Merry and Bright

Chapter One

WINTER ATKINS

“Mr. Winter Atkins,” the realtor said. “Please sign here.”

He slid the paperwork in my direction, pointing to the sticky note with an arrow. I gave my aunt Rowena a quick glance, unable to hide my happiness and excitement. She grinned right at me, encouraging me to seal the deal.

I scribbled my signature, and Ro gave my arm a squeeze. “Well, we’re doing it!” she said. “No going back now.”

No, there wasn’t.

There was never any going back.

Once I’d quit my job, packed up my small apartment back in Boise, and said goodbye to my friends, there was no going back.

I mean, I could, if I had to.

But I didn’t want to. I wanted this new adventure to work out.

I needed it to.

Ro had invested some of her inheritance money in this new venture.

She’d invested in me. More than my mother, Ro’s sister, had.

To say my relationship with my mother was strained was an understatement.

Had been since as early as I could remember, since I was obviously gay and she couldn’t deal with it.

She never disowned me or kicked me out. But her parenting came from a sense of obligation, not out of love. I learned all too well that her love came with conditions.

Whereas my aunt Ro welcomed me with open arms. She used to take teen-me aside and tell me it was okay to be me, it was okay to be gay, to be figuring shit out. I was basically the child she never had.

She’d been my saving grace.

Then and now.

Ro and my mother’s uncle had died and, not having any children of his own, left them a sizable amount of money and stocks.

My mother had never mentioned the money to me—not that I’d expected her to—but Aunt Ro wanted a change of scene, and something to dump some dollars into for tax purposes.

She’d been to Hartbridge before and had fallen in love with the tiny town.

And given I’d been a bookstore manager for years, we found an ideal location, and I’d just signed the lease.

This was really happening.

She’d also found an old farmhouse a few minutes out of town, which we’d moved into just two days before.

And I wanted to clean the store and paint the walls before the contractor guys installed the shelving and service counter next week.

So, when I say it was happening, I meant it was all happening.

We took the keys and went to the store that was now ours.

I parked out back, my hands trembling as I unlocked the door, and we stepped into the empty store.

The glass front faced a paved road closed to traffic that met up with the river, just off Main Street.

Directly across from us was a coffee shop run by the youth center as a training hub.

“It’s going to be amazing,” Ro said. “And the installers will be here on Monday, right?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Then let’s get to work!”

I laughed. She’d always been such a doer.

I knew it would be pointless to tell her not to worry, that I could do it on my own.

I didn’t expect her to help me, but hanging out with her was always fun.

We’d always gotten along so well, and I enjoyed our time together.

We often just hung out because we enjoyed each other’s company.

Even when I was a kid, she’d hated being called aunt or aunty and had insisted I call her by her name.

She was five feet and three-quarter inches.

That three-quarter inch was important, apparently.

She had dark gray curls to her shoulders, Kermit-green chunky glasses and a brilliant smile, usually painted a bright red.

She had a bright aura, she was smart as a whip, kind and gracious, and her energy was contagious.

I adored her.

The fact she was putting her trust in me made me even more determined not to let her down.

I wasn’t worried. In fact, I knew we could do this. I knew my industry. I knew the book market. It was a great location in a great little town. Everyone I’d encountered so far had been friendly and welcoming, and it was inclusive.

There were pride flags in the youth center window, and the man at the hardware store who’d helped me choose the paint yesterday was clearly gay.

I don’t like to judge or assume, but when I’d asked for a neutral, warm white, he’d smirked at me, grabbed my arm, and said, “Ooh, I know just the thing.” He’d handed me a swatch of different whites.

“These have a warm undertone. Ren thinks I’ve learned about paint colors from him, but honestly, I learned everything I know about undertones and complexion from Drag Race. ”

I’d laughed at that. “Love that.”

He was a bit fem, had a dark beard, an accent I couldn’t quite place, and a wedding ring on his finger. I had no idea who the Ren was that he’d mentioned, but I figured from the way the tall guy behind the counter had smiled at him that it was probably him.

Everyone seemed so friendly here. It was such a pretty town, nestled in the mountains by the river.

I couldn’t wait to see it in full winter mode.

Ro told me there was a Christmas festival in the town every year, and while that sounded fun, given it was mid-November already, it told me I didn’t have much time to get this store up and running to capture most of the Christmas trade.

So, Ro and I got busy painting walls. Plus the pre-cleaning and cutting in and everything else, and by the end of the second day, the awful, dirty sepia yellow was gone, and ‘First Snow’ warm white was in. It looked fresh, clean, and inviting.

It felt so good.

Good to be productive, good to get the ball rolling. Good to start this new chapter of our lives.

“Okay, I’ll head off first,” Ro said. Then she stretched out her shoulders and arms. “Ugh. I need a hot bath. But I’ll stop by the pizzeria first and pick up dinner. We’re not cooking tonight.”

The old farmhouse had one of those old-fashioned deep baths that was made for soaking tired and aching bodies.

“Sounds perfect,” I said. “I won’t be long here. Just gonna put a second coat on the windowsill.”

“Okay, darling,” she said, waving me off as she headed out to her car.

I finished the windowsill and, standing in my new empty store, I took a minute to look around. I was so freaking happy. This was going to be the best thing that ever happened to me. A fresh start like the fresh coat of paint.

I intended to bury myself in work for the foreseeable future. No exes to run into to remind me how I was so lacking, how my being asexual was a fault or something they could fix.

No siree.

I had zero intention of making those same mistakes twice.

Or a third or fourth time, as the case may be.

