Her attention lingers on me like she knows I’m lying. Then, with a small shake of her head, she takes my hand and smiles. “C’mon. Let’s get back to work.”
Together, we head back to the large lot, hands hanging in the space between us, our fingers tangled. Halfway there, Bell stops abruptly, her hand dropping from mine. I pull up short, examine her. She stands frozen, her gaze on a family that’s just pulled in.
When the man climbs out of the driver’s side of the SUV, my heart sinks.
Fuck.
I haven’t seen my best friend in two damn long years.
Clint slaps his hands on his jeans, his eyes going wide with surprise. “Shit, man, it’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
“Miss you around Buck’s.”
The crunch of boots on snow is followed by the appearance of a woman dressed in a cardigan and leggings. Clint’s wife Laura rounds the hood of the SUV. Blond hair. Pretty blue eyes.
Clint and Laura were our partners at Tuesday night trivia at Buck’s. Some of our best friends during our marriage. It took all I had to go to their wedding after Bellamy left. After that I was like a pulled thread, slowly unraveling. I stopped going to Buck’s. Stopped hanging around with Clint. It was too painful.
And in Laura’s arms, a pink-cheeked baby in aMy First Christmassnowsuit.
My stomach drops.It should have been us.The bitter thought takes up residence in my brain.
“Hey, Clint.” Bellamy’s voice carries soft and clear behind me. “Laura.”
“Bell, you’re back.” My friend looks from me to my ex-wife and back again, his lips parted in shock.
“Just for Christmas.”
I tense.Fuck. I have to tell her. Soon.
Bellamy steps forward, eyes widening when she sees the baby. I watch her spine shift to steel, her lips twitching. “You had a baby, Clint? Never would have guessed.”
He laughs. “You’re tellin’ me. I’d be better off raisin’ kittens.”
Bellamy smiles at him, at Laura. “Congratulations.” She peers at the baby. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”
“Thanks.” Laura beams. “This is Rosie.”
“I think we have the perfect tree for you and Rosie.” Bellamy gestures toward the path leading into the grove. “Why don’t you take a look? We’ll be right there.”
I swallow hard as the trio walks away, pushing away the bitterness, the pain.
Then warmth as Bellamy slips her hand into mine and squeezes. Like she knows just how much that hurt. Like she knows just how much I need her touch.
After spending the morning at the tree farm, Hank drops me off at the cabin, then heads out to feed the animals.
I do my best to stay busy. I make a fire. Crank the music to the loudest rock ’n’ roll decibels known to man. Pull out my easel, paints and a canvas. I gear myself up for a marathon painting session. Instead, all I do is stare at the blank canvas. The bright pops of colors of the paints. I squeeze a tube, transfixed as red splatters all over the palette.
“Fuck.”
Red. Snow. Footsteps. Mistletoe. Hank calling my name through the cabin.
Cool sweat rolls over my skin.
My chest tightens. I drop my brush onto the palette.
“Fuck.” I suck in a painful breath.
