She hesitates, glancing back at the diner windows still glowing warm behind us. “Just for a few minutes?”
“As long as you want.”
Her shoulders ease, like I said the right thing without knowing it. “Okay. Then yeah.”
We fall into step down Main Street, side by side, as if no time has passed at all. Snow crunches beneath our boots, and every now and then her sleeve brushes mine, sending a jolt through me I can’t seem to get used to.
“I forgot how dramatic this town gets about snow,” Faith says.
“You say that like you didn’t love it.”
She glances at me. “I loved it when I didn’t have to shovel.”
“That’s why you were friends with me,” I say. “Manual labor access. Well, anyway, Jet seemed really happy to see you,” I say.
Faith lets out a soft laugh. “Jet is… Jet. She never wanted anything from me except me. It felt good. Like breathing again.” A pause. “I missed her. I missed all of this.”
“All of this,” I repeat quietly.
She nods. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I was standing in that booth again. Like some version of me woke up.”
My chest tightens. “The good version?”
She gives a sad little smile. “The real one.”
My insides twist.
Faith walks closer. Close enough I can smell her shampoo, see the steam rising off her breath in slow curls. It’s too easy to slip into old rhythms, old versions of myself I thought I buried years ago.
We turn toward Town Square, the Christmas lights glowing warm across the snow. The big tree in the center flickers with silver ribbon and uneven student-made ornaments.
“That one looks like a snowman,” Faith says, squinting.
“That is not a snowman.”
“It has eyes.”
“So does a potato,” I say. “If you put eyes on it….”
She laughs. “You’re just mad because Buckhorn’s artistic vision hasn’t evolved.”
“I will not be shamed by a macaroni angel,” I say gravely.
Faith continues walking.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, and I realize I’m not looking at the tree when she says it. I’m looking at her instead, the glow of the lights catching in her eyes, the quiet wonder on her face undoing me far more than the decorations ever could.
She catches me staring, and she doesn’t look away.
“What?” she asks softly.
“Nothing,” I say, too fast.
She watches me, then nods, like she understands there’s more I’m not saying.
My chest tightens.
We walk again, circling the square. People wave. A kid sleds off a small snowbank and faceplants. Faith laughs softly, and I swear something in me unclenches just hearing it.
