Logan sighed and stood up from his couch, walked through the moonbeam, and stared out at the Rocky Mountains, shadowed now, but a majestic force across the landscape. He loved that he could see them every day, that they would be there forever.
Maybe this year he would go to Lady Whiskey’s and see Bellini, say hello. Maybe he would ask her out to dinner.
Could he do that? Would that even be wise?
A couple of years after she’d broken up with him, he’d started dating. The relationships had rarely lasted—because they hadn’tfelt real to him. He hadn’t seen a future. He hadn’t thought it was fair to continue in the relationship. He couldn’t—he didn’t—love them as he had loved Bellini.
But if he spent time with her, he might realize that his feelings for her had changed. That they weren’t right for each other. That they had had a deep, authentic, hot romance long ago, and it was over. Maybe they would become casual friends. Then he could move on. He could put her behind him, putthembehind him, and go forward.
He groaned and tapped his head gently on the window.
Good God, he knew that wouldn’t work. He knew Bellini. He knew how the two of them together could be.
He needed a Christmas miracle.
3
Bellini
That night, in my pink bed, wearing a neck-to-toe nightgown with dancing cats on it, my four cats with me, meowing and snoring, I stared out the window at a moonbeam.
I was going home for Christmas. I would run the bar. I would run the coat and hat donations for kids in Kalulell. I would run Lady Whiskey’s Christmas show. My family, extensive and nosy, would have an O’Donnell Christmas Monster Cookie Decorating Contest, a snowwoman party, and a Slip-and-Slide Sledding Day.
Christmas Eve would be so noisy I could only compare it to being inside Santa’s toy shop with a hundred laughing, chatting, wild elves.
I pulled on a red stocking cap to soothe my brain. I have no idea why my red hat helps me chill out, but it does.
On top of everything else, I had another Roxy Belle book due immediately. As in months ago. I had no idea what I was going to write, I was scared to death aboutwhyI couldn’t write after years of writing multiple books a year, and I knew I wouldn’t have time in Montana while running Lady Whiskey’s Bar and Grill. But I would prefer not to lose my writing career.
“Merry freakin’ Christmas,” I muttered to Sir Scott and Petunia, who were intensely watching me as if they understood both English and the reason for my mood. Honestly, it’s a little odd sometimes. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
They meowed. I knew they agreed.
I thought of his smile, Logan’s smile. I sniffled again and pulled my red stocking cap down farther. Ever since we brokeup, I have strongly disliked Christmas. Dreaded it, even. I don’t want to see a Santa or a Frosty or an elf. It brings up way too much pain.
I got up, crossed to my window, and stared up at the moonbeam that stretched like smashed diamonds over the mountains on the coast. Soon, I’d be staring at the Rocky Mountains.
I leaned my head against the window. Maybe I could see Logan this time around and not feel like my insides were being grabbed by a hawk’s talons. Maybe the depth of my feelings wouldn’t be so…deep.
I’d felt the loss of Logan in my heart for so long, and it was time to put it aside. To deal with it and let go. Let go of Logan and what we’d had and move on.
I would do that. Probably. I’d try. I could hope.
Sheesh. I tapped my head on the window. I knew if I saw Logan, that would not happen. Why? Because I knew Logan. I knew us. He was like the sun, and I couldn’t stop being attracted to him even if I tried. He had been my best friend. He was loyal, incredibly smart, affectionate, funny, so funny, interesting, and made me feel like the most important person ever. We liked books and chess. We liked my family’s Christmas craziness. I trusted him. He was the sexiest man I’d ever met.
He was my soul mate, and I mean that in all seriousness. How many people meet their soul mate in kindergarten? We drew pictures with crayons together. We took naps side by side on beach towels. At recess, we played imaginary games, like princess and prince and dragons and fairies.
I hugged two cats at once, letting a few tears roll into their soft fur. We could never be together, even if he wanted to be, which I’m quite sure he doesn’t. He has a lot to lose if he’s with me. He doesn’t even know that, but it’s the sad truth.
I needed a Christmas miracle.
4
Bellini
Who takes four cats on a plane? Me. I do. I was not going to leave Petunia, Sir Scott, Mrs. Books, and Claws behind.
I arrived at the airport early. One had to when traveling with cats. Chatting with my cats is part of my mental health serenity plan. They’re my furry friends, which sounds slightly insane, but whatever. Cat people get it.
