“Are you suggesting I stay here until I figure things out? Indefinitely?” I wanted to rub my eyes and see clearer or at least see what he seemed to see for me. “Why? What could possibly keep me here? Where are you going? I bet somewhere exotic and classy. San Francisco? Miami? Paris again?” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, I know. Hollywood. Maybe I could tag along.”
“Don’t change the subject.” There was a set to his shoulders that matched the serious line of his mouth. “You’re talking as if Christmas Mountain is the last place you’d retreat to figure things out. And yet, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’ve retreated here, because I have nowhere else to go.”
“You can always stay with me. Sometimes you have to let the dust settle before any deep thinking goes on.” Nick nodded slowly, studying my face. “Admit it though. You’ve been happy here since you came back. Getting your head together in Christmas Mountain wouldn’t be so bad.”
“I’ve had fun here,” I allowed carefully. “At the dance studio, the café, and…”With you.I didn’t dare say that out loud. It felt more romantic than friendly. “Amidst all the uncertainty, I’ve found some joy. But that doesn’t mean I’ve found my place here.” I cast my gaze about, trying to find some new direction for the conversation. But my attention kept coming back to him. To Nick. To… “And you haven’t found a place here either. I mean, can you imagine cooking haute cuisine here in Christmas Mountain?” I choked out a laugh. “You’d be relegated to customers visiting once or twice a year on very special occasions. That’s no way to make a living.”
He cocked his head. “You don’t know what kind of food I like to cook.”
That stung. Why did that sting? “Maybe because you haven’t told me.”
“Maybe because you haven’t asked,” he said gently.
Silence roared in my ears. I let it rage on until blood also pounded in my temples.
We’d spent the majority of my days since I’d returned together, but the focus of the conversation had always been on me.
I’m a bad friend.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice, eyeing the back door and escape. “I came home with a lot on my mind. I’ve been a bad friend, leaning on you to lift me up all the time. If I haven’t botched things up too badly, I’d like to hear more about you and your plans for the future. Your…” My traitorous gaze grazed his mouth and in the midst of an apology, I –the worst of best friends– thought about kissing him. “…yourfriendshipmeans a lot to me.” The world, if truth be told. “What can I do? What can I say? I’m sorry and I’m here to listen.”
Nick closed the distance between us and hugged me. “I’d be some kind of awful friend if I resented you for needing me.”
“You could never be an awful friend,” I said thickly into his chest, breathing in his citrusy cologne and wishing I could just spend the rest of December in the circle of his arms.
He took a step back, resting his large hands on my shoulders. “We care for each other, Al. We always have. But right now…”
Right now, what?
Right now, you want to kiss me?
Right now, you need a friend to listen to you sometimes? Half the time? All the time?
I had no idea what was going on with Nick or what he was going to say. I stood there, holding my breath.
“…you need to get things going so we can beat the competition.” He grinned at me.
That’s it?
Woodenly, I walked to the front of the café.
Disappointed.
Movementout of the corner of my eye had me glancing behind me toward the cash register.
Judith Smith leaped back from the counter nearest the Christmas card box.
“Do you need something else besides a pumpkin spice latte, Mrs. Smith?” I turned back to the drink I was making for her, trying to hide my smile.
It was after lunch on Wednesday, and we’d had a steady flow of traffic for sit-down dining and coffee to-go all day. And Christmas cards, lots and lots of Christmas cards. I attributed the stuffed box to my social media posts. I’d written two in the morning myself, but we must have collected at least thirty by now.
“I’m just curious about the cards.” Mrs. Smith moved farther down the counter and closer to me. “Someone sent me one. Was it you?”
“No.” That was the honest truth. I put a lid on her order and turned, handing the cup across the pastry case. “What did yours say?”
Mrs. Smith took her cup. “Well…I…”