Chapter Two
Drew
If someone had told me five years ago, I’d be on a ladder hanging twinkle lights in thirty-four-degree weather, I would’ve laughed in their face and ordered another beer.
But here I was with half-frozen fingers, a staple gun, and my brother below me acting like the foreman of a construction site made entirely of bad decisions.
“Higher on the left,” Callum said, pointing like a man who had opinions about symmetry.
I squinted down at him. “You sure? From up here, it looks straight.”
“That’s because you’re crooked,” he said.
“I’m fine,” I said, firing another staple into the wood. The gun misfired, shot empty, and made a sad clicking sound. “Mostly fine.”
Callum chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly festive,” I said, grabbing another strand of lights.
The Rusty Stag looked like a construction zone that had been taken hostage by Christmas.
Half the entry was covered in fake snow, the other half in tangled cords, and we’d gone through at least two boxes of lights that had mysteriously stopped working.
It was the kind of cheerful chaos Lydia loved, and the kind of thing I tolerated because my brother looked happier than I’d ever seen him.
“Lydia said they’re leaving Seattle this afternoon,” Callum said, like he wasn’t dropping a grenade into my otherwise peaceful afternoon.
I grunted. “Did she?”
“Yeah. Probably be here before dark.”
“Great.”
He paused. “That’s all you’ve got to say? Just great?”
I stapled another light with more force than necessary. “Yup.”
“Not even gonna pretend you don’t care?”
“Nope.”
He snorted. “Right. Because you two were just casual drinking buddies, huh?”
“Exactly,” I said, climbing down from the ladder and grabbing another strand. “Two people having drinks. Maybe a few bad decisions. Totally casual.”
“Uh-huh.” He bent down to untangle a knot in the lights, his tone infuriatingly smug. “You’ve been in a mood ever since she stopped coming around.”
“I have not.”
“Yeah, you have. You started fixing things.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You don’t fix things, Drew. You duct-tape them, threaten them, or replace them. But last week, you fixed the jukebox.”
“It was skipping,” I said.
I didn’t say that it kept skipping on the song I’d quietly thought of as ours. Which was silly, because there was never an us…just something casual that I pretended was more. But whatever. I didn’t need the constant reminder that she’d ghosted me.
“Exactly my point.”
I muttered something about overbearing older brothers and went back to stapling. The truth was, I’d been restless ever since that last night with Melanie. The kind of restless that made sleep feel like a waste of time and quiet feel too damn loud.
She’d blown into my life like a hurricane in high heels with big blonde hair, a bigger attitude, and a mouth that would make a preacher turn around.
And for a while, it had been fun. Real fun. Until one morning, she sat up in my bed, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and said with complete confidence, “That ship has sailed.”
Then she got dressed, kissed me once like a punctuation mark, and walked out.
Callum glanced up at me, grinning like he could read every thought running through my head. “Thinking about her?”
“Nope,” I lied.
He smirked. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Occupational hazard,” I said. “Bartenders aren’t supposed to lie. We just listen.”
“Yeah, and pour whiskey for yourself while you’re doing it.”
“Multitasking,” I said, climbing down again.
We stood in silence for a bit, both pretending to care deeply about light placement. The town square across the street was already glowing with decorations, and the air smelled faintly like pine and woodsmoke. A lot of the homes around here depended on fireplaces to keep the places warm.
The first snow of the season had dusted everything white, the kind that made Reckless River look like a postcard instead of a place where your truck wouldn’t start before coffee. I moved the ladder and stepped up again.
“You could always try to make peace,” Callum said finally.
“With who?”
He gave me a look.
“Not happening,” I said.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s Christmas. Time for forgiveness. Reconnection. Maybe a little—”
“If you say holiday spirit, I’m jumping off this ladder.”
“Holiday spirit,” he said with a grin.
I groaned. “That ship has sailed, Brother. Sailed and sunk.”
Callum chuckled. “How do you know that?”
I arched a brow at him. “Those were literally her words.”
He winced, his laugh turning sympathetic. “Ouch. You never told me that.”
“Yeah,” I said, jamming another staple into the wood. “Real poetic, too. I think she even threw in an icy kiss. Fitting, considering she’s cold as hell when she wants to be.”
“Maybe she was just protecting herself,” he said.
“Maybe I should’ve stuck to flirting instead of… whatever that was.”
