Page 4

Anna Bellthrope.

God, that woman broke my damn heart. It had been ages. I’d entered a new decade. I was a completely different person than I was at eighteen. But my heart did not feel any different looking at her.

It had started to snow. Just a couple of small flakes, but they’d landed in her brown hair and sparkled in the light from the string of Christmas bulbs hanging from the eves. She took me in with deep brown eyes. Her soft skin, her full lips, the cold making her cheeks pink. She looked like an angel.

Maybe I was actually dead. Maybe this was heaven. Maybe it had been me in the car accident and I didn’t survive, and I’d lived a good enough life, been a good enough man, for eternity to take me back to her.

Or maybe this was hell, and I was supposed to see what I’d lost.

I cleared my throat. “Lots of cars in the driveway. Christmas party?”

“Yeah. Just my family.”

“So I guess there’s not enough food in there, huh?” I joked, nodding at the house.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Jodie’s cooking.”

“Ah. Say less.”

She laughed dryly.

“What have you been up to?” I asked.

Her face changed suddenly. Shifted to something wary, like she’d just remembered she didn’t like me.

“You really want to small talk with me?” she said, a little cold now.

“I just thought we could—” I was cut off by the sound of a sliding glass door opening around the corner.

Anna jerked to stare in the direction the noise came from. Someone called her.

“Shit,” she breathed. She looked around frantically. “Move. Move!” She grabbed my sleeve and ran to duck behind the AC unit, pulling me down with her.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, crouching in the snow.

“Shhhh. They don’t know I ordered food,” she said. “My sister will never let me live it down.”

We listened in the silence. Someone was coming.

“Put it between the thing and the wall,” I whispered.

“What?”

“The bag. Hide it,” I said.

She shoved the to-go order in the gap behind the AC unit.

Then we hunched there, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps. Closer, closer—then Anna’s dad, Mark, was looking down at us, backlit by the string lights. It took him a second before the recognition moved across his face. “Jeremy?” He squinted.

I glanced at Anna, and she nudged me to get up.

I stood. “Hi, Mr. Bellthrope.” I brushed the snow from my pants. “It’s nice to see you again.”

He looked at me like I was an apparition.

“What are you two doi—Terri!” he called over his shoulder. “Look who’s here!” He grabbed my hand and shook it enthusiastically. He was lighting up before my eyes. “Jeremy Todd, I’ll be damned! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Anna, I didn’t bring enough beer. I have to run out to the market.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m just—”