Chapter 2
Barbecue sauce splattered her blouse like an exclamation point.
Lili Grant glanced down, watching the burnt sienna stain spread through the white cotton.
Of course.
The one decent thing she brought with her, a vintage blouse from a Dallas estate sale, the one that made her feel like herself again, ruined at a party she never wanted to attend.
She glanced up.
The cute guy with the plate of food stood stricken.
Tall. Light brown hair. Lean. Brown eyes bruised by something older than fatigue. A gray Henley, unzipped jacket, new jeans, and a contrite expression.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Someone bumped me, I—”
“It’s fine.”
What else could she say? She spent twenty minutes by the dessert table forcing breath into her lungs. The stain confirmed what she already knew. She didn’t belong here.
“I’ll replace it,” he said. “Or pay for cleaning.”
She almost smiled out of habit, not humor. Once, she’d have soothed him, played the easy guest. That woman vanished under lawyers, restraining orders, and bills that turned her stomach. This one, barbecue-stained and bone-tired, wanted distance.
“It’s okay.” She pulled the fabric from her skin. Sticky. Cold. “I should go.”
“Lili.” Nina, the hostess, wove through the crowd. She stopped short, looked from Lili and her blouse to Miles and the plate of barbecue in his hand. “Oh no. Miles, what did you do?”
So that was his name. Miles. Unusual.
“It was an accident. I apologized, and I offered to make amends. I’m contrite.”
“Miles is my brother and a bit of a klutz.” Nina looped an arm through Lili’s. “Come on. We’ll clean you up.”
“I should just go.”
“Nope.” Nina steered her toward the farmhouse. “We’ll fix it.”
Lili glanced back. Miles stood hangdog and a little lost. His vulnerability touched something inside her.
“He feels awful,” Nina said. “He’s been trying to escape all night.”
“He was leaving?”
“Miles always wants to leave. Parties drain him. He’s an introvert.” Nina pushed through a side door into a mudroom. “Me, I love hustle and bustle.”
Nina led her to a bathroom steeped in lavender.
The door shut, and Lili faced the mirror. The blouse? Ruined. Sauce bled through to her camisole, a rust smear over her ribs. She grabbed a wash towel, wet it, and tried to dab at the stain.
It only spread.
Oh well, it was just a blouse. Her favorite one, but it was nothing in the grand scheme of things.
A knock. “Lili? It’s Miles.”
She froze. “One second.”
“I—I brought something. If you want it.”
She cracked the door open, just enough to see him standing there awkwardly, holding up a Christmas sweater. The ugliest thing she’d ever seen. A hideous chartreuse, multicolored, battery-operated blinking lights, and stockings spelling “Ho! Ho! Ho!” across the chest.
“Nina gave it to me to wear to the ugly Christmas sweater party,” he said. “I never wore it. It’s clean. I just tossed the box in the backseat of my truck.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “You don’t have to.”
“Please. I feel like a nincompoop. At least don’t freeze on the way home.” He offered it, his gaze fixed on the floor. “You’ll drown in it, but it’s warm.”
She took the sweater. He let go too quickly, nearly dropping it between them. They both lunged to catch it, fumbling, and she ended up clutching the chartreuse wool while he muttered an apology.
“Thank you.”
“I am sorry about the blouse.” His shoulders locked, jaw tight; apology lived in the way he stood.
“It’s just a shirt,” she said, though it was more than that to her.
He nodded. “If you need anything…”
“I’m fine.”
He stepped back. “I’ll let you change.” The door closed.
She pulled on the sweater. It swallowed her, but it was so soft. She met her reflection. Ridiculous. But she smiled.
Lili tugged the sleeves over her hands and breathed in the scent of the lavender room freshener. And for the first time since leaving her ex-husband, she felt a tiny bit safer.
Ten months ago, a judge signed the divorce papers that freed her from two years of hell.
The ensuing days blurred together. Twelve-hour ER shifts that bled into each other, David’s texts from burner phones despite the restraining order, the exhaustion that settled into her bones and wouldn’t leave.
Then, six months ago, David got into a fight at a bar. He put someone in the hospital over something stupid, a spilled drink, a perceived insult. Aggravated assault. Twelve months in county.
Her therapist said it was only a matter of time. “Men like David don’t stop. They escalate. You’re lucky it wasn’t you he sent to the hospital.”
But Lili felt guilty anyway. Like maybe if she had handled the divorce differently, been clearer, been kinder, maybe none of this would have happened.
The relief when they locked him up was staggering. A full year. Time to breathe, to heal, to figure out what came next.
In November, she quit the ER. With David safely locked up until next June, she finally had space to deal with the burnout, the panic attacks, the exhaustion, the trauma.
Lili knew she wouldn’t heal in Dallas. Not in a city where David’s connections ran deep, where mutual friends still asked uncomfortable questions, where every corner held memories of slowly losing herself.
Rose called after she resigned. “Come to Kringle. Stay through Christmas while you figure out your next move. Just breathe for a while.”
So she came. She applied to positions in Colorado, Washington, Oregon. Anywhere out of Texas. She waited for licensing paperwork and gave herself permission to rest.
Now, wrapped in a stranger’s sweater, she began to believe peace might actually be possible.
* * *
Miles returned to the barn, feeling like a jerk. He really wanted to just go home, but something about Lili haunted him.
The image replayed without mercy. He saw again the sauce arcing through the air, the blot of dark red against white cotton, her body going stiff as if someone hit pause.
That half-second where her face emptied before she rebuilt her composure brick by brick. He had seen that kind of control before, in the ER, when people shut themselves off because breaking down wasn’t safe.
Ryan materialized beside him, a beer in one hand, the other shoved in his pocket. Ryan always appeared as if he stepped out of a country song, comfortable in his own skin, easy with the world. “Did someone die?”
