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I can’t believe I’m here. It’s only been three days since I’ve seen Beth last, at Craft Corner. This is a Beth overload. It’s like shoveling one too many sugar cookies into your mouth. So delicious. So good. But then you feel a little sick. In my current state, too much of Beth is too much of a good thing.

At first, she doesn’t notice me. She’s isolated her attention on my mom, her eyes going wide with concern when they land on her immobilized foot. When the front door rattles shut behind me, her eyes snap to mine.

“Gabe?” Beth’s brow creases, but she shakes her head, refocusing on my mom. “Elena, what happened?”

She rushes forward and scoots an upholstered chair from the front seating area toward my mom. “Sit.”

I like seeing Beth like this—a little demanding, a little take charge.

My mom huffs and crutches toward the chair. She wobbles, and I shoot out a hand to steady her, helping her ease into the seat.

“Are you okay?” Ivy, Beth’s coworker and Jack’s girlfriend, whom I’ve met a few times, steps forward, her gaze flicking from my mom to me.

“Can we get you anything?” Beth asks my mom.

Mom waves her off. “No, no. I’m fine. I hate being fussed over.”

Beth flinches, and my mom hurries to add, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. I’m just grumpy”—she points to her foot—“about all of this.”

“Mom slipped on some ice while she was out running on Saturday,” I fill in.

“Oh no.” Beth frowns.

“Tell me about it.” My mom’s displeasure rings out like silver bells. “Broke the bone in my ankle in two places. I can’t believe I was so careless.”

“It’s not your fault, Elena,” Beth says matter-of-factly. “What’s the prognosis?”

“Surgery to set the bone and ensure I don’t have permanent damage.” Mom presses her lips together, like what she’s about to say is almost too painful to voice. “I won’t be able to put any weight on it for six weeks, and then I’ll start rehabbing.”

“Six weeks?” Beth echoes, a stricken look washing over her smooth features.

“I know.” My mom’s tone is a low wail. “Look at me all laid up the month of Christmas. It’s the worst.”

“What do you need? What can we do?” Beth sinks into the chair next to my mom’s. She hasn’t looked at me directly except when I walked in, and I get the sense she’s intentionally avoiding eye contact.

Which is good.

She’s too much of a good thing.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” My mom sits up straighter. “I know we had plans to get together this week to hash out the details of the Christmas Dash.”

Beth nods.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help where that’s concerned, given my current state. I’ll hardly be able to go around and talk to local business and community members about their involvement.”

“You want to cancel it?” Ivy leans her hip against the side of Beth’s chair and crosses her arms.

“No, I really don’t.” My mom shakes her head. “But it’ll mostly be up to Beth.”

“Me?” Beth tips her head to the side.

“You and Gabe, yes.”

“Me?” I run my hand through my hair. What the heck do I have to do with the Christmas Dash?

“What does Gabe have to do with the Christmas Dash?” Beth asks, and if I didn’t feel like I was about to be clobbered over the head by one of my mom’s harebrained ideas, I would take a beat to marvel at how even after five years, Beth and I are still on the same wavelength.

“I’ve recruited him to be your assistant.”