This was my chance to start over. Build the business of my dreams, and get to live a fulfilling life, happily single forever, surrounded by books.

Cozy town, cozy bookstore, cozy me.

That was the plan.

And I couldn’t wait.

Locking up the store, I pulled on my coat and went out to my car.

Found my favorite playlist, which I’d aptly named Best Songs for Being Gay.

I cranked up the volume. Queen began to belt out “I want to break free” and I was giving it my best karaoke special, reversed out of my parking spot with enough vigor to make Freddie Mercury proud, and felt a thump and heard a godawful screech.

Even above my own godawful screeching.

I hit the brakes and shut the engine off. There was only silence, and I was almost too scared to get out . . . but then I saw a cat half drag itself to the side of the building.

Oh no!

I jumped out and ran over to it. It was not good. Lying very still and its back legs were . . .

Dear god.

I took off my coat and bundled the cat up, carrying it to my car. I drove off again, this time without the vigor and the screeching, but with extra panic and sobbing. There was a vet clinic we passed on our way from home, so I thankfully knew where it was.

There were still a few cars in the lot, and the lights were on inside.

Thank heavens.

I grabbed the bundle of coat and cat and raced it inside. There was a lady behind the reception counter, and she stood up when she saw me. “I hit a cat,” I said, crying, and I’m surprised she understood me.

“Come this way,” she said, quickly ushering me through a door.

A man in a white lab coat appeared and took the bundle from me, and I was all but pushed back out of the room.

So, not knowing what else I should do, I sat in one of the waiting room chairs and waited. And cried, and wiped my snotty nose, and despite how badly my hands were shaking, I sent Ro a text.

Will be late. I hit a cat with my car. I’m at the vet

Her reply came through immediately.

Oh no! Need me to come down?

No, it’s fine. Just waiting to hear

Okay. Let me know if anything changes

She was such a godsend. I cried a little at her kindness, wiping away a tear.

I couldn’t believe I’d hit a cat. Was it under my car when I’d gotten into it? Did I not see it in the backup camera?

And I’d been having such a good day . . .

Still a decidedly better day than the poor cat was having.

And of course, that made me start crying again.

Then a man came out of the door, holding my coat, folded neatly, his expression sad.

And I knew. I knew it was bad news.

Didn’t stop me from asking though. “Is the cat . . . did it . . . ?”

He shook his head. “She couldn’t be saved.”

I slumped back in my seat and cried, my face in my hands.

“I killed her. Oh my goodness, I killed a cat. I’m a terrible person.

Does she have an owner?” I looked up at him.

“Oh no. Does she have an owner? Was she microchipped? Who do I have to go break the bad news to? I just moved here and someone’s going to hate me already. ”

He fidgeted with my coat he was still holding. “There was no microchip. From the condition of her coat and weight, she was likely a stray.”

“Well, that’s good,” I said. I mean, it didn’t make it any better, though I was relieved I didn’t have to go tell some poor child I’d killed their beloved pet.

Or a little old lady’s only companion. I wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“Well, it’s not good. That poor cat. I think it was under my car when I got in.

I don’t know. I didn’t see it. It was an accident, I swear.

I’ll pay the bill, whatever the cost. That’s fine. ”

He made a face, though it was hard to tell through my tears and snot-sobbing, then he sat beside me and handed me a tissue. He waited until I had some composure.

“I’m sorry,” I said lamely. “I’ve never killed anything before.”

He didn’t say anything, and when I looked at him, I could see he was uncomfortable. He was a little wide-eyed, unsure of how to react or where to look. He handed over my coat and stood up.

“We are closed for the day now,” he said.

Oh.

Well then.

Right.

A little rude perhaps, but at least I got the message.

“Okay, sure,” I said, dabbing my tears as I stood. “Thanks, I guess.” I walked to the door, giving him one last look.

He shifted his weight, fidgeting his hands. He looked uncomfortable but sad. He was only young, I realized now that I took better notice of him. Twenty-something, short ashy-brown hair, blue eyes.

He squinted, uneasy, glanced at me before focusing on the wall instead. “‘Death is not the opposite of life but an innate part of it,’” he said softly.

Then turned on his heel and walked out.

I stood there, blinking at where he’d been, until I remembered that he’d asked me to leave.

I went home, was met by Ro with a big hug, wine, and pizza. After I’d told her everything that had happened and had another good cry, I couldn’t help but think about what that guy had said.

I’d heard it before; I was sure of it. I just had to place it . . .

“I’ll be damned,” I said, rushing to my bookcase. I pulled out one of my favorite books ever and flipped through the pages.

“Death is not the opposite of life, but an innate part of it,” I read out loud. “What the hell.”

“What is it?” Ro asked me from the door.

“That guy. The vet,” I replied. Well, I’d assumed he was the vet.

He had a white coat over scrubs, but he could have been a cleaner for all I knew.

Not that it mattered. He’d had the awful task of giving me bad news.

I held up my well-read, well-loved copy of Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. “He quoted this.”

She stared at me, a slow spreading smile at her lips. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh what?”

“I thought you’d sworn off men forever.”

“I did. I am,” I replied indignantly. “I mean, yes. One hundred percent. I have sworn off dating, sworn off being disappointed by men who don’t understand me, sworn off men who . . .”

“Who quote one of your two hundred most favorite books ever.”

My eyes met hers and I let out a pathetic whine. “Yes. Even then.”

“That wasn’t very convincing, Win. Try it again, this time with meaning.”

I stroked the cover of my book as if I’d hurt its feelings instead of my own. “Yes. Even then.”