But most of all, stupid me.
I didn’t know what I’d been thinking, saying all that stuff to Toby. But for a moment there, things between us seemed possible when for so long they were anything but. Regret is so very bitter on the tongue, and rejection wilts the heart. Second chances seem like nothing more than wishes.
Maybe it was the mistletoe, spun sugar in the air, or the disarming way he whispered that my father would be proud. Those words shouldn’t mean so much from an enemy. But maybe that’s why they meant everything. Because he didn’t have to say them. Because he said them not just as my enemy but an old friend.
I didn’t go to the farm for Brett. I went there for you.
I was already disarmed, so those words made me want to take a chance on the magic in the air. Suddenly, I was saying things I never planned, practically confessing right there over gingerbread.
I thought he’d moved on, but now he was back, and I realized it was me who never moved on. I hadn’t even really tried because I didn’t want to. Turned out the idea of Toby was better than the reality of anyone else.
So long ago, I’d accused him of ruining everything… but it wasn’t him who ruined it.
It was me.
And now, this Christmas, I wanted to right my biggest wrong.
I wanted to kiss him under the mistletoe. Seal his fate with mine and turn my frenemy into my forever.
Too bad he was avoiding me. As if my loosened lips somehow made his stick together. I tried to talk to him a million and one times while we were assembling the gazebo, but Bab was like a gingerbread general and did not let us veer off task.
Toby seemed only too happy to oblige, barely even looking at me the rest of the morning and then disappearing out the back before I could even wash all the royal icing off my fingers.
Insecurity and shyness nipped at my heels the rest of the day, following me through the rows of evergreens and ruining my mood. Just because he was interested once before didn’t mean he still was.
Maybe his avoidance was his way of letting me know he wasn’t open to anything other than what was between us already. Which was nothing. I mean, I practically pointed at him—waved a candy cane right over his head—when I said I was interested in someone.
And what did he say?
He told me to tell him.
As if I just didn’t! Who the hell did he think I was talking about? Like I could be interested in any other man but him.
If only talking to Toby were as easy as arguing with him. I’d tossed and turned all night, thinking about what I should say, if I should even try. After all, he lived in Boston. He would be going home right after the holidays. Even if by some slim chance he was open to something, how would it work? It wouldn’t. My home was here in Winterbury, and he’d made a home somewhere else.
I didn’t even need my alarm to get me up before the crack of dawn because of how restless I was. My eyelids felt like sandpaper as I drove from the farm to the bistro, my headlights illuminating the snow-covered drive-through town.
Toby looked about as awake as I was, and we’d worked in silence, side by side, finishing up constructing the gazebo and starting some basic decorating until Bab shooed us out of the kitchen so she could take over for the morning rush.
After a full day of work on the farm and the sky dark once again, I headed back to the bistro. With the auction coming fast, we needed to get it done as soon as possible, so that meant pulling a double shift.
Even though it was awkward, I still anticipated seeing him. It made me realize that all that energy I’d spent ten years ago making his life miserable was because it was better than not talking to him at all. If we couldn’t be friends, I’d rather be his enemy because something was better than nothing.
The moment I entered, the warm air of the bistro kissed my wind-chapped cheeks, and the scent of whatever Bab was cooking had my stomach growling and me remembering I’d forgotten to take a break for dinner. After work, I’d quickly taken a shower and planned to eat, but Marlowe had been restless, so I’d spent some time with him instead.
Toby was already at the marble-topped island, a piping bag in hand and one of Bab’s Christmas mugs at his elbow. He looked up the second I walked in, our gazes colliding for only a moment but long enough for the hum of anticipation I’d already been feeling to surge. I liked the way his hair flopped over his forehead and the way he stuck his tongue out when he concentrated too hard. It made me wonder how I’d gone ten years without seeing him and how, even after that long of an absence, he still had the ability to affect me at all.
“Ah! There you are,” Bab called, then to Toby, “I told you he would be here.”
Stopping across the island, I arched an eyebrow to regard Toby. “You didn’t think I would come?”
A pretty flush bloomed high on his cheeks as he busied himself with the icing. “I just know you’re busy this time of year,” he hedged.
“Yes, but Archer always keeps his commitments,” Bab replied.
“I appreciate your confidence, Bab,” I told her, earning a disapproving look from Toby. I didn’t know why.Hewas the one who didn’t think I’d show up.
“You only have one more day.” Bab reminded us of the ticking clock. “And you’ve barely started decorating. It needs snow! Lots of snow!”
