“Generous of you to call them my friends,” she says, snorting a laugh. “We’ve barely spoken since graduation. I doubt they’ve even noticed I’ve been gone.”
“That can’t be true,” I say. Not that I have any evidence to back it up.
Ellie lets out an unimpressed puff of air. “You’d be surprised. But hey, I’ll be right back.”
We part ways momentarily, just long enough for her to find her coat and for me to close out our tab. She meets me back at the bar, dressed for the weather in a camel-colored knee-length coat and a gray Carhartt beanie that her bangs just barely poke out of.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready ready.” She takes a few initial steps into the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd before reaching back to grab my hand, towing me behind her as she motors through. Her head grooves to the beat of the bass as we bump and stumble past old classmates, but I’m stuck on the warmth of her palm pressed to mine. It’s easy and secure, and I almost regret how quickly we make it through the chaos. I wouldn’t mind a bar twice as crowded if it meant holding her hand twice as long.
Outside, the November air has dropped a few too many degrees. Chicagoland has officially crossed over into that chaotic time of year when any kind weather would be normal, but I would’ve preferred snow to this bitter cold. Nothing could stop the merrymaking, though, and a line has formed on the sidewalk, stretching from the front door of the bar to well past the old courthouse down the block. “Sheesh.” I crane my neck, trying to spot where the line falls off. “I’m glad I got here early.”
“So am I,” Ellie says with a wink. The second wink of the evening. One more and I might develop a complex. “Where to next?”
I scan my mental map of downtown Geneva. “Wanna check out the new wine bar on Third Street?”
“I didn’t know there was a new wine bar on Third Street,” she admits. “I’m following you.”
Past the line of shivering hopefuls, we turn down a quieter side street, where a few stragglers are tripping over drain covers while they wait for their price-surged Ubers. Compared to the madness of the bar, it feels borderline silent, and to my surprise, I don’t feel inclined to fill the quiet with small talk. When we turn onto Third Street, Ellie’s stride breaks, the tiniest gaspfogging the air around her lips. Geneva has put on its holiday best: white Christmas lights line each storefront, and a lush green wreath and glossy crimson bow hangs like a necklace around every other light post.
“I forgot how pretty Geneva is around the holidays.” Ellie tips her head back to admire the lights, which cast a twinkly glow over the apples of her cheeks. “It’s like a Christmas card or a picture book.”
“It’s definitely our best season,” I say, one of several canned responses I keep handy during holiday rushes at work.
“That’s not fair,” she pushes back. “What about fall, when they do the wine festival? Or summer? Geneva is so cute in the summer.”
I try not to visibly wince. With summer comes the swarms of middle schoolers flooding into Sip, ordering one iced vanilla latte to share and taking up an entire table for the better part of the day. “I think I’d like downtown Geneva better if I didn’t work here.”
Ellie stops for a moment, nodding as she considers me with thoughtful eyes, then makes up her mind. “That’syour problem,” she says. “You haven’t learned the secret to loving your hometown.”
“Which is?”
“Leaving it.”
I huff a laugh. “I’m working on it.”
For the remainder of the walk, Ellie stays a few paces ahead of me, pointing out every tinsel wreath and light-up Santa in the store windows. Third Street really is enchanting; it’s just been so long since I’ve had a reason to slow down enough to notice.When we pass by Sip, Ellie smiles over her shoulder, and her eyes twinkle like Christmas lights.
“When did you say the big reopening was?”
“Friday.”
“Friday,” she repeats to herself, like she’s trying to stamp it into her memory. “I can’t wait. It’s so cool that you were a part of all this.”
Warmth flutters in my chest. I haven’t thought of my job as cool since I first got bumped from full-time barista to part-time marketing-manager-who-picks-up-barista-shifts-as-needed. When I’m not filming videos or coordinating events, I’m mostly trying to blend in with the espresso machine and avoid conversation with the new batch of sixteen-year-old baristas. But if Ellie says it’s cool, maybe it is.
“Can we look through the windows?” she asks, lacing her fingers together like she’s praying for a yes. “Is it cheating to sneak a peek before the opening?”
I shove a gloved hand into my pocket, fishing out my keys and mentally discarding my employee handbook. “Y’know, I think I can do you one better.”
four
By the light of my phone flashlight, Ellie and I are two tipsy spies, sneaking around dumpsters and hopping over garden beds on a top-secret mission we’ve assigned ourselves. Is it a good idea to make a midnight visit to my place of employment? Absolutely not. But I’ve got a few vodka sodas worth of confidence, so we’re going in. Through the back entrance though. I’m a risk-taker, not a dumbass.
“Watch your step.” I waddle penguin-style over a slick patch of ice on the brick path. No sooner have I cleared it than I hear the slippery shuffle of Ellie’s boots as she follows suit.
“I didn’t know Sip had a back door,” Ellie murmurs, snapping a twig beneath her Docs. To my anxious ears, the sound is on par with a car accident, and when I fumble with my keys, I might as well be banging cymbals. Everything seems so loud when you’re trying to be quiet.
