"To hell with it," I muttered under my breath and closed the hood with a satisfying thud.
The decision loomed over me as I cleaned up the garage. Did I want to be near Beth enough to endure a night of holiday cheer? It sounded like torture, but so did sitting alone in my quiet house while everyone else celebrated.
Whileshecelebrated.
I could give a shit about everyone else.
When I'd come back to town, I hadn't expected any of this—certainly not someone like Beth Morrison barging into my life with cookies and smiles.
I decided I’d drive Beth’s car to the café. She’d need it for the night, and maybe she’d stop pestering me about the damn tree lighting.
I didn't know what I'd do after dropping it off, but I'd figure it out. Or not. That feeling of not knowing made me uneasy.
I got in her car and turned the key. The engine purred to life, and I couldn’t help but think that someone like Beth shouldn’t be driving this old junker. It had more rust than paint, and the seats were torn in places. The only decent thing about it was the stereo, which was currently blasting out some overly cheerful Christmas song.
I adjusted the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of myself, frowning as usual. Shaking my head, I pulled out of the garage and headed toward her café. The streets were busy with holiday shoppers, their arms full of bags and their faces bright with smiles.
Beth's café came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the cold evening. ALive Music Mondayssign hung in the window, promising a night of festivity I wasn’t sure I could stomach.
I parked her car out front and turned off the ignition, letting the sudden silence wash over me. My grip on the steering wheel tightened before I forced myself to let go.
This was a mistake. She didn’t need my help, and I sure as hell didn’t need her kindness or her cookies.
But then I saw her through the window of the café, laughing with a customer as she handed over a steaming cup of something festive. Her smile was infectious, reaching all the way to her eyes.
For a moment, I just watched her. Beth Morrison, with her bright smile and determination to see good in everyone—even someone like me.
The car door creaked as I opened it and stepped out into the crisp air. My breath formed small clouds that quickly dissipated. I walked toward the café entrance, feeling more out of place with each step.
When Beth looked up and saw me through the glass door, her face lit up even more—if that was possible. She waved enthusiastically.
“Daryl! You brought my car!” She pushed open the door and came bounding out like an excited puppy.
“Yeah,” I grunted, holding out the keys. “Thought you’d need it tonight.”
She took them from me with a grateful smile that made my chest feel weirdly tight.
“You're coming, right?” she asked, her blue eyes wide and hopeful.
I started to say no, but when I looked into her eyes, the word stuck in my throat. “I'm already here,” I muttered instead.
“Great!” She beamed. “Let me just close up.”
She turned and disappeared into the back of the café, leaving me standing awkwardly near the entrance. The café had a warmth to it that was hard to ignore. It smelled of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow, adorned with eclectic art and photos of past live music nights.
I took a few steps further inside, noticing the display case filled with an array of cookies, pastries, and cakes. Each one looked more delicious than the last. The counter held jars of brightly colored candy canes and gingerbread men decorated with meticulous detail.
On one side of the room, there was a bulletin board covered with flyers and announcements. My eyes landed on a poster for a cookie contest—“Think you’ve got the best cookies in town? Prove it!”—complete with a list of rules and prizes.
The whole place felt like Christmas had exploded inside it. Garlands hung from the ceiling, twinkling lights wrapped around every available surface, and a small tree stood in the corner, decorated with ornaments that looked handmade.
I could hear Beth in the back, humming softly to herself as she closed up shop. Her voice mingled with the soft holiday music playing from hidden speakers.
I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, feeling out of place among all this cheerfulness. But something about being here, in her world, made me feel…less alone.
Beth reappeared from the back room, still smiling. “Ready?”
Not really. But I nodded anyway.
