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For a few hours, it works. I answer emails. I finalize the shuttle route with the transportation coordinator and draft the downtown campaign materials before emailing them to Meredith for review. I approve vendor applications and finalize the vendor map.

By ten-thirty, I need the good coffee and one of Noëlle’s cinnamon rolls with extra icing. Just the thought makes my mouth water.

“Emmet, I’m going to Noëlle’s. Can I bring you something?”

“I’m good. Thank you, Finn.” He goes back to his spreadsheet, so I grab my coat and head out.

Noëlle’s is warm and smells like cinnamon and coffee, and I let out a small sigh of relief as the door closes behind me.

Then I see Taylen standing by the counter.

“Finn, your usual?” Noëlle asks. “Why don’t you two sit over there by the window, and I’ll get you both taken care of in no time.”

Taylen’s expression is tight, which immediately makes me feel guilty. We sit where Noëlle told us, but unlike all the other times we’re together, this doesn’t feel like an easy chance meeting between friends.

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” I say quietly.

“Been busy. Festival stuff, you know how it is. After all, you made the list.”

“About that…” I lean forward. “I know it’s been chaotic. But I promise that as soon as the infrastructure is in place, we can handle most of it. I just want to make sure we don’t accidentally take up more space than was agreed on.”

“It’s fine.”

“Seriously, Tay. You don’t need to⁠—”

“Not everything is about the damn festival, okay?” The words come out so harsh I do a double-take. I open my mouth to say something, but he doesn’t let me.

“Maybe I have other problems that don’t revolve around the fucking Christmas Festival.”

Something in my chest goes cold.

“Tay, what’s going on?”

He scoffs. “What, now you’re interested in being my best friend?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you haven’t made time for the person you call a best friend in weeks. You haven’t answered a single one of my calls that wasn’t about the festival. You’ve canceled our Friday drinks three weeks in a row. And when I do see you, you’re on your phone, you’re distracted, or you’re running out the door because something else needs you more.”

His voice is not loud anymore. It’s hurt.

I want to say I’m sorry. That every excuse I’ve given him has been a lie, and that when I said I was working, I was really cooking dinner in my kitchen with a man I’m not allowed to talk about. That the reason I’ve been distracted is that I’ve fallen in love with someone who is going to leave, and I’ve been trying to enjoy him quietly while I still have him.

But I can’t say any of it. “Tay, I’m⁠—”

“Whatever.” He stands, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

The bakery has gone quiet.

“Sorry, Noëlle,” he says, without looking at her. “I’ll take the coffee another time. Just remembered I have another delivery this morning.”

He shoulders past two women who have to press against a table to let him through. The door chimes as he pushes it open, letting the cold air rush in.

I stand and grab my coat off the back of my chair. I follow him out, but when I get there, he’s already in his truck, driving away.

I stand on the sidewalk for a moment with my coat in my hand and the winter cold seeping through my sweater. It’s still not as cold as the treatment I got from my best friend.

I could go after him. Drive to his farm and tell him the truth, but I can’t because it’s not just my secret.