And then there she was.
MelanieSauserwas walking through the festival like a Christmas card someone had dropped into real life. Her hair was tucked into her hat, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and Lydia was beside her, beaming like she’d just singlehandedly saved the holiday season.
I froze, my breath fogging the air.
She stopped near the river, a cup of cider in hand, and for half a second, she looked right at me.
The world narrowed to that single moment.
Just me, her, and the quiet ache of everything we hadn’t said.
I almost moved.
Almost.
But before I could, a group of kids barreled between us, shrieking about snowball fights and candy canes, and the spell broke. When the path cleared, she’d already turned away, and whatever courage I’d worked up went with her.
So, I did what I do best, walked away, and pretended I wasn’t unraveling.
By the time I stomped back into The Rusty Stag, snow clung to my boots, my jaw was tight, and I probably looked like someone had just stolen my truck.
Callum was behind the bar, polishing glasses and humming“Jingle Bell Rock.”Because of course he was.
He took one look at me and grinned. “Ah, there it is—the classic Benedict brood.”
“Don’t start,” I muttered, shrugging out of my jacket and hanging it on the hook.
“Too late,” he said cheerfully, setting the glass aside. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’ve been standing in the snow contemplating life and love like you’re the main character in a tragic Christmas movie.”
I scowled. “You been drinking the spiked cider again?”
“Don’t dodge,” he said. “What happened? You saw her, didn’t you?”
“Who?” I asked, knowing full well it was useless.
He smirked. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”
I sighed, leaning on the bar. “Fine. I saw her. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” he said. “How’d it go?”
I shot him a look. “If you have to ask, you already know.”
He grinned. “So… not well.”
“Didn’t say a word to her,” I admitted, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck.
“Ah, the old ‘strong and silent’ routine,” he said. “Classic move.”
“It wasn’t a move,” I said. “It was self-preservation.”
“Right,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Because nothing says healthy emotional processing like glaring at your love interest from across the street and then sulking about it.”
I threw a bar towel at him. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas.”
