Chapter 25 Olivia
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Olivia
The Christmas market set up in the middle of the town is a snow globe.
Lights everywhere, fake snow drifting out of some machine, Christmas music playing on an endless sugar high. People are walking around holding cocoa and smiling from ear to ear.
Meanwhile, I’m here, clutching a stuffed penguin like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.
“Hold this,” Ivy had said before practically diving after a rogue sippy cup that decided it was too cool to hang out in the stroller.
So now it’s me and Mr. Penguin, standing awkwardly in the middle of festive cheer while Ivy wrestles the triplets’ chaos back into submission. One of them starts crying, and Ivy gives me a look that says, 'Kill me now.’
I grin, because honestly? This is the most distracting thing I’ve done in days, and I’m grateful for it—anything to keep my brain from replaying the last twenty-four hours on a loop.
She finally pops back up, flushed and grinning like she just won an Olympic event in toddler wrangling.
“How do you even survive this every day?” I ask.
“Coffee. And damn,” she says, deadpan, before tucking a blanket around the baby that’s now trying to eat her own mitten.
I snort. “Solid strategy.”
We keep walking, dodging carolers and the guy dressed as an elf who’s aggressively handing out gingerbread cookies.
Everywhere smells of cinnamon and pine and nostalgia, and all I can think is: Too bad life doesn’t smell that nice right now.
“So,” Ivy says after a while, side-eying me over the stroller handle. “You gonna tell me why you look like someone canceled Christmas and kicked your puppy?”
I blink at her. “That obvious?”
“Liv, you’ve got a major, tragic heroine in a candlelit castle vibe happening right now.” She tilts her head. “What’s going on? You seem… I don’t know. Off.”
I laugh, the sound too sharp to feel real. “Nothing. Just… stuff.”
“Stuff,” she repeats, mentally circling it in red pen. “Like fire-related stuff? How’s the house?”
Ah, safe topic. Finally.
“Still standing, technically.” I let out a breath that fogs in the air. “But every time the guys pull up a floorboard or look at a wall, it’s like, surprise! Here’s another thing that costs a fortune to fix.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.” My laugh comes out hollow. “I’m basically hemorrhaging money at this point. Honestly, I might pitch a tent in the wreckage and call it rustic living.”
“Ugh, Liv.” She makes this sympathetic noise that almost undoes me. “Anything I can do?”
“Unless you’ve got a spare ten grand stashed in the stroller?” I joke, but my voice cracks a little. I could really do with getting out of Leo and Karl’s place.
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “I’ve got twenty bucks and half a peppermint bark coupon. Will that help?”
And somehow, I laugh. Really laugh. The sound surprises me, but it feels good not to be suffocating under everything for two seconds.
We stop near the big Christmas tree in the square so Ivy can dig for a pacifier. I stare up at the lights, hundreds of them blinking like they don’t know what it feels like to have your life entirely on fire. Literally. Figuratively. Both.
People are all around us, holding hands, sipping cocoa, as if peace on earth might be possible. I wonder what that feels like. To not be tangled in secrets and guilt and the kind of choices you can’t take back.
I squeeze the penguin as if it can answer me. Spoiler: it can’t.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ivy… how are you?”
I turn and… wow. There’s a woman in a fur-trimmed coat, holding a latte like it’s an Olympic torch. Her sunglasses are so oversized that I could check my reflection in them. And the smile? It’s all teeth and charm—a shark in lipstick.
Ivy grins, all friendly and bright.
“Dottie! Hey!” She gives me a tiny elbow jab, the universal sign for ‘brace yourself, you’re about to meet someone.’ “This is my friend Olivia. She’s in town for a while.”
Dottie looks me over like I’m a new exhibit at the fair. Then the grin gets even bigger. “Olivia, well, isn’t that a pretty name? Welcome to Coyote Glen, sugar. Although I have heard a lot about you already.”
“Thanks… I think…?”
Dottie leans in slightly, whispering, even though I swear half the street can hear. “And from what I hear, you’re… getting nice and cozy here.”
I blink. “Sorry?”
