We both get up to admire our angels and our eyes meet and a stirring that turns into a whirring rushes through me. It’s electric like a fuse burning, showering us with sparks instead of snow. The world tilts in a way that makes winter seem warmer, the edges of our surroundings blurring as we move closer.
We’re just standing here, but it feels significant. Like this is a turning point in our lives. Like today isn’t another day that will easily slip from memory, lost to the past.
I smooth a loose piece of Becca’s hair from her cheek with my fingers. Her lips quirk with a smile as her brown sugar gaze reaches for mine.
Then a chunk of snow falls from a tree branch above and lands directly on my face, quickly melting and sending cold liquid into the neck of my jacket. I grumble and try to brush it away.
Rebecca’s laughter breaks the spell, but I’m grateful because I was about two seconds away from doing something incredibly stupid, like kissing my best friend’s sister.
We head inside, clapping snow off our gear and leaving everything in the mud room to dry. Noella directs us toward the fireplace, where mugs of warm apple cider are waiting.
The phone rings and Noella answers, her attention immediately on Rebecca with an expression of alarm. “Miss Rivers, you have a phone call. They say it’s urgent.”
Rebecca’s face goes pale. “Can you take a message?”
“They were quite insistent. Something important about?—”
“So is warming up by the fire,” Rebecca mutters.
I slide my hand into hers, wanting her to know she has backup if she needs it. I’m here for her in a way that it doesn’t seem like a lot of the people in that part of her life are.
Tension makes her shoulders bunch up as she tries to be polite but firm. “Thank you, but, um, I’m not available.”
Noella looks uncertain. Even from across the room, the caller squawks through the phone. “It’s a Ms. Lilith? She said?—”
“Please tell her I’ll call her back.” Rebecca takes the mug of cider I’m offering and heads toward the fireplace.
I follow, noticing how her hands shake slightly as she sits down.
“Is everything alright?”
“Fine.” But she’s not looking at me. “Just ... I’m not ready to deal with that yet.”
I settle onto the cushy love seat beside her. I take my phone out of my pocket so it doesn’t poke me in the leg and set it on the side table. Rebecca watches me as I deliberately don’t look at it. She seems almost surprised.
“You’re not constantly on your phone,” she observes.
“I keep it close if I’m on call or if the station needs something, but ...” I shrug. “I guess I’d rather look up and around than down, you know?”
“I don’t, actually.” Her voice is quiet and she lets out what seems like a long-held breath. “Or I didn’t. But I’m starting to remember what it’s like to live rather than perform.”
The fire crackles and outside the snow continues to fall. Inside this cozy inn, it feels like the rest of the world can’t quite reach us.
At least for now.
CHAPTER 7
REBECCA
The sugar cookie decorating station is straight out of a Christmas bake-off show set with royal icing in every color, sprinkles that shimmer like fresh snow, edible glitter, and cookies cut out like stars, trees, snowmen, candy canes, and other festive shapes.
Pookie, rested from her nap, watches expectantly, likely hoping for some crumbs to fall onto my lap where she perches like the spoiled pugcess she is.
I pick up a piping bag filled with white icing and immediately squeeze too hard. A blob lands on my snowman cookie’s head.
“Smooth,” Reese says, working on his own cookie with more precision than he had using the glue gun or the paint brush.
The feel of us touching makes me hum in a way that’s so much like when I get lost in a song on the piano that I worry I might be dreaming. It comes again now, working side by side. So close, we bump into each other multiple times. This connection can’t be real, can it?
