Chapter Fourteen
Drew
The Rusty Stag was packed wall-to-wall with people escaping the cold. The Christmas festival was in full swing outside, with live music bellowing from the town square, spilling in through the doors, while the faint scent of roasting nuts and cinnamon mingled with coffee and beer.
Through the window, I could see the glow of sidewalk heaters and strings of lights zigzagging over Main Street. Kids were darting between the vendor tents, parents clutching cocoa in mittened hands, laughter bouncing off the snowbanks.
Inside, though, I was not feeling the Christmas spirit.
Callum was wiping down the bar, humming off-key to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” I’d been watching him for a while, nursing a mug of coffee instead of something stronger because it wasn’t even noon yet.
Finally, I said it.
“So,” I began, my voice casual enough to fool exactly no one, “when were you going to tell me?”
Callum didn’t look up. “About what?”
“About you being a dad.”
That got him.
He froze mid-wipe, turned, and blinked at me with that lazy smirk that always meant he was buying time. “Ah. That.”
I stared at him. “Yeah. That.”
He set the rag down, leaned an elbow on the bar, and grinned like I’d just asked if the sky was blue. “Wasn’t exactly keeping it secret. Figured you’d notice sooner or later.”
I raised a brow. “You figured?”
“Well,” he said, reaching for his own coffee, “Lydia and I had a bet.”
My eyebrows climbed higher. “A bet.”
He nodded, perfectly calm. “To see which one of you two would figure it out first.”
“You two?”
“You and Mel.”
I blinked at him. “You had a pregnancy pool?”
He laughed. “Not exactly. Just friendly wagering.”
“Friendly wagering?” I repeated. “On your unborn child?”
He shrugged. “We’re efficient like that.”
I stared at him for a long second, then rubbed a hand over my face. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he said easily. “So? Which one of you won me a dinner?”
I sighed, pushing back from my stool and standing. The bar creaked as I leaned on it. “Melanie.”
Callum paused mid-sip. “Melanie figured it out first?”
“Yep.”
He laughed one of those deep, knowing laughs that instantly got on my nerves. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”
“Glad my humiliation amuses you.”
“It’s not humiliation,” he said, still grinning. “It’s… predictable.”
I gave him a look. “Predictable?”
“Sure,” he said, leaning back against the shelves of bottles. “She’s got that sharp city brain. Always noticing details. You’ve got—”
“Careful.”
“That slow-burn charm,” he finished, smirking. “You see what’s right in front of you, but you don’t overthink it.”
“I think plenty,” I muttered, picking up my mug again.
“Do you?”
I glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged innocently, but his eyes were too sharp for it to be casual.
“You’ve been crabby all morning. So either the coffee’s bad, which it’s not, or you’ve got something else rattling around in that head of yours.”
“I’m fine.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, you say that every time you’re not.”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I watched the snow through the window. The flakes had started up again, lazy spirals against the glass, softening the edges of everything outside.
The truth was, I hadn’t slept much. I’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying the look on Melanie’s face when I’d left her apartment—the mix of guilt, surprise, and something that might’ve been fear.
We’d finally crossed that line we’d been toeing for months, and for about five minutes, it had felt like the whole world made sense. Then reality had walked in and rearranged the furniture.
Different lives. Different towns. Different everything.
And I couldn’t stop thinking about her, even now.
“Earth to Drew,” Callum said, snapping his fingers in front of me.
“What?”
He grinned. “There it is. The classic Benedict glaze.”
I frowned. “The what?”
“You know,” he said, waving his mug. “That faraway look you get when you’re trying to pretend you’re not thinking about a woman.”
“I’m not—”
He raised a brow. “Come on, little brother. I’ve known that look since you were old enough to steal my Cheerios. You’ve got that exact same face you had when you first realized you liked Lydia’s best friend.”
I glared at him over the rim of my mug. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am,” he said cheerfully. “It’s about time the tables turned. For once, you’re the one with the messy love life.”
“I wouldn’t call it love.”
He smirked. “Yet.”
“Callum.”
He held up his hands, laughing. “Fine, fine. No more poking.”
“Good.”
He waited half a beat. “You gonna tell me what happened?”
I stared into my coffee. “No.”
He laughed again. “Didn’t think so.”
