Chapter one
Sadie
Winter Festival Disaster
The worst part about being publicly humiliated in a small town is that everyone pretends not to notice. Which, of course, means everyone notices.
I stand behind the Sweet Seasons Bakery booth at the town festival with powdered sugar on my apron, frosting on my wrist, and the kind of smile that makes my cheeks ache from holding it too long.
Across Main Street, Briar Cove glows like the inside of a snow globe. White lights hang from every lamppost. Evergreen garlands wrap around the shop signs. The temporary skating rink sparkles under strings of golden bulbs, and half of the town is strolling Main, bundled in scarves, mittens, and cheerful winter hats.
It should be beautiful.
It is beautiful.
That’s the problem.
Beautiful things have a way of making heartbreak look even uglier.
I try not to look toward the far end of the street.
I fail.
Darren, my ex-boyfriend, stands beneath the archway of lights near the skating rink, one hand resting possessively on the waist of a woman who looks like she stepped out of a glossy magazine and into my personal nightmare.
Of course she’s beautiful.
Of course, her hair falls in perfect waves beneath a cream-colored wool hat.
Of course, her coat probably costs more than my oven repair bill.
And, of course, half the town has noticed.
Darren sees me looking and smiles. Not kindly. Not apologetically. Just enough to make sure I know he sees me seeing him.
My stomach twists.
Sadie Bennett, town baker, single mother, and apparently the woman men always underestimate.
I turn back to my booth and rearrange gingerbread hockey sticks that do not need rearranging.
Darren is not Jillie’s father.
That matters. I remind myself of that every time the betrayal digs deeper than I want it to. Jillie’s biological father left us just after her first birthday. He faded out slowly at first, with missed visits and weak excuses, then all at once, like fatherhood had been a coat he could shrug off when it became inconvenient. Our divorce followed, painfully at least on my part. Jillie barely remembers him now, which is its own strange mercy.
Darren came later.
We dated for a year, just long enough for him to sit at my kitchen table. Long enough to carry Jillie through a snowstorm when she had a fever. Long enough to let her draw him into family pictures with stick-figure arms and a crooked smile. And long enough to make me think maybe I had been wrong to keep the walls so high.
Then he cheated with Vanessa Hale, a real estate agent with perfect nails and a laugh sharp enough to cut ribbon.
Now here they are, at the town’s winter festival, looking polished and new while I stand behind a bakery booth trying not to crumble beside the peppermint brownies.
“Mommy?” Jillie tugs my sleeve. “Can we skate later?”
“Maybe, Bug.”
“You said maybe means probably no.”