“Oh, don’t be modest, darlin’. Folks talk.” She tilts her head, sunglasses flashing under the twinkle lights. “I know you’re dating that handsome firefighter.”
Shit.
My stomach drops hard as a sled on black ice.
What is she talking about?
Who is she talking about?
“Karl Madden,” she confirms.
My heart races, but that might be the best of the three for her to name.
Next to me, Ivy chokes on a laugh, or maybe her soul is leaving her body. “Karl? You and Karl are still…?”
“It’s not—” I start, but Dottie’s already waving her manicured hand, hush now, don’t ruin my fun.
“Oh, you don’t have to explain a thing.” Her words are syrupy sweet. “You two look downright cozy together. Made me want to bring out my wedding planner binder.”
“I…what?” I stammer, heat crawling up my neck. “No. No, we’re just—”
“Friends,” Dottie finishes for me. She takes a delicate sip of her latte, her pinky cocked at an angle that should be illegal. “Mm hmm. Sure. Friends who make the whole town buzz.”
Ivy is staring at me like I just sprouted a second head. “Wait, Liv. Are you serious right now? After what happened, you’re still entertaining him?”
I laugh. A little too loudly, weird as the sound effect from a broken toy. “No! It’s not—”
But before I can defend myself, Dottie sashays away, leaving a trail of gossip and peppermint latte in her wake.
But Ivy’s mom radar is beeping fast as a smoke detector at a Fourth of July barbecue.
“Liv,” she says slowly, tilting her head. “You told me it was over. Done. Because you heard him tell Leo he wasn’t serious about you. And now Dottie Langford, the Coyote Glen CIA, just implied otherwise. So…” She arches a brow, all casual menace. “What gives?”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “Ivy—”
“Nope.” She holds up a finger, pure mom authority and zero mercy. “Do not start with the ‘it’s nothing’ speech, not after that. Dottie doesn’t make things up. She doesn’t need to. She’s got an endless buffet of drama served to her daily on a silver platter. So…” She leans in, demanding. “Spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill,” I insist. “Honestly. There’s nothing—”
“Liv.” She says my name like it’s both a threat and a hug. “You’re blushing.”
“I'm not,” I lie, because of course I am. My cheeks are basically a space heater at this point. “Look, Karl and I, we just avoid one another now. He doesn’t know that I overheard him, and I want it to stay that way.”
I squeeze my lips tightly closed. The last thing I want to do is mention Leo and show Ivy the actual mess I’ve made of everything. She has the triplets and Penny, too. She has her three men. She doesn’t need my drama, on top of that.
“Ivy, seriously. It’s nothing,” I try again, aiming for casual. “It’s good. I’m just waiting to go back home.”
She stares at me, mentally grabbing a chair and settling in for storytime. “Uh huh. So nothing explains why Dottie Langford just practically started humming ‘Here Comes the Bride.’”
I exhale, long and slow. “She’s… dramatic. You know how small towns are. One cup of coffee together and suddenly you’re picking china patterns.”
Ivy softens a little, which is worse somehow, because the kindness makes the guilt punch harder. “Liv… you like him? Still, despite everything. I think you like him.”
I groan and shove the stuffed penguin into the stroller like it’s responsible for my life imploding. “Can we not do this here? In the middle of Main Street? With Santa over there judging me?”
Ivy grins, but there’s concern behind it. “You can tell me, Liv. Come on, we’ve been through hell together. You know me, I won’t judge.”
My chest aches because she means it. And I don’t deserve her loyalty, not when I’m standing here lying through my teeth and wondering if the mess I’ve made is even fixable.
But if I start talking, I might mention Jesse too, and that would destroy everything.
I force a smile, even though it feels like it might crack my face in two.
“Later,” I promise. “For now, can we just… look at the Christmas lights and pretend my life isn’t a dumpster fire?”
She squeezes my arm. “Deal. But just so you know… I’m not letting this go.”
Of course she’s not. And honestly? Part of me doesn’t want her to.
But the other part, the part that’s drowning in secrets, wants to run until all of Coyote Glen is a dot in my rearview mirror.