Page 12

She’s right. I still have the same thumbtack between my teeth as when I started. I spit it into my hand and drop it on the counter, reaching for my drink. I take a drawn-out sip, praying the spice of the gingerbread will clear my mind.

Ivy watches me with lines of confusion creasing her usually smooth forehead. “What gives?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

Her expression turns to one of concern. “Was Jack right? Do you have too much on your plate? The only plates that should be piled high are those with Christmas cookies, that’s what I always say.”

This makes me laugh.

“Seriously, what can I help with?”

That’s so like Ivy—always helpful, always kind. She’d give me the shirt off her back if I said I needed it. My brother is a lucky man.

I feel silly telling her what’s really got me knotted up, but she’ll pry it out of me eventually, so I figure what the heck?

“I’m actually thinking about men,” I admit. “A man.”

Ivy’s eyes go rounder than Christmas tree ornaments. “Did you meet someone?”

She sounds so excited for me I almost hate to burst her bubble.

I grimace. “Not anyone new. I ran into Gabe with Elena at Craft Corner on Friday.”

Ivy presses her lips together. “He was in town?”

“For Thanksgiving, I guess. It was no big deal. I don’t know why I’m dwelling on it. This is his hometown. He’s Elena’s son. Of course he’s going to be around when he’s off tour or whatever. I just— I don’t know. Maybe it’s the time of year, but for some reason I can’t stop thinking about what happened between him and me and everything that might have been, but just . . . wasn’t.” I sigh. “And I was kind of a jerk to him.”

“What? How? You’re never a jerk.”

God bless Ivy, so quick to rush to my defense.

“I made some snide comments about the past. It was dumb. I feel petty.”

Ivy nods solemnly. She’s one of the only people who knows the full story of me and Gabe, and only because she was my friend before she and Jack got together. Had I known that the two of them would hit it off, I never would have confided in her. I hate that it puts her in a weird position of keeping something from Jack, but I swore her to secrecy, and she’s kept my confidence. Ivy knows that I was hung up on Gabe for a long time. I’ve told her I’m over him. I am over him.

I do still listen to his albums and catch replays of some of his concert performances. But that’s only because I’m a fan of music in general, and Gabe is one of the best in the business. So sue me for enjoying the occasional listen.

Ivy narrows her eyes at me. “Did you listen to his Christmas album this weekend?”

How does she read my mind like that?

“Actually, no. I didn’t.” That’s the truth. Also the truth? The only reason I didn’t is because I didn’t trust myself not to melt into a puddle of my feelings at the mere sound of him singing through my speakers. He felt too . . . close. The scabbed-over wound of my heart that holds all the what ifs and what might have beens felt ripped open again. I didn’t need to add salt.

“Good. No need to torture yourself like that.”

“It’s not torture. I’m fine.”

“Hmm. So you’ve said. Multiple times.” Ivy taps her chin and gets a scheming glint in her eyes. “You know what I think?”

I floof the garland I’m still holding. “What?”

“You need to get back out there. Go on some dates.”

I scrunch up my nose.

“Hear me out.” She goes on before I can voice my protest. “It’s been over a year since you and what’s his name broke up.”

“Calvin,” I supply.