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“All men are assholes, Hadlee.”
“Okay, but some are only a little bit of an asshole,” she says, pulling at her dangling earring. “Jon and George were freshly fucked assholes—big and full of shit.”
I choke on a laugh, my cheeks heating as an older couple shoots us disapproving glares. “That’s wrong on so many levels, Lee.”
“But true.” She grins, mischief glinting in the depths of her eyes. “Now, let’s get in there so you can take scrupulous notes for Mrs. F.”
???
I see him the minute I sit down: dark curls, scruffy jaw, amber eyes.Alex. I lift my hand to my lips, gnawing on the cuticle of my thumb.Of course he’s here. I watch him take in the room, traitorous butterflies dancing in my stomach when his eyes land on me. He holds the eye-contact a moment longer than appropriate, but his expression is one of boredom. From this distance, I can’t quite tell if he took in my messy bun or college sweater, but I feel more uncomfortable anyway.
“Why do you keep fiddling with your sweater like that?” Hadlee asks in a hushed whisper, swatting my hands away from the fabric.
“I’m self-conscious,” I mutter. The room we’re in is something akin to a theater, with the most uncomfortable velvet chairs. There’s a stage at the front of the room, a long table set up in the center—no doubt where the mayor and chair-people will sit. “I don’t remember the last time I came to one of these meetings, and I feel like everyone is watching me.”
“No one is looking at you, J,” she says in an attempt to soothe my nerves. I cross my arms, trying to ignore the burning gazes of curious people. Disappear for six years, and this is what coming home gets you. “Besides, you’re just here to take notes for Mrs. F, which is so far from attention drawing, it’s like living in a cave.”
“I wish I was in a cave right now,” I mutter, sinking lower in my chair.
“Oh, stop being such a spoilsport.” Hadlee’s brows furrow, and she turns her attention to the front of the room. “They’re supposed to announce the Christmas festival tonight.”
“Welcome!” A strong voice echoes around the room, and my eyes fly to the man standing on the stage beside the table. He’s tall, with ashy blond hair that falls in waves over his forehead. His smile is blinding, and he tousles his hair with a hand as he continues. “If we could have everyone take a seat, we can begin!”
The crowd settles, seats filling quickly and the din quieting.
“Do you honestly think all men are assholes?” Hadlee leans closer to ask, her eyes focused on the blond man on stage. My eyes drift to Alex standing against the wall, his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place.
“Yeah, I do.”
???
I zone out for most of the meeting, scrolling through George’s social media instead. I don’t know why I torture myself this way, but somehow, seeing images of him and his secretary soothes me. I should’ve known the moment he hired her that this would happen, but I was in a blissful bubble, only seeing what he wanted me to see.
I sigh heavily, earning an elbow to the ribs. “Ow!”
“I thought you blocked him,” Hadlee hisses, taking my phone and tucking it into her clutch purse. She gestures to the front of the room, where the handsome blond man is talking again. “This is not the time for a meltdown. Mayor Bradley just announced that the local stores are teaming up for booths this year.”
“That should be interesting,” I say, boredom dripping from every word.
“Now, we’ve already written the local business names on a strip of paper,” the man—Mayor Bradley says, holding out a bowl. “I’ll draw out two businesses, and they’ll be paired for a booth. Sound good?”
There’s a cacophony of agreement, and he reaches his hand into the bowl. “Casey’s Cuts and Feldman’s.”
Hadlee groans, sinking back into her chair. “Feldman’s? They’re the worst one to be paired with.”
“Why, because they’re a hardware store?”
“Exactly! What’s our booth going to be—who can nail a board faster?” Her brows furrow, her bright red lips pinching into a scowl. I shake my head with a laugh; she’s going to pout about this for the rest of the holiday season.
Mayor Bradley’s voice echoes through the hall, bringing my attention back to the name draw. “The Little Button Bakery and Brooks Books.”
My jaw drops, and I swing my gaze across the room to where Alex stands, irritation clear on his face.This cannot be happening right now.
Chapter Six
Jana
Settling the needle arm onto a new record, I wait until the soft strains of Bing Crosby’s ‘Silent Night’ play through the house before walking back into the kitchen. I wash my hands and spread a fresh layer of flour across the quartz countertop. A chill seeps into the room despite the heat rolling from the oven, and I adjust the sleeves of my sweater before dumping the bowl onto the counter.
