1
Mark
“Okay,explain this to us one more time because we’re still not understanding, Mark.” Liam Mason’s green eyes peered at me over the bakery case atFanaille, where I was putting together my last order of the morning.
Brian Carr nodded vehemently in agreement beside him and folded his arms over his chest like the world’s least intimidating enforcer. “Yeah, Mark.Supernot understanding.”
“’Fraid I’m not getting it either, kiddo,” old Henry Lattimer called from his table on the other side of the bakery. “And,” he added as an aside to his grandson, Everett, “I’m usually real fast on the uptake.”
I took a deep breath. “Isaid,I can’t come to the movies this afternoon because I’m driving out to Francis Goode’s cabin on Jane’s Peak to bring him some cookies or something and say, you know,hi.” I smiled brightly. “It’s no big deal!”
I was lying.
Me venturing up the side of Jane’s Peak for a quick chat with the first and only man I’d ever lovedwas hardly a typical Thursday sort of thing. My stomach was doing backflips, which was particularly bad since I wasn’t a guy who backflipped gracefully, either literally or figuratively.
Liam cocked his head to one side. “Francis Goode, as in the guy you and Ash knew out in California? The one you haven’t spoken to in, like, four years?”
“The man you once called yourgravity,”Brian continued, wide-eyed, “because he kept pulling you in? The one who got away?”
“Francis Goode, the pariah who’s lived completely alone in the woods outside O’Leary for years like awild creature?” Lisa Dorian, the town librarian more commonly known as “The Dragon” for her sparkling, cheerful personality, clutched the chunky wool scarf where her pearls should be. “Is thatwise? You could beassaulted.”
“Assaulted? Absolutely not! Francis Goode is a wonderful person,” I said stoutly. “Kind and thoughtful and protective.” Or at least he had been. And no matter how many other things between us had changed, I knew that couldn’t have.
“Boy’s had a rough go of it since his grandfather died,” Hen said sadly. “Grief changes a body. Some folks need community around, others like Fran want to be left alone.”
“And some of us think we want to be left alone, but end up thriving with a community,” Everett said with a little smile.
“Still.” Ms. Dorian sniffed. “You do know that they’re predicting snow tonight, right, Mark? A record-breaking snowfall to rival thelastrecord-breaking snowfall from two days ago?”
“Oh, I’m aware,” I assured her, forcing a smile. I handed over her box of carrot-bran muffins. “No one has talked about anything else all morning.”
“Especially not to our California boy here.” My coworker Rae patted my shoulder. “Since everyone knows how much he enjoys winter.”
“Yeah, right.” I shuddered. I’d come to O’Leary for my friend Ash’s wedding to his husband Cal back in late spring, intending to spend a week or two. Instead, I’d stayed more than half a year. The first couple months had been a bit humid but mostly delightful. The next couple had been a cute little novelty of crisp mornings and brightly colored leaves. But I’d lost sensation in my toes sometime around Thanksgiving and I hadn’t gotten it back yet, no matter how many pairs of socks I wore, and the novelty had decidedly worn off.
This begged the question as to why I was still here in town, working shifts at Ash and Cal’s cute little bakery when I could—and, according to the dying screams of my bank accountshould—be back on the road, writing travel content in some balmy, tropical destinations and making decent money.
I was pretty sure I knew the answer.
And I was pretty sure he was right now sitting up on Jane’s Peak with no idea I was about to crash back into his life.
“The thing is,” I explained, “I made a New Year’s resolution the other night, and I want to get on with it. And seeing Fran is part of that.”
Sitting in the living room of Cal and Ash’s new house along with Brian and his boyfriend Dare, and Liam and his husband Gideon, and Everett and his boyfriend Silas, and a bunch of other couples, watching the ball drop in Times Square had been anexperience. The love in that room had been so thick I’d had to escape out onto the porch—yes, the cold, cold porch—just to draw breath, and I’d realized a few things.
First, as much as I loved O’Leary—and I really, really did love it—I had to be honest with myself about why I’d stuck around as long as I had, renting Cal and Ash’s little apartment overFanaillefor a song, picking up shifts behind the counter so I didn’t have to dip into my savings when I thought I’d left the coffee-serving phase of my life firmly in the past. It wasn’t just because the scenery sparked my imagination for storytelling, or because the charming, busybody neighbors and the twice-weekly festivals had wormed their way into my heart.
No, the biggest allure of this town was the knowledge that Fran Goode—the guy whose memory I’d been trying to outrun every time I’d packed up and traveled somewhere new over the years—was right up the road, and he could descend from the mountain atany momentand find me there.
Not that hehaddescended from the mountain and found me, mind you.
Or that I had ever tried to make that happen.
But as long as I stuck around, as long as I didn’t force the issue, the potential remained. And that potential was, ironically, holding me back.
Second, I’d resolved to figure out what I wanted from my life. That part was easy. I wanted to be writing, whether it was travel articles or the children’s books I dreamed of publishing, and I wanted to spend next New Year’s Eve with someone I loved, someone I wanted to kiss at midnight. That was all.
But third and most difficult, I’d realized that in order to move forward, I needed to close some doors to the past by talking to Fran.
