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“It’s so good to see you,” I say into her thick masses of wavy brown hair, still squeezing her tightly.
“You, too!” Sarah pulls away and holds me at arm’s length. “You look incredible. I was worried this tiny town would dull your sparkle, but you’re still shining all over the place!”
I laugh and pick up her bags. “Thanks, babe,” I say. “I’m doing my damndest.”
We leave the airport and head to Matt’s house. Sarah was originally going to stay in a hotel, but Matt insisted on having her in his guestroom. When we arrive at his place, Sarah gives a low whistle, eyeing the structure appreciatively. “This place is gorgeous, Jen,” she says.
“Isn’t it?” I agree. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”
We take a quick tour, ending in the guestroom. Sarah flops backward onto the bed and moans in delight. “So comfy,” she says. “This is better than my bed at home. I’m going to have to take it with me.”
“I thought the same thing when I stayed in here.”
Sarah raises a brow. “So there’s only one guestroom, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, where do you sleep?”
I feel myself flush, and Sarah laughs, clapping her hands together in glee. “I knew it! I knew things were getting serious with you two!”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” I promise, “when I have at least two Bloody Mary’s in front of me. Deal?”
She grins. “Deal.”
Fifteen minutes later, my first cocktail is being served to me, and an order of pancakes and bacon is on its way. Our brunch spot of choice is in Snow Valley’s picturesque downtown, and today it’s packed full of folks trying to escape the early-season snow. Snow Valley is certainly living up to its name as flurries swirl outside the restaurant window, and the town could easily be the setting of a Hallmark movie. I can’t help but feel a little like the heroine of one myself. Who would’ve thunk? I muse contentedly to myself as I sip my drink, reveling in its spice.
“What’ve you been up to?” I ask my best friend as she nibbles on a piece of toast.
“A whole lot of nothing,” she sighs. “Playing guitar sometimes, smoking sometimes, missing you… That’s about it, really.”
“What about clubbing?” I ask.
She grins. “Okay, a fair amount of clubbing. There’s a new spot down the street from me--I think you’d really love it!”
Sarah chatters on excitedly about the atmosphere of the new club, and I feel a knot tighten in my chest. I’ve only been away for a few months and yet New York seems like a distant memory. I’m supposed to decide in the next month if I want to stay here or move back home--Matt and I, after all, have to be married by Christmas. When I first came to Snow Valley, the obvious choice was that I’d leave after a perfunctory attempt to satisfy my grandparents. Now, my perspective seems unfocused, like I’m trying to look at my future through a smudged camera lens.
“Sarah,” I say suddenly, just as my second drink arrives. “I need to talk to you.”
Her brown eyes, usually sparkling with fun, narrow as her expression turns serious. “I’m all ears all the time, baby,” she says, reaching across the table to grab my hand. “You know that.”
“I know.” I swallow hard, suddenly losing my appetite for breakfast. “This is wild to say, but… I’m not all that sure I’m coming back to New York.”
She nods, as if she had suspected what I was going to say. “So it is serious with this guy, huh?”
“He’s just…” I fumble for words, fiddling with a napkin. “He’s incredible, Sarah. You know I wouldn’t say that lightly. I had Matt all wrong. I thought he was going to be so uptight because he’s a lawyer, but he’s fun and goofy and surprising. And he’s so thoughtful. He remembers everything I say, even the dumb stuff, and leaves me a note every single morning before he goes to work. They’re little things, but they make a difference, you know?”
Sarah sighs wistfully, squeezing my hand. “I know.”
“I just…” Our food arrives and I get to be silent for a moment, trying to figure out what I want to say next. I drizzle my pile of pancakes with syrup as Sarah digs into her omelet. I poke idly at a pancake with my fork, feeling like a kid who’s playing with their food to avoid eating it.
I heave a sigh and put my fork down. “I just want to know the right thing to do,” I say, gesturing wildly with my hands, as I tend to do when I get frustrated. “I want to know if it’s right to stay here and get married to a man I’ve only known for a few months, or if it’s right to go home and pretend he never existed. And, oh, God, Sarah, the band…” I bury my face in my hands, feeling bitter tears prickle at my eyelashes. “What will we do about the band? What if I don’t come back? Will you all hate me?”
