Page 3

He wears his pain etched in his wrinkled forehead and perpetual downturned lips.

“Upton is coming to Budgie Bay,” I blurt out once we turn onto Preen Street. “For Nora’s reception.”

Monroe cuts his eyes over to me briefly before returning them to the snow-covered road. “Hmm.”

I never told him, or Mom, or anyone about Upton. He was my secret. But my secret is about to be revealed.

“Did Elias tell you?” I ask in exasperation.

It’s still going to take some getting used to that my high school friend is now best friends with my daughter’s husband.

“He did. You know he tells me everything.” He’s quiet for a beat and then says, “How come you never told me about you and Upton having a relationship in Seattle?”

There was a good decade where everything was happening all at once. Graduation. Monroe and Wren had a shotgun wedding. I ran off to Seattle. They started having babies while I got my education. Then came the accident, the grief, and Monroe becoming a distraught single parent. I’d gotten pregnant with Nora not long after all that. The last thing I wanted was to add to all he was dealing with.

So, we grew apart.

Despite being friends on social media, this is the first time since that we’ve been able to truly be friends again.

“That feels like a lifetime ago,” I say with a sigh. “I thought you knew, anyway.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Upton was an Asbury. The school snobs. Didn’t know you harbored a crush for that guy.”

“Upton wasn’t a snob,” I defend. “Now his mother, on the other hand…”

That was the part that ticked Nora off. Learning that her paternal grandmother, Caroline, was also her arch nemesis on the city tourism board. Some grudges are carried through generations and the one Mom had toward Caroline is as present as ever with Nora.

“Elias says Nora is thrilled to get to know her father,” Monroe says as we turn onto Skyblue Shore Road. “Once it gets out, though, you know you’ll be the talk of the town.”

One of the things I don’t miss about Budgie Bay.

Everyone has something to say. Always. There are never any secrets.

“Let them talk,” I mutter. “They always do.”

As we pass The Tailstream River Landing District, a small sense of pride trickles through me. Upton’s company, the same one I knew I’d always be second place to, built up this entire area. It’s missing the small-town charm like that on Wing Whirr Way, but it reminds me of my other home in New York. Featherlight Collective is a high-end boutique that would put all the priciest shops in Manhattan to shame, and one I’ve shopped in more times than necessary since coming here this past summer.

The hotels, restaurants, and shops are all fitted with the same warm, vibrant yellow Christmas lights along each rooftop and around each window. All the doors are adorned with similar looking wreathes. It’s likely a requirement for the district that the décor must all match.

Upton was always so put together, so it makes sense his businesses are. He was such a unique, unfamiliar presence in a town full of predictable, chaotic people. I loved that he was poised, respectful, and intelligent.

When we arrive at Wing Whirr Way, I can’t help but smile. It’s not as polished as The Tailstream River Landing District, but it certainly charming. Each business has their own lights and decoration, making the street colorful, warm despite the snow, and welcoming.

I’m admiring all the pretty store fronts and can hear Christmas music playing from speakers somewhere, when I’m torn from the enjoyment of what’s around me.

There, in the middle of the turnabout, is a budgie breeder sitting by his cage.

Selling birds.

In the middle of our incoming wintery weather.

“Stop the car,” I cry out, a flash of anger spiking through me and causing a hot flash. “I’ll be right back.”

Monroe calls out to me in confusion, but I’m already trucking through the accumulating snow toward the person selling budgies. Before I reach the man with the cage, I can smell cigarette smoke and the distinct stench of bird waste. The kind that hasn’t been cleared off in some time.

In the middle of a crusty cage is a white, shivering budgie with reddish-colored eyes.

It must be half-frozen.