“Me neither.” And god, she hadn’t. She thought she had—selective memory loss as a type of self-preservation—but as they walked, sipping on the lemon and honey and whiskey mixture, holding hands, she realized she hadn’t really forgotten anything. She’d just trained herself not to think about any of it, like she’d put every memory, every feeling, into a box and locked it tight.
But Brighton had the key.
“Tell me something,” Charlotte said.
“Like what?”
“Something about you. About your life now.”
It was unsteady ground, their lives for the last five years apart, but Charlotte couldn’t help it—she just wanted to know Brighton like she used to. Know everything she could. Know what Brighton had been too unsure of five years ago to tell her.
Or what Charlotte had been too self-absorbed to see.
She swallowed around the knot in her throat, forced herself to focus on Brighton. Focus on right now.
“Well,” Brighton said slowly, “I live in Nashville.”
Charlotte laughed. “You don’t say.”
“I work at a bar. A great bar. Ampersand.”
“Adele seems really great.”
Brighton took a sip of her drink, then dropped her foam cup into the trash bin along the glowing path. Charlotte tossed her cup in as well. As it turned out, she didn’t like hot toddies all thatmuch. She’d have much preferred a boozy hot chocolate if they were going to get liquor involved.
“She is,” Brighton said, taking Charlotte’s hand again. They rounded a curve, the lights shifting from blue-white to golden, like in a fairyland. “The best. Has a real eye for talent too.”
“Does she?”
Brighton nodded.
“So Ampersand has live music?” Charlotte asked.
Brighton’s expression darkened, as though she realized the trap she’d just walked into.
“It does,” she said coolly.
“Brighton, I really think—”
“You want to dance?”
Charlotte blinked as Brighton brought them to a halt, facing her and taking her other hand. Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song” played through the garden, and the golden light, sparkling in Brighton’s dark eyes, made everything feel soft and lovely. Charlotte squeezed Brighton’s hand. She knew this was Brighton’s way of begging her to drop the subject of music.
And Charlotte wanted to give Brighton everything she wanted.
She knewafterwould come soon enough. She wasn’t stupid, wasn’t naive. But she was…happy. Right now, Charlotte Donovan was happy, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had truly felt like this, just a moment where everything in her life felt aligned.
Felt right.
And she wanted to take it and run.
Run as fast as she could before everything else caught up with them.
And maybe, probably, Brighton did too, and that included leaving the Katies behind for right now.
“Okay,” Charlotte said, then lifted Brighton’s hands and placed them around her neck before settling her own fingers on Brighton’s waist, then pulling her close…closer…until their foreheads touched. They started swaying, the song moving them along. Others walking along the path smiled at them, angled around them, but Charlotte barely noticed anyone else.
“Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe…,” she sang softly. Her voice wasn’t as magical as Brighton’s, but she held her own. She leaned closer and sang into Brighton’s ear. “…help to make the season bright.”
