“City or country sunrise?” he pressed.
My lips moved. “They’re both beautiful.” I hedged.
He made a rude noise.
“What?”
“You were so adamant to tell me I was wrong, but look at you, not even wanting to make a choice. At least I’m decisive.”
The words felt like salt water in an open wound. The sting was instant, and the burn lingered. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. Maybe because, once upon a time, I was the decisive one. I was the one brave enough to confess under the mistletoe. And look where it got me.
Still pining away for someone who didn’t want me even after ten long years.
“At least I’ve given both a try,” I said quietly.
“What?”
My shoulders slumped a little. I was tired. Wasn’t he? All this back-and-forth all the time.
“Nothing,” I replied, turning back to the mixer. The bright-white icing was thick and holding stiff peaks. Exactly what the directions said it should be.
I flipped it off instantly and raised the whisk.
“We need plastic wrap,” I announced, avoiding his gaze.
“Toby.”
“This stuff dries out really fast.” I thought I’d seen a roll of it in the pantry, but before I could head off, something firm wrapped around my wrist.
I glanced down, noting Archer’s strong, callused hand keeping me in place. Only durable, capable men had calluses like that.
“Winterbury is home. Hodge Farm is my place,” he said, voice low and rumbly.
“I know that,” I said, stomach squeezing.Why’s he telling me this anyway?
The urge to get away seemed vital, the impulse to run so strong that I tugged my arm to try and free it from his grasp.
He shook his head as though the words came out wrong. Trying once more, he said, “It’s not that I didn’t want to try.”
His words stilled the tempest inside me and quelled the urgency to get away. My arm went slack, and I stood there staring. The push and pull of emotions inside me was so strong that it left me blank inside, as if my mind were tripping and trying to catch up.
Was he saying…?
I shook off the thought. He wasn’t. I was hearing things. Letting the magic of the mistletoe, the fable of this town, convince me of things that just weren’t true.
“It was complicated then.” He went on, and my heart started galloping because no matter how hard I tried not to, I was hearing things I wished for so long to hear.
“What do you mean?” I was breathless and no longer trying to twist away but instead leaning closer with the large bowl between us and the scent of meringue lingering in the air, slightly acidic but also airily sweet. Just like this conversation. Just like the feel of those callused fingers on the inside of my wrist.
Something clattered across the room, startling us both. Bab appeared and pushed between us to inspect the bowl. “It’s going to dry out.” Turning to me, she said, “Plastic wrap is in the pantry.”
My wrist slid from Archer’s slackened grip, and I went to do her bidding. The roll of plastic was commercial grade and probably weighed at least ten pounds. After dropping it onto the counter, I pulled out a large sheet and tore it free using the row of teeth on the roll.
The second I pulled it back, it folded in on itself, turning into a clingy nightmare. “You’re just like a bad date,” I scolded it, trying to shake it out, but the stuff just wouldn’t budge.
Using both hands, I tried to peel it apart, but somehow it only made it worse.
Archer made a sound of amusement and reached for the roll to tear off his own sheet. Somehow, he managed to keep the thin film straight and slid it over the bowl and sides for a tight fit.
