as we ate crispy hashbrowns.
Behind us, the town moved like it always did.
“He’ll come find you,” Lydia said after a while, not looking at me, because she is merciful. “He’s a stubborn man with a good compass.”
I blinked hard at a knot that refused to untangle.
“He looked…hurt,” I said, the confession escaping before I could cage it.
“Yeah.” Her voice was soft. “So do you.”
