Chapter Thirteen
Melanie
If guilt had a sensation, it would’ve been the pounding in my skull the next morning.
The storm had quieted sometime before dawn, the snow no longer hammering against the windows but falling in lazy, half-hearted flakes. The light that filtered into the apartment was soft and forgiving. Unfortunately, it was the only thing forgiving in the room.
I cracked one eye open and groaned.
The couch blanket was twisted around my legs like a trap, the wine bottle on the coffee table stood empty and smug, and my phone had died somewhere between glass number two and my declaration that feelings are a scam.
So, you know, a banner night.
My tongue felt like it had been sandpapered, my head pulsed in time with the wind outside, and the clock on the wall informed me that I’d managed about three hours of sleep.
Perfect.
And then came the pounding.
At first, I thought it was my heartbeat. Then I realized it had rhythm. Human rhythm. Knocking rhythm.
I groaned and pulled the blanket over my face. “Go away.”
The pounding didn’t go away.
It got louder.
“MEL! OPEN UP!”
That voice. That chipper, way-too-alive voice.
I shot upright so fast the room tilted. “Oh, God.”
It wasn’t Seattle.
It wasn’t my apartment.
It was Reckless River.
And that voice belonged to Lydia.
Pregnant, glowing, unreasonably happy Lydia. Who had probably arrived ready for our antiquing day, blissfully unaware that I was currently one glass shy of a hangover support group.
“Coming!” I croaked, though it came out more like dying goose noises.
I stumbled off the couch, tripped over a pillow, and kicked the wine bottle under the coffee table in a panic. Then I did a speed run through the apartment: ran a hand through my hair (disaster), checked the mirror (bigger disaster), and grabbed the nearest sweatshirt I could find.
The pounding started again, followed by Lydia’s singsong voice. “I can hear you tripping over furniture!”
Of course, she could.
I yanked the door open and squinted into the bright morning light.
“You’re too cheerful,” I groaned. “It’s offensive.”
She stood there in her puffer coat, scarf tucked around her neck, cheeks pink from the cold. She looked like an advertisement for the perfect small-town morning.
“Well, someone’s chipper,” she said, stepping inside. “Rough night?”
I glared. “Define rough.”
She took one look at the couch, the empty glass, and the wine bottle peeking out from under it and raised an eyebrow. “Ah.”
“Don’t judge me.”
“Oh, I’m not judging,” she said, setting her gloves on the counter. “I’m just observing. For future reference.”
I groaned again and stumbled toward the kitchen for water.
When I turned back, she was glancing around the apartment, her expression subtly shifting from curious to…something else.
Her gaze landed on the second wine glass beside the sink.
Onto the faint shadow of boot prints near the door.
And then she looked at me.
“Where’s Drew?”
My heart jumped so hard I nearly choked on my water. “What?”
“Drew,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the room. “You had dinner. He was supposed to be here. Where is he?”
I waved a hand, pretending like it was nothing. “Gone. Left last night.”
She frowned. “Left? Why?”
“Because that’s what he does,” I said, then immediately regretted how bitter it sounded. “I mean, it was late. Snowing. You know.”
She gave me that I was born yesterday but not stupid look. “Melanie.”
I sighed and sank onto the couch, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders again. “We kissed, okay?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Finally!”
“Don’t say finally,” I muttered.
“Why not? It’s been brewing since, what, the dawn of time? Usually, you two sneak off and get it over with right away.”
I groaned into the blanket. “It was a mistake.”
“Oh, honey.” She perched beside me, rubbing my arm. “What happened?”
I stared at the Christmas lights Lydia herself had hung when she decorated the place and how they still twinkled mockingly across the walls.
“We had dinner. We flirted. We… didn’t stop flirting. And then one thing led to another and…”
“And?”
“And then we kissed,” I said, flinging a hand in the air. “And it was good. Too good. And then I ruined it by being me.”
Lydia tilted her head. “Define being me.”
“I panicked. Said something stupid about how we’d never work. And then he left.”
“Mel,” she said gently. “You didn’t just say something stupid. You said something true that hurt.”
I looked at her. “That’s supposed to help?”
She smiled softly. “It’s supposed to mean you care more than you want to admit.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. “I can’t do this right now. My brain’s fuzzy. My mouth tastes like regret and Cabernet.”
