“Because we were on a countertop, Alexa.”
They just laugh and raise their mug. “Well, whatever the risk is, I hope it doesn’t involve bail money.”
“Can’t promise anything,” I reply sweetly, then down the rest of my coffee.
Somewhere in the back, Dee blasts “It’s Raining Men,” the bass rattling loose confetti off the tables all over again.
I groan. “Okay. New resolution. No more glitter. No more tequila. No more decisions before noon.”
“And definitely no more go-go boys on the furniture,” Patti adds.
“Try telling that to Felix,” I laugh.
There are nods of agreement all around, none of us brave enough to take on the sassy short king. The group goes quiet, each of us clearly imagining the glorious shit-fit that would erupt if we even tried to rein in our beloved go-go boy. The quiet lasts about three seconds before Patti slaps a party hat on her head at a crooked angle and declares, “Let’s start this year off right, with leftover Jell-O shots and a vacuum dance-off!”
I laugh, helplessly fond of her ridiculousness, and raise my empty cup.
The new year has officially begun. And for the first time in a long time, instead of bracing for impact, I feel…ready.
Chapter Two
Miles
By the time I cross into town for the first time in over twenty years, snowflakes the size of dimes drift lazily from a pale gray sky, dusting rooftops and shop awnings like someone sifted powdered sugar across the whole damn town. Sleighbell Springs is every bit as picture-perfect as I remember, maybe more.
The main drag through town, Mistletoe Street, is as quaint as ever with lampposts wrapped in fresh garland and red bows, windows glowing with warm light and cozy displays of antique sleds, ceramic Santas, and handmade quilts draped just so. One shop has a giant nutcracker guarding the door; another has a display of gingerbread house-shaped candles in the window. Christmas lights are strung across the street, crisscrossing between buildings the entire length of the main business district. A pickup truck with a wreath zip-tied to the grille rumbles past, two bundled-up kids hanging out the windows, laughing and waving as they trundle past.
I ease my truck down the slush-trimmed street, crawling slowly just to take it all in. It’s like time held still here. Twenty-five years gone, and Sleighbell Springs barely blinked.
Well, except the coffee shop is now called The Brew House, and there are way more pride flags in the windows than there used to be. That part makes my chest squeeze with something warm and aching. Like maybe it’s safer here now.Softer. Maybe it was always that way, and I just didn’t know how to see it then.
Or maybe he helped make it that way.
Mason.
God. Mason Beckett.
That name still hits a chord in my chest.
I don’t let myself think about him often; it hurts too much. But now that I’m back, I can feel the gravity of it, of him, like I’ve stepped into the same orbit again, and I’m just waiting to spin too close. He was my first everything. First kiss. First heartbreak. First love, even if we never said it out loud. We were kids, hiding on borrowed time. Graduation came, and I ran like hell. Promises were made, then broken, then left to gather dust in the rearview mirror.
I don’t even know if he’s still here, and if he is, would he even want to see me? The thought lodges itself in my throat as I turn off the road and pull into the driveway of the Just One Bed B&B. The place looks like it fell out of a catalog titledHoliday Romance Starter Kits. A soft layer of snow caps the roof, white trim outlines every eave, and a porch swing sports plaid pillows and a flannel blanket, posed like it’s waiting for a photoshoot on the wraparound porch.
Inside, it smells like fresh pine and cinnamon as I shake the snow from my boots. A little tree twinkles in the corner near the front desk, decked out in old-fashioned ornaments, dried orange slices, and popcorn garland. A Bing Crosby record crackles softly in the background. Behind the counter, a guy with dark shaggy waves and a darker beard, sporting a Henley, looks up from a guest book.
“Oh! Hey there. Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”
“No worries,” I say, brushing snow from my jacket. “Looking for a room?”
“Sure thing.” He flashes a warm smile and offers his hand. “I’m Liam. Welcome to Only One Bed B&B.”
I take it, offering a grin in return. “Miles.”
Liam reaches for a clipboard. “We’ve got a couple of options, one queen room upstairs, or the king suite with the obnoxious heart-shaped tub. Unless you’re here on a couple’s getaway?”
I snort. “Definitely not.”
Liam chuckles. “No judgment. We’ve had folks book it solo just to say they did.”
