The bonfire crackles as if it’s judging me: snap, pop, and all.
Oxford’s been gone for four hours now. Somewhere in the dark, a stubborn llama is doing whatever llamas do when they escape their responsible owners.
I toss another log onto the fire and watch the sparks leap skyward.
My phone’s search history includes “how to entice a runaway llama” and “do llamas freeze to death” because, apparently, I’ve become that person. The one who can’t keep track of a creature whose primary skill is standing still and looking unimpressed.
“If you stare any harder at those flames, you’ll set your eyebrows on fire.”
Finn appears at my side, a steaming mug in each hand. “Here. Cocoa with a splash of bourbon. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not that kind of doctor,” I say, but take the mug anyway.
“No, but I’ve edited enough medical thrillers to play one at parties.”
The warmth seeps into my palms, and the bourbon hits my nose before the liquid touches my lips. It’s good—rich chocolate and enough alcohol to take the edge off.
Gabe emerges from the cottage, his mug clutched in one large hand. He settles beside Finn on the log bench.
“Oxford’s still AWOL?” Finn asks, tucking himself closer to Gabe for warmth.
“Yep.”
“He’ll come back,” Gabe says.
I sip my cocoa-bourbon mix. “I know. It’s just Granny would kill me if anything happened to him.”
“We’ll look for him first thing tomorrow,” Finn says. “No use tramping through the woods in pitch black. He’s probably found a cozy spot to sleep in.”
Gabe nods. “That llama’s smarter than all of us combined.”
“That’s what worries me.”
The fire pops again, sending up a shower of sparks.
“I really appreciate you guys coming up here,” I tell them, looking between my two friends. “With the tree crisis and everything… I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
Gabe grunts, which in Gabe-speak is practically a heartfelt declaration of eternal brotherhood.
“What even happened to the regular Christmas tree guy?” Finn asks.
I sigh. " Apparently, Sunny Cove was more appealing to Larry Jenkins than another winter selling trees in Snowflake Valley. Didn’t even tell anyone, just closed the shop and left a note on his door. ‘Gone fishing—permanently.’”
“Classy,” Finn snorts, taking another sip of his cocoa.
“And he wasn’t just our supplier; Larry had contracts with most of the towns in the county. When he bailed, everyonescrambled to find alternatives. Anyway, thank you. I’d be drowning without you guys.” The words feel inadequate for how grateful I actually am.
Finn waves away my gratitude with his free hand. “Please. Like we’d let you face the Christmas-hungry hordes alone.”
“Still. I’ve got you working during your holiday.” I poke at the fire with a stick, sending up another shower of sparks.
Gabe’s mouth quirks in what passes for his smile. “Better than the city.”
“Speak for yourself,” Finn mutters. “My fingers are permanently frozen.”
“You love it,” Gabe says quietly, his arm tightening around Finn’s waist.
Finn doesn’t deny it, just nestles closer to Gabe’s side, their bodies fitting together with the easy familiarity of a long relationship.