Callum smirked. “Pretty sure what that was involved your bed and a lot of bad decisions.”
“Six, to be exact,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
He blinked, then burst out laughing. “Six? Damn, Drew. You didn’t mention that part.”
“Because it’s irrelevant,” I said, glaring at the staple gun.
He kept laughing. “Yeah, sure. Totally irrelevant. No feelings involved. Just a half-dozen friendly cardio sessions.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Callum grinned. “So why are you blushing?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“It’s the cold.”
“It’s not even below freezing.”
“Shut up and hand me that extension cord.”
He handed it over, still chuckling. “You know, for a guy who’s supposedly done with her, you sure talk about her a lot.”
I tugged the cord too hard, accidentally yanking a whole section of lights down. “Because you keep bringing her up.”
“I only brought her up once.”
“Twice.”
“Once.”
“You started this conversation with her name.”
He shrugged. “You’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“For getting her stuck in your head again before she shows up.”
I gave him a look that probably made him wonder if it was okay to sleep tonight. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”
He grinned. “Yep. But I’m also right.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
The last of the lights flickered on, and the front of the bar glowed with a warm, golden hue that made even my cynical self pause for a second. It looked… good. Cozy. Inviting. Like maybe Reckless River wasn’t such a bad place to be after all.
Callum clapped me on the shoulder. “Nice work, little brother.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said automatically.
“Why not? It’s cozy and festive.”
“Nothing about you saying little brother is festive.”
He grinned and went to plug in the last set of lights.
“You’ll see. The holiday spirit gets to everyone eventually. Even you.”
I snorted. “The only spirit I need comes in a bottle and costs thirty bucks.”
He laughed, heading for the door. “We’ll see how long that lasts once Melanie rolls back into town.”
I looked up at the twinkling lights, my breath freezing in the air, and muttered to myself, “God help me.”
Because no matter how many times I told myself that ship had sunk, the truth was that I still heard her voice in the back of my mind, bright and teasing, saying You look good in flannel, Benedict.
And the worst part?
I was still wearing the damn shirt.
By the time we’d finished hanging the last set of lights, my hands were numb, my patience was shot, and Callum was still humming Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree like he was auditioning for a holiday commercial.
“Don’t you ever get tired of being in a good mood?” I asked, tossing the empty light box onto the pile.
“Not really,” he said, flashing that infuriatingly calm smile. “You should try it sometime.”
“Pass,” I said. “Happiness looks exhausting.”
He laughed, brushing snow off his jacket. “You’re such a grouch.”
“I prefer realist.”
“Pretty sure the Grinch said that too.”
“Pretty sure the Grinch had a point.”
Callum rolled his eyes and reached for the ladder, leaning it against the front wall of The Rusty Stag.
The sky had gone that soft blue-gray that meant the sun was bowing out early for the day.
A few lazy snowflakes floated down, catching in his beard.
Lydia would probably call it magical. I called it cold.
He climbed up to check the top row of lights, humming again, and I considered cutting the power just to stop the noise. But then he glanced down, grinning like a man whose life had finally fallen into place, and I couldn’t bring myself to ruin it.
It was weird, watching your brother turn into the responsible, settled one. He’d always been the wildest between us. Now he was the guy who cooked dinner, decorated for Christmas, and smiled like it didn’t cost him anything. Love did weird things to people.
“Can’t believe you roped me into this,” I muttered.
“You volunteered,” he said, not even looking down.
“I was drunk.”
“Still counts.”
“Pretty sure I also volunteered to adopt a raccoon once.”
“That sounds about right.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “You know, you’re irritating now.”
He grinned. “That’s what Lydia says. Usually right before she kisses me.”
I groaned. “For the love of—can you keep it PG? You’re turning into a walking Hallmark special.”
“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I’m happy.”
“Yeah, I can tell. You’re glowing. It’s weird. If you weren’t my brother, I’d think you were pregnant.”
He just laughed again, which was his new default setting. I swear, the man used to brood like it was his job, and now he smiled at everything. It was unsettling.
We were halfway through wrestling a reindeer decoration into place when the crunch of tires on snow made both of us look up. A silver car turned onto Main Street, crawling past the row of shops.
Callum froze mid-lift, the world narrowing to a single focus.
I didn’t need to ask. I knew that car.
“Lydia,” he said, voice low and soft, like the name itself was a prayer.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “And unless my eyes are broken, that means the driver is—”
“Melanie,” he said at the same time.