We fell into silence after that, both pretending to be busy. Callum checked the draft lines; I wiped down the already-clean counter. Outside, a group of kids ran past, waving paper snowflakes and laughing. The sound drifted in on a burst of cold air when someone opened the door.
It should’ve felt peaceful. It didn’t.
“You know,” Callum said finally, breaking the quiet, “you could always—”
“Nope,” I said immediately.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I can guess.”
He smirked. “You’re assuming it had to do with Melanie.”
“I’m assuming correctly.”
“Fair,” he said with a shrug. “But for what it’s worth, I wasn’t gonna give advice. Just… observation.”
I sighed. “Let me guess. I’m sulking too much and should just follow my heart.”
He chuckled. “God, no. I’ve seen your heart. Terrible sense of direction.”
That got a laugh out of me, reluctant but real. “You’re an ass.”
“Takes one to know one,” he said easily.
I shook my head, still smiling despite myself, and glanced toward the door again. Outside, I could see Lydia’s truck pulling onto Main, the sunlight catching the windshield.
“Speak of the devil,” I muttered.
Callum followed my gaze, his expression softening immediately. “She looks good, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “She does.”
He was quiet for a long beat, then looked back at me. “You sure you’re good?”
“I’m fine,” I said again, and it sounded just as hollow the second time.
He gave me that big-brother look that was half concern and half I’m not buying your crap. “You sure? You’ve been grouchy all morning.”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was, he wasn’t wrong.
But I wasn’t ready to talk about it, not yet. Not until I figured out how to stop replaying that kiss, that look, that quiet moment between laughter and heartbreak.
So I just set my mug down, wiped my hands on a towel, and said, “You handling the bar for the next hour?”
Callum’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Depends. Where are you going?”
“For a walk,” I said, reaching for my jacket. “Fresh air.”
He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Uh-huh. Fresh air.”
“Don’t start.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, already grinning.
“Liar.”
“Comes with fatherhood,” he shot back, chuckling as I stepped toward the door.
I looked back once, shaking my head. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks,” he said, eyes bright. “You’ll make a great uncle, Drew.”
I laughed under my breath. “Let’s hope I make it that far.”
And with that, I pushed open the door, the bells chiming overhead, and stepped out into the bright, cold chaos of Reckless River.
The sound of laughter hit me first. The festival was still alive, loud, and warm despite the snow. Somewhere down the street, I caught a flash of blonde hair through the crowd.
Melanie.
I exhaled, breath clouding in the winter air, and started walking anyway.
Because no matter how far apart our worlds were, Reckless River wasn’t that big.
And I had a feeling fate wasn’t done with us yet.
I swear, overnight, Reckless River had been infected by some kind of yuletide virus.
Everywhere I looked—families. Parents with strollers, toddlers bundled like sentient marshmallows, teenagers snapping selfies with reindeer cutouts. Even the damn dogs wore matching scarves.
I shoved my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and muttered, “Christmas plague.”
Maybe I was turning into Melanie. The cynicism, the dry one-liners, the general disbelief in the world’s collective cheer. I could practically hear her voice in my head: ‘Don’t you dare blame me, Benedict. You were already halfway to grumpy old man before I showed up.’
Still, she wasn’t wrong. I’d always had a healthy dose of skepticism. Maybe that’s why she and I fit like flint and steel. Sparks, sure. But also the risk of burning the whole forest down.
Was she actually cynical, though? Or just tired of noise, school deadlines, and city crowds that never met your eyes? Exhausted had a different sound than bitter, and Melanie Sauser might wear sarcasm like armor, but I’d seen the soft underlayer peeking through.
I took a long breath of the cold morning air, letting the scent of pine and roasted chestnuts clear my head. Across the street, the festival sprawled with tents and string lights as laughter rolled over the snowbanks. It was too early for beer and too late for peace.
I turned the corner toward Bean There, Done That cafe. The bell over the door jingled as I stepped inside, and warmth wrapped around me like a hug I didn’t know I needed.
The shop smelled exactly the same as it had for years—espresso, cinnamon, and Riley’s coconut lotion. Mismatched tables filled the space, a record spinning in the corner, and the kind of lighting that made everyone look a little more forgiving.
Riley was behind the counter, her red curls piled on top of her head, and a smear of cocoa dusting her cheek like festive war paint. She looked up and grinned.
“Well, look what the blizzard dragged in,” she said. “My favorite Benedict.”