“Good,” she said, standing. “Because you’re not thinking your way out of this one yet. You’re showering, and we’re going antiquing. Fresh air. Retail therapy. Time away from your overactive conscience.”
“I don’t want to move.”
“Then I’ll drag you.” She patted my knee. “But go hop in the shower.”
I groaned but stood anyway, shuffling toward the bathroom. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“Occupational hazard of friendship,” she called after me.
I turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat, staring at myself in the mirror. Puffy eyes. Pink cheeks. The faintest ghost of a smile I couldn’t quite smother, even if I wanted to.
The truth was, I hadn’t slept because every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel him. The weight of his hands, the warmth of his laugh, the way he’d looked at me like I was something he wanted to keep, even though we both knew he couldn’t.
I stepped into the shower, letting the water scald away the hangover and the memories, though neither went quietly.
Outside the door, I could hear Lydia moving around the apartment, humming, probably rearranging my throw pillows because she couldn’t stand chaos. She was too good at finding balance, something I’d always admired and envied in equal measure.
“Mel!” she called over the sound of the water. “What’s your excuse gonna be when he inevitably shows up again?”
I closed my eyes, water streaming over my face.
“I don’t have one,” I called back.
“Good!” she said cheerfully. “Because I don’t buy any of them anyway.”
I could almost see her grin.
I stayed in the shower longer than I needed to, partly because it felt good, partly because facing Lydia’s knowing eyes afterward would be harder than any hangover.
When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, steam curling into the small space, I caught my reflection again.
And I didn’t look heartbroken.
Tired, yes. Hungover, definitely. But under all that, something else.
Something alive.
“Mel?” Lydia knocked lightly. “I made coffee.”
“Bribery will get you everywhere,” I said, opening the door.
She handed me a mug, the smell instantly forgiving me for every poor decision of the past twelve hours.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
I nodded. “Getting there.”
She smiled, bumping my shoulder. “Good. Because I’m driving. And you’re picking the first antique store. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said, taking a long sip of coffee. “But only if we promise not to talk about Drew for at least an hour.”
“Fine,” she said. “Fifty minutes.”
I gave her a look.
She grinned. “Forty-five?”
I laughed and shook my head. “You’re impossible.”
“Still sounds like a compliment,” she said, echoing Drew perfectly.
It hit me square in the chest, that familiar mix of irritation and affection. I rolled my eyes and walked away before she could see me smile.
Because the truth was, the morning might have started rough, but the world hadn’t ended. The snow was easing, the coffee was hot, and for the first time since he walked out, I didn’t feel like running.
And maybe that meant something too.
By the time we’d finished our coffee and I’d pulled myself into something resembling a functioning human, Lydia was rummaging through her purse for her keys.
I leaned against the counter, still nursing my second cup of caffeine and watching her with narrowed eyes.
“So,” I said casually, “when exactly were you planning on telling me you were pregnant?”
Lydia froze mid-dig, her head snapping up.
Then she laughed one of those deep, belly laughs that made me want to both hug and throttle her.
“Oh my God. You finally noticed!”
My mouth fell open. “Finally noticed?”
She grinned, pulling on her coat. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.”
“You…what?”
She waved her hand. “Callum and I had a bet going.”
“A bet?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said cheerfully, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “To see which one of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum would figure it out first.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
Her grin widened. “Relax. You’re not Tweedle Dum—at least not in this scenario.”
“Oh, well,” I said dryly, setting my mug down. “That’s comforting.”
She started laughing again. “You should’ve seen Callum’s face when I said you’d pick up on it before Drew did.”
“I’m not sure what offends me more…that you made it a contest or that you compared me to a children’s book character.”
“Hey, don’t take it personally,” she said, still giggling. “We love you both. Just… you know, in a how-are-you-two-this-oblivious kind of way.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “I feel so honored.”
“You should,” she said, grabbing her keys. “Now, grab your coat. We’re going antiquing. I need to walk before Callum decides I’m not allowed to do anything but nap.”
“Right,” I said, following her to the door. “Because nothing says safe pregnancy like hauling antique furniture through snowdrifts.”
“Exactly!” she said brightly. “We’ll drive slow.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Sure it does.”
As we stepped outside, the air hit like a slap. It was cold and sharp, the kind that clears your head whether you want it to or not. The snow had stopped, leaving the world gleaming under a crisp, winter-blue sky.
Lydia’s “truck,” which was definitely Callum’s, waited at the curb. It was a sturdy old pickup that looked like it had seen more than a few mountain winters.
