We lean against opposite counters, listening to the girls shriek over some glittery thing in the next room.
“What’s up?” he asks quietly.
“Had a late-night visitor,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Faith,” I say.
Boone chokes on his coffee. Actually chokes. He has to turn and cough into his elbow.
“I’m sorry,” he wheezes when he can breathe. “Did you say Faith, as in Ross?”
“Yeah,” I say. “She hit the ditch at the bend last night. I pulled her out, brought her in.”
He stares at me, then scrubs a hand over his face. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah,” I say again.
“Is she okay?”
“Physically, yeah,” I say. “Shaken to hell, car’s a mess, but she’ll be fine.”
He narrows his eyes. “And you?”
I shrug, staring into my mug. “Work in progress.”
He is quiet for a long beat. “You mad at her?”
I think about the moment those headlights crest the hill. The way my gut dropped when I saw that navy pickup in the ditch. The wild, choking relief when she looked up and said my name.
“I was,” I say. “For a long time.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know.” I let out a breath. “Mostly I’m just… surprised. Tired. She ran out on her wedding, Boone. Of all places, she drove here.”
“You always were her safe place,” he says. “Even when you didn’t know it.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter. “Safe places have kids and responsibilities now.”
He tips his head toward the living room. “You’re gonna tell the others?”
“Bit by bit,” I say. “No sense dropping that bomb right in the middle of Santa’s big moment.”
He nods. “You need anything, you holler.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “I know.”
I catch Nash while he’s trying to sneak an extra cinnamon roll.
“You know Mom can see you from literally every angle of this kitchen, right?” I say.
He freezes, hand halfway to the tray.
“I’m testing to make sure they’re edible,” he says. “Very noble of me, actually.”
“Faith’s here,” I say, because going in gentle with Nash is pointless.
