“They ditched,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed. “After all that work.”
Wren’s nose scrunches. “I know. I thought they’d be here to celebrate. They’re never a part of the town celebrations after… you know. I don’t know what I was hoping for, to be honest. They were a part of all of this, so I thought they would make this party the exception.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I say. “And Ryker needed rest. Still, it sucks. This was their project, too.”
“They’ll hear all about it tomorrow,” she says. “Half the town’s here.”
She’s not exaggerating. The whole of Fox Hollow seems to have squeezed inside.
Mick’s behind the bar, wearing a Dracula cape and mixing drinks like his life depends on it. Mrs. Coldwell from the bakery is dressed as a witch, cackling at every joke.
Even the sheriff showed up with fake fangs and a cowboy hat. The music thumps, people dance, and the town feels alive.
“So,” Wren says, voice sly, “Christmas. You already scheming?”
I grin. “Always. I was thinking frost-tipped arrangements—white peonies, evergreens, eucalyptus. Maybe some silver ivy if I can get it in time.”
She hums. “Classy.”
“And profitable,” I add. “Mayor Brighton mentioned another down payment next week. If that comes through, I’m talking to Jude about finally installing the cold room at the shop. No more storing flowers in my kitchen fridge.”
“Big-girl move,” Wren says approvingly.
“About time,” I say. “I’m running out of shelf space between the lilies and my leftover takeout.”
She laughs, the sound bright and contagious. Then her eyes narrow with that mischievous spark I’ve learned to dread. “Can I ask you something?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.”
I sigh. “Fine. Ask.”
“Is there something going on between you and the Pack Built guys?”
I choke on my drink. “What? No!”
She lifts a brow. “You just turned the color of your roses.”
“I did not.”
“Uh-huh.”
“There’s nothing going on,” I insist, fanning my face. “We’re friends. Colleagues. That’s all.”
Wren leans in. “Then why are you blushing?”
I stare into my glass, feeling my pulse flutter. “Because you’re ridiculous.”
She just waits, smirking, clearly not buying it.
I groan. “Okay, fine. You remember how I told you about those dreams?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare?—”
“Sometimes,” I admit, lowering my voice, “the guys are… featured.”
She gasps, hand flying to her chest. “Holy shit, Norah!”
