Chapter 9
NINE
SEVEN DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS
My friend Hazel has expensive tastes. Usually, I wouldn’t complain, but living on a barista’s salary is tight, even without Christmas complicating it.
The dress she helped me pick out for the holiday party was more than I had planned to spend, but I fell in love with it.
Now we’re at River Faire, which is the nicest restaurant in Copper Hill.
It’s easy to be the nicest restaurant in a small town with limited options, but this one deserves the title. We’re an hour outside of Syracuse and attract a lot of its weekend crowd, who are looking for that small-town feel but don’t want to sacrifice luxury, and River Faire fills that need.
Hazel has ordered a spread of appetizers and a bottle of champagne for mimosas. I’m mentally calculating my portion of the meal when she throws her napkin at me.
“I’m paying for lunch. Get out of your head.”
My parents have told me my whole life that my face is louder than my mouth, and they must be right because Hazel always clocks me perfectly.
“You don’t have to,” I say half-heartedly. She narrows her eyes at me, and I sigh. “Okay, fine. Thank you. I’m looking for other jobs, but the coffee shop is all I have right now.”
Hazel tilts her head to the side, long blonde hair with perfect beach waves falling to the side like a waterfall. She’s tall, with a trim and fit physique that is a common characteristic of Alphas, yet she’s not overly muscular in the way male Alphas can be.
We make an odd pair, I’m sure. Sometimes, I feel like her direct contrast. I’m short, with a boyish build and cropped, pin-straight black hair.
When I told her I was going shopping today, she insisted on coming.
At first, I was dreading it, because it’s almost impossible not to compare myself to her, but I shook that off almost immediately.
She has excellent taste and chose outfits that looked great on me.
“I’m not worried about it,” she tells me dismissively. “Besides, it’s only right. I picked the place and ordered all the food.” She leans forward on her elbows, eyes sparkling. “So, a date with Felix. When are you going to spill your feelings?”
I shake my head vehemently. “Nothing to spill. We’re just friends, Hazel, you know that.”
She snorts and grabs a stuffed grape leaf, popping it into her mouth and speaking around it. “Bullshit. You love him.”
I try to avoid her eyes, but I can’t. She’s like a creepy painting, tracking my every movement as she munches. “It’s spooky how well you can read me,” I mutter, grabbing a mini bruschetta and taking a bite.
“I can read everyone. It’s a talent. It’s why I’m so good at my job.”
Hazel also works at Copper Hill Construction, focusing on media relations.
As soon as the DIY Network caught wind of some projects CHC had done, they reached out, trying to book them for shows.
The old CEO brought Hazel on board to handle the calls and negotiate deals with television executives.
She told me they tried to pay the team in materials and “exposure” exactly one time before they learned not to come to her with that kind of bullshit offer.
“You’ll tell him on Friday that you love him, right?
” she pushes again. “Ooh, wait, maybe you can do it on Christmas morning. That would be romantic.” Her eyes mist over a minute before she points an accusing finger at me.
“You’ve been living together for six months. You need to suck it up and tell him.”
Would I love to tell him under the twinkling Christmas lights, with a fire roaring as we sip mugs of peppermint hot chocolate? Absolutely. But…
“What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I tell him I have feelings for him and it freaks him out, he rejects me, and now I’ve lost my best friend and my place to live?” I recognize that I’m spiraling a little, but I can’t help it.
I’d rather have a life where my love goes unrequited than tell him the truth and lose him.
“If he doesn’t feel the same, I will buy you a house to live in, that’s how sure I am that you two are meant to be together.” She takes a sip of her mimosa and flips her hair over her shoulder. “Seriously, I mean it. Everyone in town knows it.”
She’s the second person to say that. This town is full of gossips. It’s the worst part about living in a small town.
“No, they don’t,” I mumble, shoving a piece of flatbread in my mouth.
Hazel, finally realizing that she won’t get me to agree to anything, takes pity on me and changes the subject. “I was talking with Mitch the other day about the building off of Main Street they’re working on right now,” she says, dropping her voice to a whisper.
Mitch is Felix’s CEO and Hazel’s close friend. I’ve met him a couple of times in passing at the coffee shop. He’s handsome, and people in the town fall over themselves to get on his good side.
“It’s going to be an art gallery.”
“An art gallery? Is there even a demand for one here?”
“Apparently, the curator is from New York City and was insistent on setting up in Copper Hill. Mitchell has no idea why, but he thinks it will not only draw in a higher-end crowd from Syracuse but also increase weekend visits from the city, too. He’s also going to break ground on a bed-and-breakfast as soon as the ground thaws. ”
I love Copper Hill. It’s close enough to larger areas that we can get what we need without being too inconvenienced, but small enough that we don’t have to deal with excessive traffic or overcrowding.
We have a genuine sense of community here, with everyone helping one another in times of need.
I was honestly surprised they accepted me into their midst so quickly when I moved here, but that’s probably because Felix grew up here.
With urban sprawl, there is no way we can stay small and insular forever, but I’ll be sad when things change here.
“I wonder why the curator insisted on coming here.” I grab a grape leaf and take a tentative bite. I find stuffed grape leaves to be either amazing or awful. There is no in between.
This one is the former.
“Who knows? But I’m excited. The networks are going to have a fit over being able to source the art from here.”
As lunch progresses, my mind keeps pulling back to Felix and what I should get him for Christmas. I know what he likes, but getting him a present doesn’t feel like enough.
Part of me wonders if Sylvia and Hazel are right. Perhaps I should be honest about how I feel. The other, louder part of me, though, is terrified.
How do I tell my best friend that I have loved him for years?
I don’t consider myself brave. I’ve played it safe my whole life.
Do people ever change? Can I become someone who takes a risk like this?
Can I leap without a safety net into Felix’s arms?