I’d been visiting my best friend up in Reckless River for over a year, and her relationship with Callum had only strengthened. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or hopeful.
We ducked into a café to thaw out. It smelled like cinnamon and sugarplum dreams, dangerous territory for anyone trying to maintain emotional stability.
A chalkboard sign readPeppermint Mocha Day + Add Whipped Cream for free!
“If I add whipped cream, does it count as lunch?” I asked.
“Only if you add sprinkles,” Lydia said, ordering for us both.
I stared out the fogged window at the blur of honking cars and stressed-out shoppers as the barista handed over our drinks. I wasn’t surprised that Lydia was on beverage number two. She could pound the caffeine like few I’ve met.
“I love hot cocoa,” she nearly squealed.
“Are you telling me that’s not a coffee either?” I scowled at her.
“Nope. I don’t seem to need it like I did down here.” She happily sipped her hot chocolate, and I rolled my eyes.
“I don’t know how or why you left all this,” I said. “The chaos, the noise, the adrenaline, it’s like caffeine for the soul.”
She smiled softly, with that Reckless River calm in her eyes. “That’s just it, Mel. I don’t need chaos to remind me that I’m alive anymore.”
And I didn’t say it, but that was the moment I realized something had shifted.
Her life was quiet and rooted, while mine still spun like a pine needle-covered tornado.
I tapped my cup against hers. “To surviving December.”
“Maybe even thriving in it,” she said with a wink.
Outside, a man slipped on the slush and took down an entire row of inflatable penguins.
“Don’t count on it.” I sipped my mocha and smiled. “I just don’t want to wind up like that guy.”
Somewhere between the burnt coffee and Mariah Carey’s fifteenth encore, I had the uneasy feeling my best friend’s peace might be contagious, and that was almost as terrifying as the parking ticket waiting on my windshield.
The moment Lydia started humming along to some disgustingly cheerful Christmas song, I knew she was about to bring him up.
She always got that glow right before she mentioned Callum. It was the same dreamy expression you see on Hallmark heroines when they realize the flannel-wearing stranger who saved their bakery from foreclosure also rescues puppies in his spare time, but not before making meatballs for his grandmother on Sundays.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and silently prayed.Don’t say it. Don’t say his name.
“I talked to Callum this morning,” she said brightly.
Of course.
I forced a smile that probably looked like mild dental pain. “How lovely.”
“He says everyone in town’s excited for the festival this weekend. He’s been putting up the decorations outside the bar.”
“Good for him,” I said. “Festive masculinity.”
She laughed, and I could practically feel the conversation curving toward danger like a slow-motion car crash.
Sure enough…
“And Drew helped him with the lights.”
I groaned. “Lydia. Please.”