My stomach did something stupid…some combination of twist, drop, and tighten.
The vehicle rolled closer, headlights glinting off the fresh snow, windshield wipers squeaking in rhythm. Lydia sat in the passenger seat, waving like she was Santa arriving at the North Pole. Melanie, on the other hand, looked like she was preparing for battle.
Her jaw was set, her mouth a firm line, and those eyes, dark and stormy even behind the glass, locked right on me.
And not in the oh, good to see you way.
More like you owe me six emotional damages and a restraining order way.
“Why,” I muttered, “does it look like she wants to murder me with a candy cane?”
Callum didn’t even glance at me. “What?”
“She’s glaring,” I said, pointing as subtly as I could, though my pulse had decided to start sprinting. “At me. Right now.”
“She’s not glaring,” he said absently, still staring at the passenger seat like a man seeing the face of God.
“Callum, she’s glaring so hard the snow’s melting around her car.”
He finally blinked, still half-smiling. “Didn’t notice.”
“Of course you didn’t. You’ve got Lydia goggles on.”
“Lydia goggles?”
“Yeah. It’s like beer goggles, but worse. Everything she does is magical, and you’re blind to reality. The woman sneezes, and you think it’s so adorable.”
“But it is, right?” He laughed. “And reality being what?”
“That your fiancée’s best friend wants to back over me with her car.”
“Pretty sure it’s a crossover.”
“Not the point.”
The vehicle slowed as it passed the bar. Lydia waved again. Melanie didn’t. Her gaze flicked from me to the glowing reindeer we were manhandling, and I could practically hear her inner monologue judging my handling skills.
She looked good.
Too good.
The kind of good that made your chest hurt and your brain short-circuit.
Her hair was pulled up, a few loose blonde strands blowing around her face. She wore that big coat I’d once pulled off her shoulders.
The small car crept past, tires crunching, exhaust fogging the air. Lydia waved again, beaming. Melanie flicked her turn signal on, her mouth twitching just enough to confirm that yes, she’d seen me, and no, she was not impressed.
Then she drove on.
I exhaled, long and low. “Well. That was fun.”
Callum was still staring after the car like a man who’d just witnessed a Christmas miracle.
“Seriously?” I said. “You didn’t even notice the death glare?”
He blinked slowly, coming back to earth. “She glared?”
“She glared,” I said flatly. “At me. Personally. With intensity.”
He shrugged. “Maybe she was just focused on the road.”
“Focused on the road? She nearly burned a hole through my soul, Cal.”
He smiled that annoyingly peaceful smile again. “You sure that’s not guilt talking?”
I frowned. “Guilt?”
“Six times, right?”
I groaned. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
We went back to wrangling the reindeer, but my concentration was shot. Every time I blinked, I saw her face. Every time the wind blew, I imagined the faint trace of her perfume, something citrusy and sweet that didn’t belong in a place like this.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
“What now?” Callum asked.
“She’s here.”
“Obviously.”
“No, I mean…she’s here.”
He gave me that smirk again. “You make it sound like an existential crisis.”
“It is.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “You’ve been in love so long you forgot what it’s like to deal with someone who makes you want to throttle them and kiss them at the same time.”
“Ah,” he said. “The Melanie Effect.”
“Don’t name it,” I said. “Makes it sound permanent.”
He laughed, patting my shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Maybe she’s mellowed out since the last time.”
“Yeah, and maybe reindeer can fly.”
He grinned. “Careful. Sounds like someone’s still interested.”
I shot him a look. “I’m not interested. I’m wary. There’s a difference.”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious.”
“Of course.”
“Stop smiling like that.”
He kept right on smiling, damn him.
We got the reindeer finally standing straight, lights glowing warm and steady against the growing dark. Main Street had begun to fill with more cars, locals, a few tourists, and one silver car parked down the street.
“Welcome home,” Callum said softly, more to himself than me.
I followed his gaze to where Lydia moved toward us, her red and green scarf wrapped high, her laugh cutting through the cold air.
Melanie climbed out, slammed the door a little too hard, and turned in our direction.
Our eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Snow fell between us like static.
Then she looked away.
And just like that, every piece of resolve I’d built over the past five months cracked down the middle.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“What?” Callum asked.
“Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was her. It was always her.
And if I wasn’t careful, I was about to find out the hard way that some ships don’t stay sunk for long.