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But instead, he looks down at his shoes. “See you tomorrow.”
He turns and walks out the door.
The jingle bells echo in his wake as I slump against the counter. Ivy joins me point two seconds later.
“That. Was. Painful,” she says.
I groan. “I don’t know how to be around him.”
“You guys were like a verbal train wreck with a side of emotional hurricane thrown in.”
“Gruesome.” I wince. “But not untrue. How am I ever going to work with him on the Christmas Dash when we can’t even talk to each other?”
“You both need to get over yourselves.”
“Easier said than done.” I sniff. “You know that.”
“Just relax around him,” Ivy instructs.
“I don’t know if I can,” I say on a sigh.
“Why?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Do you still like him? Like, like him like him?”
“No way.”
“Beth-y?” She says my name in that two-syllable way like she doesn’t believe me.
“Honest. I promise. There’s no future where Gabe and I are concerned.”
“Because you don’t want there to be, or what?”
“Because Gabe is a professional musician whose life takes him all over the country. He’s touring for half the year at least. That is the opposite of what I want. You know that.”
“Ah, yes, my little stability queen. Dasher Valley or bust.” Ivy lifts her hands up as if she’s a cheerleader doing some sort of rah-rah chant. “I don’t know. Gabe’s life seems sort of exciting.”
“I’m sure it is . . . for him. But not for me. My life is here, and it’s plenty exciting.”
Ivy studies me for an extra beat before nodding. “Okay, then. If there’s no romantic undercurrent to deal with between the two of you, then it’s simple.”
“What is?”
“Just go back to being his friend.”
“Like I can just flip the friend switch back on? Doubt it.”
“Why not? Based on what you told me, you guys were close when you were teenagers and into your early twenties. Find that sort of common ground again, and it’ll make this month more bearable.”
I nibble on my lip. How can I be friends with Gabe? I’m so out of practice.
But Ivy’s right. If I don’t at least try, this holiday season is going to be less It’s a Wonderful Life and more The Nightmare Before Christmas.
Chapter 8
Gabe
I manage to make it to the Clatter Café at 6:02 a.m. The sun isn’t even peeking over the horizon, since it’s December first, and we’ve got a solid hour yet before we’ll see daylight. Winter in Wisconsin is not for the faint of heart.
As I step onto the black-and-white checkered floor of the café, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia that scatters some of the morning gloom. I passed so much of my childhood in this dining room. The table over in the corner, tucked under the window and up near the checkout counter is where I did all of my schoolwork, feasting on day-old pastries for breakfast and the nightly special for dinner. The staff would babysit me when my mom had to run errands, and we celebrated all my birthdays with cake made in the café kitchen.
