Chatham is beautiful.
Holiday lights are already strung across the shops, glowing warm even though Thanksgiving is still days away. Garlands hang from lampposts. Tiny trees in window displays sparkle with white bulbs. The streets look like they’ve been dusted with magic instead of frost.
Trinket shops.
Art galleries.
Bookstores with handwritten chalkboard signs.
Cafés with fogged windows and warm yellow lighting.
A music shop with old guitars hanging in the window.
People wander the sidewalks in scarves and wool coats, hands wrapped around paper coffee cups. Everything feels soft, cozy, alive.
I stare out the window like a tourist.
“It’s different, right?” Mason murmurs beside me. “Chatham at night feels like a snow globe someone forgot to shake.”
I smile faintly. “It’s… pretty.”
“Pretty is an understatement,” he says. “This place is obnoxiously gorgeous.”
We drive past a long line of small inns and boutiques before coming up on something massive—the Chatham Bars Inn. Lights wrap the entire property. It looks like a Christmas card brought to life, glowing against the darkening sky.
I must be staring, because Irene glances back.
“Dinner there tomorrow,” she says. “Once the weekenders leave.”
My head jerks. “What? No. I don’t have anything for a dress code. I brought like… three sweatshirts.”
“Don’t worry,” Irene says, waving her hand. “I own a boutique in town. My treat.”
“Oh, I couldn’t?—”
“Honey,” she cuts in, “your Aunt Susan is the sister I never had. If she brought you here, that means I love you already. Let me spoil you a little.”
My face heats.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Of course.”
Mason leans forward, elbow on his knee.
“So what’s up with you, Jade? You in high school?”
I nod. “Royal Oaks Prep.”
His eyebrows climb.
“Wow. And I thought we had money.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. “I’m just the scholarship reject girl. Hence the haircut.”
He studies me for a beat—not judging, not pitying. Just curious.
“That sounds like a story,” he says.
