"The legendary twenty-feet-of-snow Chance Rapids winters." Megan rolled her eyes. "You sound like Charlotte."
"Are these what I think they are?"
"Fresh out of the deep-fryer." Megan kicked off her snow boots, her socks held onto her feet by nothing but her big toes. "Did the cinnamon smell give them away?" She grunted as she fixed her socks.
"That, and the grease." I sniffed the almost see-through paper bag. I set it and thermos on the counter of my eat-in island.
"And apple cider from the brewery. Grab some mugs." Megan met me in the kitchen and opened a couple cupboard doors before finding the one with the mugs.
"From the brewery?" I raised my brows.
"Virgin." Megan poured two mugs of cider and opened the paper bag. "Eat." She handed me one. It was still warm enough that sugar crystals stuck to my fingers. I wasn't hungry, but Megan’s love language was food.
I bit in. I was wrong. I wasn't hungry, I was ravenous. But as the flavor hit me, something else did too. My chest heaved and I tried to stifle the surprise wail that escaped from my body.
"Okay. Okay, I've got you." Megan pulled me into a hug that smelled like cinnamon and coffee. She held on, letting me ugly-cry into her parka until I pulled away, worried that I was going to leave snot marks on her nice coat.
Megan steered me to the couch and wrapped my grandmother's musty quilt around my shoulders. Dash hopped on the bed and planted himself on my lap. "Thank you." I sniffled.
"Sometimes all we need is a hug and a two-thousand-calorie pastry." Megan unzipped her coat and hung it on the hook next to the wood-stove. She settled into the armchair across from me, holding her mug of cider with both hands. "And sometimes we need to talk to our boss, who is also our friend." She winked.
I sighed. "Where do I start?"
Megan shrugged. "How about with the boy?"
Was I ready for this? The pain of our breakup was something I'd shared with very few people. My best friend helped me through those years. When she left for college, I decided I was done crying over him. "His name is Beckett Shepherd, I used to call him…" My voice faded. I couldn't bring myself to say Beck. Beck was gone. "We dated in high school. He got a hockey scholarship and promised we could do a long-distance relationship. That plan lasted until Thanksgiving."
"Typical." Megan rolled her eyes.
"He came home and told me he needed to focus on hockey and that he could never come back to a life in Chance Rapids. A life with… A life with me. He said that he needed to 'think bigger' than this place." I picked at a loose thread in the quilt. "He left fifteen years ago, and I haven't seen him since. Until I pulled his stupid rental SUV out of a snowbank."
Megan's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "So, the guy from this morning is your high-school sweetheart."
"Winner, winner, chicken dinner," I said through a moan as I took another bite of beaver tail. "And now he's back to bulldoze the arena so his billionaire boss can build overpriced townhouses for trust-fund ski bums."
"Jesus Christ, Clara. He's here to ruin Christmas."
"Oh, it gets better." I hadn't thought of Beck as the Grinch, but the shoe certainly did fit. "This afternoon after the kids' skating session, Beck showed up with the Mayor and that ass-hat councilman."
"Rob," Megan said.
"Yeah, Rob." I didn't hide my hatred. “While they were touring the rink, I overheard him say some pretty fucked up stuff to Rob."
"What kind of effed up stuff?" Megan sipped her cider.
"He said..." I thought I was okay, but as I struggled to get the words out through my tight throat, I wondered if I could get through the rest without crying. "He said that's what happens when women miss his cock. That we get dramatic and that we're all crazy."
"Are you fudging kidding me?" Megan's mug hit the table hard enough to slosh cider onto the coaster. "Please tell me you're joking."
"I wish." My hands squeezed the quilt. "And then he basically called me a small-town girl who never got out. Someone who couldn't possibly understand business."
"That absolute fucking asshole." Megan dropped the real f-bomb, something she rarely did in front of me. "I'm sorry, I know he's your ex, but I want to punch him in his stupid face."
"Get in line."
"What was he like before? Because right now I'm struggling to see what you ever saw in him."
It was a fair question.
