“You told her about my cookies?” Darren’s mock horror made Ben chuckle.
“No raisins,” Rae added just as the prelude music started.
Darren would never pollute an oatmeal cookie with raisins. At this point, he hoped he could make them edible. He’d never made themforanyone before, and he’d tasted Rae’s baking. His cookies definitely weren’t up to par. Most of the time he ate the dough instead of baking them into cookies.
Pastor Gray stood at the pulpit, his face practically glowing with heavenly light. He told the story of the Christ child’s birth, and Darren sat back and relaxed. He could almost substitute his mother’s voice in place of the pastor’s. She loved the shepherds, and therefore, Darren had grown to love them too.
He hadn’t thought of his mother quite so much as he had in the past couple of months. He’d brought his set of green napkins, embroidered with that B, to the farmhouse he was slowly making his. He’d been thinking about what it meant to be a Buttars.
And while he still wasn’t entirely sure, he knew he wanted to live a good life, the way the Savior had.
“He focused on serving others,” Pastor Gray said. “He never deviated from that. And we shouldn’t either. Sometimes it can be hard to find ways to serve. Sometimes people resist the help. Pray, and God will put you where you’re needed most.”
He continued speaking about the miracles Jesus has performed while on the earth, and then he sat down in favor of letting the choir bring a spirit of peace and joy with several Christmas hymns.
The entire congregation stood and sangSilent Night, and the service ended. Darren hugged Rae and Ben and tried to get out before the exits got too clogged. He didn’t let his head swivel to find Farrah.
In reality, he could see her anytime he wanted. All he had to do was walk out to the botanical boutique. He never did, wanting to give her what he’d promised he would. He made it to his truck without incident, but his feet froze to the pavement when he saw a bright red envelope stuck under his windshield wiper. The festive paper flapped in the wind, and Darren glanced around to see if anyone was watching him.
Satisfied they weren’t, he hurried toward the bright spot of color in the winter landscape and pulled it from under the wiper blade. No name. No handwriting at all.
He climbed into the truck and stared it, gripping the thin envelope in his fingers. Not wanting to get stuck in the parking lot once everyone started leaving, he pulled onto the road and headed away from the church.
After a few blocks, he pulled over and looked at the item that had been left on his truck. He slid his finger under the sealed flap and broke it. An invitation lay inside, easily recognizable by the thick paper and bold lettering that read “Housewarming Party” across the top.
He withdrew the invitation completely, his eyes eating up the information on it.
“Farrah moved?” He flipped the invitation to the other side, but it was blank. The address on the front was in Burlington.
Darren gasped as if he’d been kicked square in the chest by a horse.
She’d moved. She was gone.
And she’d told him by placing an invitation to her housewarming party on his truck during the Sunday service?
He wasn’t sure what to think, but he knew he hated holding that glossy paper as if he was supposed to be happy she now lived a half an hour away. Like he would be buying her a houseplant and showing up to her ridiculous party.
The familiar anger he’d experienced most of the summer raced through him. If he came face-to-face with Farrah, they’d probably argue like they had before getting back together this past fall.
He was so tired of arguing. With her. With himself.
So he’d fallen for her.
He could pick himself up and move on. He could. Hewould.He just needed to figure out how.
One more glance at that invitation, and it looked like she’d moved on without him, literally. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter. They weren’t together. She could do whatever she wanted.
He arrived at his farm, and went through the motions of making oatmeal cookies. The house filled with the scent of warm brown sugar, and Darren texted Sam and Logan while the first batch of cookies baked.
Texts came pouring in, mostly from Logan. He and Layla were more excited about Darren’s visit to California the following day than Darren was. He smiled at the exuberance in his brother’s texts, and the thought of eating lunch on the beach—as Logan had promised—sounded amazing.
While the second tray of cookies baked, he collected the presents he’d bought for Ben and Rae and his new friends and employees of the farm. He’d meant to get the gifts out to everyone earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to run into Farrah. Silly, probably. He had a carefully wrapped box for her. Of course he was going to have to see her.
But no, he’d planned on leaving it in the boutique, where she’d find it and open it in private. The gift wasn’t anything special. A box of purple dice he’d bought online, and a package of pencils decorated with vines. He’d heard through Rae that Farrah had joined the bunko group permanently, and he wasglad she’d started making friends. He took that as a good sign in her well-being.
Now, he looked at the box, a skiff of foolishness racing down his spine. She’d moved away from Island Park. Maybe she wouldn’t be doing bunko here next year. Maybe she’d quit her job in the boutique and she hadn’t told him yet.
His heart pounded, and he thought about calling her. Just to ask. Just to sayMerry Christmassince he wouldn’t be here on Tuesday. Maybe see if she wanted to come to Ben’s?—