“I assaulted a woman with barbecue sauce.”
“I saw.” Ryan took a pull from his beer, smirking.
“Nina said it was a vintage blouse.”
“A what now?”
“Vintage. Old. Probably expensive. And I ruined it.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“So buy her a new one.”
“You can’t buy vintage. That’s the point.”
Ryan eyed him over the long neck. “You’re spiraling over this, huh?”
“I threw food at her.”
“You flung sauce. There’s a difference. She’s still here, by the way. I just saw her with Nina near the dance floor.”
Miles’s stomach turned. “She didn’t leave?”
“Nope. And she’s wearing your ugly Christmas sweater. It looks better on her than it ever would on you.”
“I should apologize again.”
“Try not to redecorate her with brisket this time.” Ryan clapped him on the shoulder.
Miles threaded through the crowd, looking for the garish sweater. It didn’t take long. The thing could guide aircraft. She stood near the beverage table, sweater blinking, holding a cup while Nina gestured, hands flying.
Lili listened with a small, guarded smile.
The sweater swallowed her, sleeves rolled twice, hem brushing her thighs, the bright yellow-green knit turning her jeans and boots into something elegant by contrast. She appeared absurd and perfect at the same time.
Nina spotted him and waved, mischief in her grin. “Miles. We were just talking about you.”
“Nothing flattering, I’m sure.”
“I told Lili about the time you locked yourself in the morgue at med school.”
“The door latch broke.”
“You were in there for three hours.”
He turned to Lili. “I’m sorry. Again. For the blouse.”
“You already apologized. Twice. Well, three times now. We’re copacetic.” Something softened in her face. Not a smile, not yet, but a flicker that might become one. “The sweater’s warm. Thank you.”
“It’s hideous.”
“It is, but I kind of like it.” She glanced down at the flashing lights.
Nina crowed. “See? My gift-giving genius is finally appreciated.”
“Gift-giving sadism.” The tension in his body loosened for the first time all night.
A crash came from the kids’ corner, something toppling, laughter spiking.
Lili flinched and tightened her grip on the mug.
“Want to step outside? It’s quieter. You look like you’re ready to bolt.”
She blinked, then gave a tiny, honest shrug. “Guilty.”
Nina, never one to miss subtext, touched Lili’s arm. “I need to say hi to someone. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Miles tried to fill the silence. “You don’t have to go outside with me if you—”
“Outside sounds appealing.”
They slipped through clusters of conversation toward the barn doors. Someone called his name, but he pretended not to hear. Above them stretched a Texas sky so clear it hurt to stare at it.
Lili drew a long breath, held it, then exhaled on a sigh.
He leaned against the wall, the wood rough against his jacket. “Parties make you nervous?”
“Every time.” She crossed her arms, sleeves dangling past her hands.
“Me too.”
Her head tilted. “Nina mentioned you’re an introvert. I am too. I enjoy people, but I need alone time, you know?”
“You’re singing my tune. So you’re Rose’s sister.” He jammed his hands into his pockets.
“I am.”
“Visiting for the holidays?”
“Something like that.” She glanced past the lights toward the dark field.
The quiet that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt like the breath between two musical notes.
“Nina says you’re a nurse practitioner.”
“I was. Am. Took time off. Burnout.”
“I know that one.”
She turned toward him. “You seem fine. Small-town doctor, local hero, everybody knows your name.”
“Everybody knowing you isn’t always a positive thing.
Things are a bit topsy-turvy in my world right now.
My nurse just went out on maternity leave.
My computer system’s prehistoric. I haven’t slept through the night since August. Mrs. Dalton developed insomnia and decided I should share the experience. She calls at two a.m. every week.”
Lili’s mouth curved. “Every week? Same time?”
“You can set your watch to her.”
“So it’s not an actual emergency.”
“Never is. She just wants to talk.”
“Don’t you have an answering service?”
“Do you know how much those 24-hour services cost? And in a town this small, people expect to reach me directly.” He shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”
“That’s not sustainable.”
“I know.”
“You know, you’re respectable at this.” She lowered her lashes.
“At what?”
“Talking. You say you’re an introvert, but you’re pretty chatty when you get warmed up.”
He thought about it. “It’s easier when the other person’s bad at parties too.”
Her smile deepened. “Is that what I am?”
“You spent twenty minutes by the dessert table, holding the same cup and tracking exits. Either you’re bad at parties or planning a heist.”
“Perhaps both.”
Inside, the crowd erupted in cheers. Out here, only the stars moved.
“Why’d you come tonight if you hate parties?” she asked.
“Nina twisted my arm.”
“Ahh, siblings can do that, can’t they?”
“How long are you staying in town?”
“Through Christmas Day. Maybe New Year’s Day. I’m waiting for some job offers to come through. I’ve applied to hospitals in Colorado, Oregon, and Washington State.”
Something inside him sank. No reason for it to, but it did. “Mountainous country.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Why there?”
“I have friends in those places, so I wouldn’t be flying blind.”
“I see.”
“Oh, good one.” She gave an amused grin. “A punster.”
Light spilled from the barn as the doors swung open. Laughter poured out, breaking their privacy.
Lili straightened. “I should find Rose. Let her know I survived the barbecue massacre.”
“Right. Thanks for not throwing your drink at me.”
“The night’s still young.” She started back toward the barn, then paused and turned. “Miles?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For the sweater. For talking. I didn’t expect to enjoy tonight, but this part was interesting.” She tugged the sleeves over her fingers.
He watched her go, the blinking sweater bright against the dark. The music swallowed her.
Grinning, Miles turned for his truck and decided Kringle just got a whole lot more interesting.