Paisley grins. “I know, right? Patty and Robert were always crazy for each other, and they got married about six months after graduation.” There’s a wistful note to her voice, her lashes fluttering, hiding her eyes. “So much has changed, and it’s like coming back to an entirely different town. I just wish some things could have stayed the same.”
I shouldn’t ask, but the question falls out anyway. “Like what?”
She lifts a shoulder, her eyes not quite meeting mine as she gives a pained smile. “For starters, it seems like everyone is too busy for me. Even Nick.” She pauses before lowering her voice, confessing hesitantly, “I enjoyed talking with you last week. I thought you enjoyed talking with me too.”
I close my eyes, a wave of exhaustion rolling through me. Ididenjoy talking with her—it was easy, focusing on our shared memories and a time in my life when I wasn’t stressed about relationships, houses, and death. It was like no time had passed at all, and I was even able to look past the hurt of the way she had cut me from her life like I meant nothing to her.
Shaking the thought off, I sigh heavily. “Look, Paisley, I’ve gotta get home and get some sleep. We’ll catch up soon, okay?”
I heard everything Gracie said, but Paisley and I have known each other our entire lives. I can’t just brush her off, pretending like our history means nothing.
“You promise?” Paisley asks hopefully. “It’s been a rough couple of months, and I could really use a friend.”
At the last word, my smile grows more genuine, and her shoulders ease. “Promise. We’ll always be friends, Paisley.”
CHAPTER 10
Braxton
“Hey, Brax!” my mother calls out as soon as I step through the front door, almost like she’s been listening out for me. “We’ve been wondering where you disappeared to.”
I follow her voice to the kitchen, where she’s wearing a candy-cane striped apron and whipping something in a metal bowl. “Huh,” I say, pulling out my phone. “Nope. Still working. And you know what? I haven’t moved in the last couple of days.”
She narrows her eyes, holding her hand mixer up like she might use it on me next. “You can march your sarcastic tone right back out the door,” she says haughtily. “And it wouldn’t hurt to send your poor old mother a text message every now and then.”
“Just say text or message. You don’t need to say both of them.” I sigh. “I’ve been working overtime. You know that.” I walk around, pressing a light kiss to Mom’s cheek when she presents it to me. I peer down into the bowl at the bright red frosting. “What’re you making?”
She flicks me a dubious stare. “And working extrahours automatically stops your phone from working? No…” She shakes her head, bulging her eyes comically. “It stops your fingers from working, doesn’t it?”
“If I’m not allowed to be sarcastic, neither are you,” I complain, and she rolls her eyes at my dramatics, pointing across the kitchen where a dozen cupcakes are set out on a cooling rack, iced with dark green Christmas trees.
“Cupcakes, for the church bake sale,” she proclaims. “All the proceeds go to families who can’t afford Christmas.” Her eyes sparkle. “We buy food, decorations, and presents for the children.”
“You’re a real-life Mrs. Claus,” I joke, reaching out to snag a cupcake, but she’s quick, slapping me away. “Ouch!”
“You’re as bad as your father,” she growls. “Hands off!”
Pouting a little, I shift out of her swatting range and lean back against the counter. “Where’s Dad?”
“He was tinkering with something out in the shed,” she says with a hefty dose of disinterest. “I stopped listening after he saidwrench. He should be done soon?—”
The back door opening and shutting cuts her off, right before Dad, woolen cap and jacket still on, appears around the corner. “My ears are burning. Did you summon me?”
“Boots off, sir,” Mom orders, and he salutes her. I rub my thumb over my mouth, hiding my smile. He reappears in just his blue flannel, his cheeks and nose bright red.
“Colder than a witch’s tit out there.”
Mom looks at him, her brows almost in her hairline. “How would you know what a witch’s tit feels like?”
He blinks, eyes bouncing from me to her before he slowly shakes his head. “Don’t think you want me to answer that, love.”
She huffs out an unamused sound, but her eyes are twinkling. “The two of you are trouble. I can’t wait forAnalise to come home for Christmas. I won’t be outnumbered anymore.”
“What about Gracie?” I protest. “She counts.”
Mom’s eyes soften. “She does.” She looks behind me, like my girlfriend might pop out from somewhere. “Where is my Gracie?”
“She’s working.”