I snorted. “You say that to every Benedict who walks in here.”
“Lucky for you, there’s only two of you,” she said, handing a latte to the woman at the counter before turning back to me. “And you’re taller, so you win on visibility alone.”
“Good to know my height counts for something.”
“It’s your only redeeming quality before caffeine.” She squinted at me then, her grin softening. “You look… off today. Everything okay?”
I blinked. “You can tell that?”
“I’ve been fueling your caffeine addiction long enough to know,” she said. “You usually come in here humming or whistling or looking like you just got away with something. Today, you look like someone stole your puppy.”
“Didn’t realize I was that readable.”
“You’re a bartender. You should know better. The whole world’s readable if you look long enough.”
I chuckled under my breath. “Maybe I’ve been looking at the wrong things.”
She tilted her head. “The festival got you down? Or something else?”
I hesitated. “Maybe both.”
“Mm-hmm.” She leaned an elbow on the counter, eyes twinkling. “So, what’ll it be? Regular black coffee or something festive? I’ve got a peppermint mocha special that might melt that scowl right off your face.”
“Just coffee,” I said automatically.
She sighed dramatically. “Boring as ever.”
But she poured it anyway, the rich aroma hitting me like a second sunrise.
I was halfway through my first sip when the door jingled again, followed by a burst of laughter and cold air.
Lydia.
And right beside her—Melanie.
My hand froze halfway to my mouth.
They were both rosy-cheeked from the cold, dusted in snowflakes, looking like a sorority ad for friendship and emotional stability. Lydia spotted Riley first and waved, then her gaze found me.
“Oh, hey!” she said brightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Yeah, just grabbing caffeine,” I said, forcing my voice to sound casual.
Melanie, meanwhile, was busy brushing snow off her coat. When she finally looked up, her eyes met mine, quickly, like she hadn’t meant to, then darted away just as fast.
Riley, of course, missed nothing.
Her gaze flicked between us, then a slow, knowing grin spread across her face.
“Ah,” she said. “Now I get it.”
I frowned. “Get what?”
“Why you’re all moody and brooding this morning.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You’ve got company drama.”
“Company drama?” Lydia repeated, already intrigued.
“Don’t encourage her,” I warned, setting my cup down.
Riley ignored me entirely.
“Let me guess. You and Mel had one of those Christmas-movie misunderstandings. You know, the kind that involves miscommunication, snow, and unresolved tension.”
Lydia’s smile was pure mischief. “That sounds right.”
Melanie groaned. “Oh my gosh. Is this what happens in small towns?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “You’re all terrible.”
“Accurate, though,” Riley said, sliding my change across the counter. “Don’t worry, Drew. Happens to the best of us. The holidays bring out the drama. And the hormones.”
“Riley,” I said, warning in my tone.
“What?” she said innocently. “I’m talking about holiday hormones. Everyone’s hopped up on sugar cookies and nostalgia.”
Lydia laughed outright. Melanie, on the other hand, looked like she was debating whether to hide behind the pastry case or flee the county.
I caught Mel’s gaze for half a second…just long enough to see the flicker of something uncertain there. Regret, maybe. Or maybe she was remembering the same thing I was: her lips, her laugh, the way her breath had caught right before she pulled back.
“Anyway,” Riley said, breaking the spell. “You kids behave. I’ve got eggnog muffins I can’t burn.”
I turned to leave, but Lydia stepped closer, looping her arm through Melanie’s and smiling sweetly. “Heading back to the bar?”
“Eventually.”
“Well, if you see Callum, tell him I didn’t buy anything antique today,” she said. “He’ll consider that a Christmas miracle.”
“I’ll pass it along.”
She winked. “Good. And you,” she looked at Melanie, “try not to be too hard on him.”
Melanie sighed. “You’re assuming I care enough to be hard on him.”
I grinned because that was the most transparent lie I’d ever heard. “Sure, Mel.”
She shot me a look, sharp but not unkind, and I knew, without either of us saying it, that the conversation wasn’t over. Not even close.
Outside, the sound of the festival wrapped around the little café with bells jingling, carolers starting up again, and kids shrieking about snowflakes.
And as I stepped back into the cold, coffee warming my hands, I realized something I couldn’t laugh off anymore.
I’d fallen for a woman who didn’t want to be gotten.