Chapter 13 #2
What can I say? The range among my friends, in age and in personality, is extensive.
Callie draws in a quiet gasp when we walk up to the door. “This place is incredible.”
I try to see the cottage through a stranger’s eye.
The rough gray stone is set back from the road a bit with a small garden in front.
Square windows with bright blue shutters frame the front door, and smoke curls from the chimney.
Light glows through the glass and onto the snow in front of the house.
I have to admit, it’s idyllic. Did she have a similar reaction when she saw my house?
Was it really only days ago I brought Callie here from Inverness? It feels like so much longer. It’s incredible how spending so much time together can change the way time passes.
I don’t bother knocking. The music is too loud anyway, so I push the door open and find Patty waiting on the other side.
The room is fairly full already. It looks like we’re the last to arrive.
My grandparents are tucked against the back wall, which means my parents are here somewhere, but I don’t see them.
Katie’s house is small, so people are milling about the living room and kitchen, chatting and holding glasses or small plates.
Warm cinnamon and apples permeate the air, and the room is lit by the Christmas tree and other strung fairy lights, giving it a dim, cozy glow.
“Hiya,” I say, reaching to give Patty a hug.
Patty looks over my Harry Christmas jumper with a large image of Harry Styles wearing a Santa hat. “Odd choice.”
“Callie took my favorite one.”
“It’s cozier,” she defends, pressing her shoulder into mine.
Patty lights up when she notices Callie beside me. “You look better in it anyway.”
“Let’s see yours,” Callie says, leaning back to admire Patty’s homemade situation. Tinsel is wrapped around her with lights sewn into various places. Thankfully they don’t have a power source. “That’s lit.”
I smile at her cheesy grin.
“I wish it could,” Patty says. “Douglas believed it was a fire hazard and refused to help me fashion a working mechanism.”
Callie nods. “Probably a wise idea.”
“Boring, more like.”
Katie catches my eye from the kitchen and empties her glass before setting it down. Her dark curls have extra volume tonight, bouncing as she weaves her way toward us, then throws her arms out. “You made it! And you brought Callie!”
Well, someone’s already had too much to drink.
“Thanks for letting me come.” Callie lifts her plate of brownies. “We brought chocolate.”
“Lovely!” Katie says with too much enthusiasm for the plate of basic brownies Callie shows her. “Let me put that in the kitchen. Come with me. I want you to meet everyone.”
“I can show her around, Katie,” I say. “You need to be the hostess.”
She blows a raspberry at me. “Give me a turn. You’ve had her for days already. We don’t get shiny new toys around here often.”
She’s right about that.
Callie shoots me a look I struggle to interpret. Is she wondering if Katie’s okay? Why we’re fighting over her like siblings and she’s the last scone? Katie might have eight years on me, but she feels more like a younger sister than anything else.
As far as whether she’s alright, I don’t know the answer.
The holidays have always been hard for her, but they’re hard on a lot of people.
It’s why we get together and do our best to be there for each other.
This is one of those nights Katie needs to be surrounded by supportive people. So here we are.
I watch Katie drag Callie away and slide my hands into my pockets. Rory’s near the window, so I make sure Patty is involved in a conversation—she’s talking to Angus about the possibility of him needing his other hip done—and make my way across the room.
“Give me the truth now,” Rory says, lowering his glass. It’s darker on this side of the room, farther from the Christmas tree. A fire is burning in the hearth, but the people gathered in front of it are blocking the light. “How are things going with her?”
“You mean since she tried to kiss me and I rejected her, or after that, when she was stuck alone with me because a snowstorm kept her sister away?” I want to pretend I don’t know why I blurted the truth, but I’m not stupid.
Part of me wants Rory to know Callie has an interest in me.
Or she did before I was a bloody idiot. Rory’s interest in her today was admittedly faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
I hope to squash it before it can bloom.
He gives a low whistle. “Awkward.”
“We’ve moved past the worst of it, but we’ll both be glad when her family gets through.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“What?” I look up at him, wondering if I heard correctly.
“The roads should be clear tomorrow,” Rory says. “They’ve been working all day. I think by the afternoon, they’ll be able to make it through.”
Disappointment settles low within me. I don’t like having a ticking clock on my time left alone with her. As much as I want to pretend otherwise, I’m enjoying it. Much more than I should.
It’s probably good Hamish and Luna and their families will be coming soon.
I search for Callie through the crowd and see her in the kitchen, speaking to Katie and Nat, her eyes on me.
She’s beautiful. A light above the sink glows over the women, making Callie’s hair look shiny and her eyes sparkle.
Why didn’t I let her kiss me? So what if she’s leaving soon?
I could have at least enjoyed the three weeks she’s here.
When her attention whips toward Katie, then back to me, I know they’re telling her something I probably don’t want her to know.
The gossip in this town is ridiculous, and the list of things they could be saying is so long, I can’t allow myself to think about it.
So much for Katie taking her around to meet everyone. The only person she’s met has been Nat.
That’s it. I need a distraction before I push my way through the crowd and put a stop to their conversation like a dramatic child.
“Okay, Ror. I need new material. You got any good patient stories for me?”
He clicks his tongue. “You know I can’t share those.”
“Anything will do.”
Rory rubs a hand over his chin, thinking. “I’ve got it. You should start a country-wide sensation about two unlikely animal friends.”
“Check.”
“All out of ideas.”
I brush my fingers down my beard. “Maybe I’ll write one about a doctor who loses his best mate because he’s too much of a smart—”
“Fine.” He sips his drink, looking about the room. “Have you thought of doing a Christmas book?”
A holiday book. A one-and-done. I’ve been trying to think of series concepts. My agent wants to sell a huge ticket item, but maybe I’ve been putting my focus in the wrong area.
I look at Katie’s Christmas tree, then at her son Jack, who is sitting on the couch with his phone.
I remember when he used to lay on his stomach, playing with the train underneath the tree, his feet swinging in the air.
He’s disconnected from us now, locked into his phone and mentally separated from everyone around him.
There’s a vague beginning of a concept there, but it’s so hazy, it won’t form legs to stand on.
“Not a bad idea.”
“Guess I’m good for some things,” Rory says. “You can make it short but powerful. I know how you love a good moral.”
“Christmas is made for morals, right enough,” I say.
He snickers, which I ignore. Now, just to decide what to write.