He rolled his eyes at her, and she laughed. Then, while he shuffled through her kitchen to find the appropriate measuring cup and spoon, she returned to her side of the counter and began working with a mound of dough, forming the dough into balls to make the dinner rolls.
Just after he’d added the milk and garlic to the potatoes, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. One short buzz, like a text message notification. He pulled it out and tapped on the notification. And his heart—his stupid, stupid heart that apparently had been listening much too intently to his sister’s teasing—fluttered just a little as a picture popped onto his screen.
It was a selfie from Shirley—a picture of Rye and his mom, captioned “Happy Thanksgiving!,” the small dining table behind them loaded up with all the Thanksgiving goodies. But the best part was Rye’s smile. That, and the way his eyes were shining.
“What is it?” Krista asked.
Jake faked a cough. “Ah, nothing. Just, uh...” He trailed off as he typed a quick message back.
Jake (3:28 p.m.):Happy Thanksgiving! What a wonderful photo. Thank you for sharing your day withme. :)
He hit send and then stuffed the phone back in his pocket. When he looked up, Krista was smirking at him in that annoyingly knowing way of hers.
He rolled his eyes again. “Don’t you have more cooking to do?”
“Yep. Yep, I do,” she said, and she got back to work, still grinning.
Jake sighed and continued mashing the potatoes.
One month later . . .
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rye
Brightlightsofalldifferent colors lit up a huge tree that had been set up right in the center of the courtyard in the middle of town. The lights flickered and glowed with a rhythm, matching some upbeat holiday music playing from nearby speakers. Children danced around, laughing and singing, and a couple of older women passed out hot chocolate and donuts from a table near the café. A man dressed in a Santa costume walked around with his hands on the middle of his ample belly, cheerfully announcing “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” every minute or so.
Even though Rye had onlyjustfound out the man in the Santa costume wasn’tactuallySanta—because Santa wasn’tactuallyreal—the whole scene was nothing short of magical.
And . . . crowded. Also cold.
The cold was okay. Rye could handle that. Bundled up in jeans, a sweater, his heavy coat, gloves, and a beanie, only his nose and cheeks were cold, really. But the crowd was another thing. The whole town was here, it seemed, the Christmas Eve celebration in full swing.
Rye moved closer to his mom, shrinking back behind her a step as they made their way slowly toward the hot chocolate table.
“Isn’t this amazing, sweetie?” His mom slowed her walk and looked back at him, concern flickering in her eyes.
Rye quickly nodded. “It’s... really, um, amazing, yeah,” he agreed, stumbling over the words as he forced a smile. His mom seemed only half convinced, and she stopped walking for a moment and turned to him.
“Are you sure this is okay? We could always go back—”
“No,” he interrupted, though his voice was low, and he was pretty sure he sounded less than sure of himself. “It’s fine. Just, um...” He glanced up and around at the crowd again, and he swallowed hard.
It wasn’treallyfine, and he wondered if it would ever be fine. It’d almost been two months now, and yet, he still couldn’t convince himself to feel comfortable around most people, especially a crowd of random people, people whom he couldn’t really see well, here in the dark. Well, dark-ish. It was early evening, the black sky dotted with a spattering of tiny white sparkles, but the town’s only courtyard was lit up brightly, Christmas lights decorating every storefront.
It was loud and boisterous and happy. Joyful.
And terrifying.
“You don’t have to be okay, sweetie,” his mom reminded him gently, moving them a bit to the side of the main walking path everyone seemed to be following. “We can go back home if you’re not comfortable.”
She was right. He knew she was right. But he also knew how much she wanted to be here. It was all she’d been talking about for the last two weeks. Andhewantedto be here, too. Sort of. He wanted towantto be here. It was Christmas Eve... his very first Christmas Eve in fifteen years. And it really was magical.
So he wanted to try. Harder. He didn’t want his racing heart and slightly nauseated stomach to force them to turn back and go home... again. Like when his mom had tried to take him shopping in Eureka weeks ago. That hadn’t turned out great, and they’d ended up just coming back home—a two-hour-long drive—and ordering him clothes and shoes and things from an online store.
But this was different, right? This was just... the whole town. All the people who’d been so supportive of him being home. He wanted to try.
“I don’t... want to go home yet,” he said, forcing the words.
