“I make enough.” He got to his feet and helped me to mine. “And I’m happy doing it.”
“You’ve certainly got your head on straight.” I hugged him. “I’m proud of you, kid.”
Tim squirmed free, blushing. “Yeah, well. I do it because it makes me happy, not to make anyone proud. In this house, that would be a losing battle.”
He was right. Darned if that kid wasn’t a prophet in the making.
ChapterThirteen
I was draggingon Thursday due to lack of sleep.
Nick and Tim had plans for the next phase of their lives. And me? I didn’t know what the future held.
Nick wondered if we should be more than friends. And me? I didn’t know how to respond. Was it fair to kiss him when I didn’t know what to do with the rest of my life or how to make myself happy?
Nick was embracing life in Christmas Mountain. And me? I didn’t know where or if I fit in here. There was nothing for me career-wise in my hometown except temporary work as a barista and a substitute dance instructor.
Which meant…what? A return to New York?
There was nothing for me in New York City either. Even though my foot was healing, a fresh crop of young dancers would be descending upon the city in the new year, as they did every year. And the theatrical world liked nothing more than new.
Which meant…what? Stay around and see what kissing Nick led to? What if it ruined his happiness and my own?
Which meant… I didn’t know what that meant.
In other words, nothing was clear to me after a night of tossing and turning and circular thinking. Nothing, that is, other than the ingredients in a specialty coffee drink, especially the ever-popular pumpkin spice latte.
I was so distracted and muddled that I hugged Nick when I showed up for work and then blew his questioning look off by scurrying to the front of the café. I was so tied up in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice that Rudolph had left Prancer another card. That is, not until late Thursday morning. I took the envelope from the box, staring at the handwriting used to address it, at the blocky blue letters. And then, I held the envelope next to the to-do list Nick had given me this morning. The handwriting didn’t match. Whoever had addressed the envelope wasn’t Nick.
The realization disappointed me. Deep down, I’d wanted Nick to be Rudolph. And what did that say about where I wanted our friendship to go?
It said I wanted to be with Nick.
And all the reasons why I shouldn’t came tumbling back in my head.
Ugh. Back to square one.
I tore open the Christmas card envelope withGrandma Got Run Over by a Reindeerplaying in the background. The same reindeer in a tangle of Christmas lights stared at me, an endearing expression on his face. Inside, it read, “Christmas dreams can last throughout the year. Rudolph.”
Bixby burst into the café with his usual take-charge energy. It was his second visit this morning. “Pumpkin spice latte over ice, please. Medium. I know it’s my second one of the day, so don’t judge.” He whipped out his gold credit card, noticing Rudolph’s missive. “Nice of someone to send you a Christmas card.”
“Yes.” I set the card aside and rang up his order.
Wait a minute…
Bixby had come into the café earlier today and on Monday. He could be Rudolph.
But as I snuck looks at him – at his commanding steps as he paced the length of the café, at his intense expression directed toward his phone – Bixby didn’t strike me as the warm, fuzzy, encouraging type. He was the captain of the football team. The big man on campus. With an ego to match.
And yet, a part of me wanted him to be Rudolph because he’d asked me out. If only because then something would make sense.
I sighed. Nothing made sense any more.
“Are we still on for tomorrow night?” he asked nonchalantly, as if confirming a business meeting. “Seven at The Chop House.”
“Yep. Can’t wait.” I finished making his latte.
And without further ado, Bixby left.