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We don’t get to continue our discussion because Silas quickly takes our drink orders and then the bunko games are on. Dice clatters loudly on the smooth tabletops as everyone does their best to hit triples of their number. Since I didn’t come prepared with my own special dice, I just use Romeo’s. I make a note to order me a cool set.

Because you do regular Monday night bunko now?

Apparently so.

It’s loud and chaotic, but in the best possible way. I’ve been living in my tomb of a penthouse that’s drab and devoid of personality or color. Here in The Icehouse, with familiar faces, laughter, and festive Christmas decor, I’m more comfortable than I’ve been in a long time.

At some point, I notice movement between Sandy’s zipper on her chest. Not because I was looking. A tiny white feathery head peeks out and chirps at me.

I snap my eyes to Sandy’s as her cheeks blaze redder than the Christmas stockings hung behind the bar. Budgies were never her thing yet here she is with one smuggled inside her jacket. My eyebrow lifts in question, speaking silently to her despite the noise, and she tries to hide a grin.

My heart lurches in my chest.

Wow.

I missed this woman’s smiles.

Wherever Sandy is, there’s an undeniable warmth. She brings a certain coziness whenever she’s around. Always has. My upbringing was chilly, so she was like the sun when she came into my life.

The game gets heated because we’re all a bit competitive, but in the end, Sandy takes the big win. To celebrate, she offers to buy everyone at our table pie at the diner, so that’s where we end up next. Somehow, likely strategic on Romeo and Monroe’s parts, I end up in a booth with Sandy beside me.

She’s so close and smells so good, it’s hard to pay attention to anything anyone is saying. I ache to get her alone to have a real conversation with her. Our lives are finally publicly intertwining and it’s so refreshing. Long overdue.

The overly cheery Christmas music playing in the background makes me feel hopeful.

“I’ll have the cinnamon apple crisp,” Sandy tells the waitress. “And since this guy can’t be bothered to look at the menu, I’ll order the eggnog pie for him.”

Monroe makes a disgusted sound and Romeo pretends to gag. My stomach grumbles happily. I shoot Sandy a grateful smile. She remembers what I like.

“Um,” the waitress says as she backs away, “I don’t think birds are allowed in here.”

“Sure they are, kid,” Monroe says in his most authoritative voice. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t get loose.”

The girl nods and sighs in relief before making her way to the computer to put our orders in. Her jingle bell earrings make all kinds of noise along the way.

“On a serious note,” Romeo says, bringing my attention back to him, “how does Nora feel about all this? Being denied knowing her father all her life?”

Sandy stiffens beside me as guilt ripples off her in waves. The urge to protect her, even from my friend’s probing, has me speaking up.

“We all have complicated pasts,” I say quickly. “Our reasons are private. Please respect that. The important part is, we’re making the connection now, and Nora is as excited as am I.”

Sandy relaxes beside me. The urge to wrap my arm around her shoulders is strong. I barely manage to control myself.

“Me and Upton are doing the best we can,” Sandy says as she pets her white budgie that’s peeking out of her jacket. “I’m just excited for the wedding reception. It’s going to be so much fun.”

Everyone at the table accepts her desire to change the subject to a better one. Everyone but me. I’m still stuck on “me and Upton.” Like we’re a pair. A duo. Two people united in the same cause.

The waitress returns with ice water for everyone and our desserts. My slice of eggnog pie is garnished with fluffy whipped cream topped with red and green sprinkles. After having been watching what I eat and working out like a maniac lately, it’s nice to indulge in something heavenly.

“That’s so disgusting,” Romeo complains. “Who even drinks eggnog, much less eats it in pie form?”

Monroe is eyeing my pie like it has mold and stinks of death. Sandy, though, shocks everyone, including me, as she reaches over with her fork to try a bite. I follow her fork to her mouth, wondering if she’ll like it as much as I do.

As soon as she takes the bite, her long lashes flutter and she groans in appreciation. My stomach clenches in appreciation of her.

“Ohhh,” she murmurs after she swallows it down. “That’s good. Rich and sweet, but oh-so-good.”

I don’t miss that her gaze lingered on me when she said, “Rich and sweet, but oh-so-good.” Heat burns through me and I have to tear my eyes from hers to focus on my pie. Memories from decades ago assault my mind without warning. As everyone chats about their desserts and the upcoming holiday, I’m stuck in the past remembering how it felt to have Sandy Everhart in my arms and my mouth on hers.