I laugh, then fold my hands around my steaming mug. “I’m not going to be sad,” I lie, then soften. “Okay, I’ll probably have a full-on meltdown once you leave but after that, I’m going to try to embrace this new city with full gusto.”
“Yes, that’s the spirit.” She leans across the table and bumps her knuckles to mine. “Even though I don’t believe you, I believeinyou.”
My chest squeezes. I look out at the street where a couple passes, their laughter creating small puffs of air in the cold. “It feels like I blinked and we’re here. Last week we were freshman idiots decorating a fern. Now you’re back in Chicago and I’m… here.”
“Yougetto be here.” She smiles, always putting that positive spin on things. It’s one of my favorite attributes about her; she will always see the good in things and people. “Working for a company that is beyond excited to have you, a city with mountains and even hotter mountain men, and a very handy emergency contact.”
“I’m not going to start taking advantage of Cole.” I laugh. “Does he know you pimp him out this much to help people?”
“What? He’s a walking tool belt. You saw the hinge thing last night.”
“He fixed it in under a minute,” I say, like I didn’t notice the scar on his knuckle and the way his brow creased in focus.
Maddie grins, pleased. “See? Handy. And he promised he’d take care of you if you needed anything. You’re covered. Trust me, he thinks of you like another little sister.”
“Got it,” I say and sip the mocha. It coats my tongue, sweet and minty. I finish my pastry, checking the time to make sure wearen’t running late. Time slips by strangely fast when you know a goodbye is looming just outside the door.
“We should head back soon. Cole says he’s on his way over.” Maddie looks down at her phone, then back up at me.
When we make it back to my building, Cole's there, leaning against his truck. “Morning,” he says, a half grumble.
“Chauffeur service,” Maddie sings, sliding into the truck cab with her bag. “Five stars if you let me control the music.”
“Whatever you want kid.” He laughs.
“So, I was telling Hailey she needs to do the thing where she pretends to be an extrovert for the first month so people adopt her. Any advice for surviving the altitude besides drinking water like you’re on a cleanse? Also, tell her the thing about sunscreen in winter.”
Cole taps his thumb once on the steering wheel. “Drink water. Move slower than you think you need to the first week or so. Sunscreen year-round, yeah.”
“See?” Maddie says, triumphant. “He’s already coming in clutch with the helpfulness.”
His eyes flick to hers briefly and he shakes his head. The corner of his lip twitches with a whisper of a smile. It's cute the way he pretends she annoys him, just like he’d do when we were kids. But the second someone hurt her or she had a problem, Cole was first in line to defend her, even if it meant he got in trouble for it.
“So, how’s the jobsite?” Maddie asks, oblivious to my internal crisis. “Are your guys still useless without you?”
“They’re fine,” he says. “Weather’s messing with timelines, though.”
“Holiday builds sound chaotic,” I murmur, finally brave enough to enter the conversation. My voice emerges softer than I intend. “Not sure I’d want to worry about all that on top of the holiday season.”
He glances over. “They can be.”
The cab falls quiet, Christmas music playing on the radio. Maddie hums along, looking out the window. Cole nudges her with his elbow, and she turns to look at him.
“I’m going to miss you, kid. Always do.”
“I’ll miss you too.” She bumps him back, smiling, but I can see the tears she’s holding back. “Maybe consider coming home this year, okay?”
Cole nods. “Okay.” He loops his arm around her neck, pulling her toward him and kissing the top of her head.
Still almost a month out from Christmas and the airport is already insane. Cole finds a spot on the top level of the garage, kills the engine, and for a second none of us move. Like if we don’t open the doors, time won’t either.
“C’mon,” Maddie says, voice too bright. “Rip off the Band-Aid.”
We hover at the edge of security. The line snakes past an endless line of stanchions. Maddie turns to me, eyes already glassy. “FaceTime tonight?”
“Obviously.” My throat is tight. “And tomorrow. And the day after. You’re not getting rid of me.”
She laughs, then folds into me, arms around my neck, her shampoo the same familiar scent that filled our bathroom for years. We sway in place like we’re slow dancing at prom. I breathe her in and try to memorize every piece without completely falling apart in the middle of the Denver airport.