I eyed it skeptically. “Are you sure he’s okay with you driving this?”
“He’s fine,” she said, climbing in. “He left me his truck, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but I’m guessing that was before he realized you were planning to go antiquing along an icy river.”
She rolled her eyes, starting the engine. “Relax, Mom. I’ve got snow tires and snacks.”
I climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
I chuckled. “You’ve always been disturbingly confident for someone who once reversed into a mailbox.”
“That mailbox came out of nowhere,” she said indignantly. “And besides, that was years ago.”
“Uh-huh.”
We pulled out of the lot and onto the quiet main road, the snow crunching under the tires. Reckless River looked different in the morning light. It was postcard-perfect with the calm that city life didn’t have the patience for.
As we drove past the frozen river that gave the town its name, I glanced sideways at her. “So… how far along?”
“Four months,” she said, smiling so wide it made her cheeks dimple. “I know. I wanted to tell you earlier, but Callum and I weren’t sure when the right time was.”
“Right time?” I asked, mock glaring. “We’ve texted like, every other day. I think that qualifies.”
She shrugged, unapologetic. “You had enough going on. I didn’t want to add to your mental chaos.”
“My mental chaos can handle a baby announcement.”
“Maybe,” she said, grinning. “But could it handle knowing you’re going to be an honorary aunt?”
I blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Of course you are,” she said simply, keeping her eyes on the road. “You’re family, Mel. We’re hoping you’ll be the godmother.”
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. “God, Lyd. You can’t just say stuff like that before I’ve had lunch. I’ll start crying.”
“Then it’s working,” she said smugly.
I laughed, brushing a tear that wasn’t totally not there. “You’re impossible.”
“Still sounds like a compliment,” she shot back.
I stared at her. “Have you been spending time with Drew? Because that’s his line.”
She grinned. “What can I say? He’s rubbing off on me.”
“Gross,” I said, shuddering. “Don’t make me think about that.”
“Jealous?”
“Of your pregnancy?”
“Of my happiness,” she teased.
“Touché.”
The road curved along the riverbank, the trees dusted with snow like something out of a storybook. The sunlight glinted off the water’s icy surface, and for a moment, I forgot to be cynical.
“Okay,” I said finally. “Where exactly are we going?”
She grinned, that mischievous spark in her eyes that usually meant chaos. “You’ll see.”
“Lydia.”
“Trust me.”
“That phrase has historically ended badly for me.”
“This time it won’t.”
It took about fifteen more minutes and a lot of side-eyeing her choice in Christmas playlists before I saw it—a huge red barn just off the main road, nestled near the river bend.
But calling it a “barn” didn’t do it justice.
It was massive, like something from a Norman Rockwell painting, with a crisp white roof dusted in snow and twinkle lights wrapped around every post. Garlands draped over the wide front doors, and a wooden sign above read Riverbend Antiques & Holiday Market.
I blinked, jaw dropping. “This is it?”
“Isn’t it amazing?” Lydia said, beaming as she pulled into the lot. “Callum and I came here in the fall, but they expanded. It’s basically Christmas heaven now.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. Even from the truck, I could see rows of outdoor stalls set up near the barn doors with handmade wreaths, carved wooden toys, and old sleds propped against fences.
It was disgustingly wholesome.
And, against my better judgment, something in my chest melted just a little.
“Wow,” I said quietly. “This is… actually beautiful.”
“Told you.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
“You love it.”
I smiled, shaking my head. “It’s like Christmas threw up, but tastefully.”
She laughed. “I knew you’d appreciate it.”
We climbed out of the truck, boots crunching in the snow, the air full of music from a speaker someone had hung by the barn doors.
A few people milled about with cups of cocoa, and the whole place radiated that small-town magic Lydia had fallen headfirst into and I’d been resisting since the day I arrived.
Still, standing there, breathing in the smell of woodsmoke and pine, I couldn’t deny it. It did something to me.
“Come on,” Lydia said, looping her arm through mine. “Let’s go find you something that’ll make your apartment look less like a hotel room and more like home.”
I laughed under my breath. “Good luck with that.”
She smiled knowingly. “Oh, I’ve got all the luck I need.”
And for the first time in a long while, as the snow sparkled around us and laughter drifted through the cold morning air, I started to wonder if perhaps Reckless River wasn’t done with me yet.