Chapter One #2
I kept my eyes on the road. “I like Seattle.”
She snorted. “You like Drew Benedict’s arms.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t base attraction on arms.”
Lydia arched a brow. “Melanie, you once described his biceps as a public safety hazard because they were so strong. You even said it with a purr.”
“I did not… and completely out of context!”
“You said it while touching them, outlining his tattoos.”
I did love his tattoos.
I slumped in my seat. “Why are you like this?”
“Because I love you,” she said sweetly, taking another sip of her latte. “And because you still blush every time someone mentions his name.”
I could feel the heat creeping up my neck.
It wasn’t fair. The woman had gone full Zen since moving to Reckless River, a mix of small-town peace and regular makeouts with her lumberjack fiancé. Meanwhile, I was the single city girl still getting parking tickets and emotional whiplash.
Yes, I’d flirted with Drew. Yes, I’d gone home with him. Once. Or twice.
Fine. Six times.
But who was counting?
Oh, right.
Lydia was.
“I am,” she said suddenly, like some kind of smug psychic.
I blinked. “What?”
“You just said, ‘Who’s counting?’ under your breath,” she said. “And the answer is me. I’m counting. Six times, right?”
I groaned into my scarf. “You need a hobby.”
“I have one,” she said cheerfully. “It’s watching my best friend emotionally combust over my brother-in-law.”
“He’s not your brother-in-law yet.”
“Give it a few weeks,” she said, smiling. “You know, for someone who claims she’s over him, you talk about him a lot.”
“That’s because he keeps existing, and you keep bringing him up,” I said.
He liked being single. He liked women. Plural.
And I was one of those women, which was fine because I didn’t want anything more than something casual.
“Whatever you say.” She laughed so hard she almost spilled her drink.
I couldn’t help grinning despite myself.
This was the curse of a best friendship.
She knew all my tells. She knew when I was bluffing, when I was hiding something, and when I was hopelessly entangled with someone I swore I wouldn’t be.
“He’s a good time and it doesn’t hurt he’s nice and…”
“Gorgeous?”
“I was going to say well…”
“Melanie.” She cut me off.
“What? I’m being honest.”
“You’re being a horndog.”
“And you love every second of it since I’m pretty sure you’ve been stoking the entanglement.”
And Drew Benedict was the dictionary definition of entanglement.
When Lydia first dragged me to Reckless River after her move, I’d gone along mostly to make sure she hadn’t joined a cult of flannel enthusiasts.
But the moment I stepped into The Rusty Stag and met Drew behind the bar, all easy grin, rolled-up sleeves, exposing tattoos that rang true, and eyes that sparkled like he knew too much, it was over.
He’d flirted effortlessly, sliding me a drink like he was auditioning for the role of trouble in human form. I’d told myself it was harmless. A little fun. A small-town distraction.
Then one night turned into two. Two turned into six.
Not all at once…just various trips when I came up to visit Lydia.
So, actually, it was Lydia’s fault since she moved to Reckless River.
And now I couldn’t hear certain songs without remembering the sound of his laugh against my neck because the broken jukebox in the bar always seemed to play a perfect tune right before…
I sighed as the skyline thinned and the city faded behind us. The highway stretched ahead, dark and glittering with frost. “You really think this weekend is a good idea?”
Lydia glanced at me. “You promised you’d come. Reckless River misses you.”
“Reckless River doesn’t know me,” I said. “And the parts that do probably just whisper, Oh, that’s the girl who keeps hooking up with Drew at the bar.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being realistic. Plus, I’ve vowed to stay away from him this time.”
“Sure you did.”
“It’s true. I haven’t even responded to his latest texts, but you probably know that.”
She looked at me, alarmed. “No, actually, I didn’t know that.”
“See? Just casual. He didn’t even notice.” I admit that stung a bit.
“Not sure that’s the reason,” she muttered and glanced out the window.
I tapped my thumbs on the steering wheel. “I will confess that the hard part is knowing that Drew is going to be at my favorite bar.”
“Only bar,” Lydia joked.
“Right… So, behind the bar, with that cute and stupid smirk. Like he’s been waiting to make me regret every life choice I’ve ever made.”
“So, it’s his fault?”
“Exactly.” I shrugged. “He’ll probably be annoyed to see me.”
Lydia’s voice softened. “Or maybe he’ll just be happy to see you.”
I shot her a look. “Don’t you dare go soft on me now. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side,” she said. “I just happen to think your side includes a very handsome bartender.”
Which was inconvenient. Especially when your best friend was marrying his brother.
I groaned. “Remind me why I agreed to this road trip?”
“Because you love me,” she said, smug as ever. “And because you promised you’d help me finish the decorations for the Christmas festival.”
Right. The festival. The one where I’d have to spend hours surrounded by mistletoe, fairy lights, and the living embodiment of bad decisions in flannel.
I was doomed.
Traffic on the highway thinned as we left the city behind. The radio crackled with more Christmas music, and Lydia hummed along, happy and unbothered.
I, meanwhile, was silently compiling a list of strategies for avoiding Drew Benedict for the entire weekend.
Step one: don’t go to the bar.
Step two: if you must go to the bar, wear emotional armor and possibly a turtleneck.
Step three: resist all urges to remember what his hands felt like—
“Melanie?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re blushing again.”
I groaned. “I despise you.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, smiling that soft, peaceful Reckless River smile. “You just need a little holiday magic.”
“Holiday magic is for people who don’t have unresolved sexual tension with their best friend’s future brother-in-law.”
She just laughed and turned up the radio.
As the first flakes of snow began to fall against the windshield, I exhaled a long, resigned breath.
I could handle a weekend in Reckless River.
I could handle the small-town charm, the relentless cheer, and even the endless stream of Mariah Carey songs.
But Drew Benedict?
That was another story entirely.
And something told me deep in the pit of my glitter-stained, eggnog-fueled soul—that story wasn’t over yet.