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“I think your skill on the field had something to do with it.”

He inclines his head. He’s always been so dang modest. I wish it wasn’t so endearing.

But we’re friends now. Friends again. I can think Gabe is endearing in a purely platonic way. Watch me.

“Probably a little something,” he concedes. “Do you remember how you would end all of your speeches?”

“Believe in yourself,” I quote with a smile.

“Because I believe in you,” Gabe finishes.

We stare at each other for a moment until Gabe blinks and looks out the windshield

“I still—” He breaks off with a shake of his head.

“What?” I ask.

“Never mind.”

I let it be. No need to pry into something he doesn’t want to talk about. Probably better this way, anyway. More platonic.

I pull away from the curb and point my car in the direction of Valley Peak.

“What’d you need the pep talk for anyway?” he asks after I make it out of his mom’s neighborhood and onto Rudolph Run. We’re driving south of town.

“The Kells are”—I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him—“nerve-wracking to talk to.”

It’s the truth. Ever since I’ve known them, I’ve been overwhelmed by them.

“But it’ll be fine.” I offer him my most sure smile. “I gave myself one of my own pep talks, at least until you interrupted me.”

“Feel free to continue. I’d love to hear what you got.”

“Ha ha. No.” I stick out my tongue at him, but it’s tough to keep up the playful façade.

As if he can sense that I’ve got a lot on my mind, Gabe stays quiet, waiting on me. I feel his gaze as I keep my focus on the road.

Eventually, I sigh. “The Kells always make me feel insecure. They’ve built this huge, amazing business in no time flat. Wait till you see it. And, I don’t know. I guess it’s tough not to second-guess everything I’ve done with the bookshop—with my whole life, really. To wonder if I measure up.”

Chapter 12

Gabe

I take a good look at Beth. She’s got her hair pinned back off her face with some sort of sparkly clip. She’s wearing a camel-colored wool coat with big brown buttons, and she has a red-and-white-striped scarf circling her neck. She’s breathtaking, but what’s currently got my full attention is her expression as she reaches up and adjusts her glasses. This look of uncertainty is not one I’m used to seeing from her, and frankly, I hate it.

Does she honestly not think that she—that her business—stands up next to the rest of the Dasher Valley crowd?

“Beth—”

“That’s why the Dasher Valley 8 selection would be so great, you know?” She flicks her eyes to me before returning them to the road. “A little proof that all my hard work has paid off. That I’ve established myself here.”

“I don’t think you need the external validation,” I argue. “What you’ve built speaks for itself.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

I want to argue more with her, but I sense it’d be a losing battle. She’s dug in, for reasons I can’t begin to imagine. I used to have a front-row seat to her thoughts and feelings. Now I’m up in the nosebleeds with a pair of binoculars. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll take any view I can get, but this one’s a little harder to work with.

“How’s your mom doing?” she asks in a clear attempt at a subject change.