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Fox has been fitting me into the margins of his life for ten years.

I’ve never asked when the next visit would be. That’s part of our whole thing. We don’t do that.

I’ve always followed the band’s movements, so it’s been fairly easy to predict down to the week when they might all descend into Winterberry so I can steal a few hours of hot sex with one of my brother’s best friends.

Now, with the band being on an indeterminate hiatus, it’s all very unpredictable, and I don’t like it. I’m the guy who plans things. Nothing in this town happens without my involvement. Even stuff that has nothing to do with the town’s events is run by me to ensure it doesn’t disrupt what I’m working on. This town respects its visitors as much as it does its inhabitants.

“Finn?”

I look up. Emmett is watching me from his desk across the room. He’s been my assistant for eighteen months. He’s twenty-four, freshly graduated from the University of Vermont, cheerful, and the best hire I’ve ever made. His curly brown hair is currently sticking up in three different directions because he’s been running his hands through it while updating our shared calendar. He has a rainbow pin on his lanyard and a mug with the words WORLD’S OKAYEST ASSISTANT that his sister gave him as a joke.

“You’re pulling weird faces,” he says. “Do I need to call Doctor Cross?”

“I’m not pulling faces. And Hunter is not a people doctor. He’s a vet.”

“But he’s sooooo hot.” He looks up at the ceiling and bites his bottom lip.

I try my best not to react because Dr. Hunter Cross is indeed a very hot man.

“We try not to objectify people in this office.”

“Sorry, boss. You were twisting your face, and I’m only a little short of wondering if you’re having a stroke. Are you okay? Did the meeting go badly?”

“The meeting went fine.”

“It doesn’t look like the meeting went fine.”

“The meeting went too well. That’s the problem.”

Emmett leans back in his chair. “I’m going to need you to explain that.”

I gesture vaguely at the vendor spreadsheet and give him a quick breakdown of the problem we have to resolve within the next two weeks. We have to inform all the businesses of their place in the Christmas Festival market. Thank goodness everything is already in place for the Thanksgiving market because I don’t need a vendor problem on top of another vendor problem.

Emmett grins at me. “You want me to look at the map with you?” he asks. “Might help to have some fresh eyes on it?”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that, but I need caffeine first. I’m going to walk down to Noëlle’s.”

“Bring me back one of those cranberry scones, and I will give you a WORLD’S OKAYEST BOSS mug for Christmas.”

“Deal.”

I grab my coat and leave, taking the back stairs down to Main Street.

The cold hits me the second I step out, the kind of crisp November air that promises snow within a week.

Winterberry is dressed in its pre-holiday half-shift. The town square is not yet decorated, but the storefronts are starting to be. Marge Harding has hung her wreath on the door of the antique store. The general store has strung lights along its awning, waiting to be turned on for the tree lighting. The town Christmas tree isn’t up yet—that happens the weekend after Thanksgiving—but the metal frame it sits on is already in place.

I love this town so much.

I cross Main Street, and when I pull open the door to Noëlle’s Bakery, I’m immediately hit by the smell of warm butter, cinnamon, coffee, and happiness.

“Griffin Hall!” Noëlle calls from behind the counter. She’s wearing her usual floral apron, dusted with flour, her dark hair piled on top of her head with a pencil. “You’re late. I had money on you being in here by nine-thirty.”

“Meeting ran long.”

“Everything all right?”

“Depends on how you feel about the mayor promising physical space we do not have.”