Chapter Fifteen
Melanie
If awkward were an Olympic sport, I’d have taken gold, silver, and bronze for that coffee shop scene.
I could still feel the heat in my cheeks hours later.
It didn’t help that Riley had basically broadcast our tension to half the café, or that Drew had looked—well, Drew-like.
Rugged, calm, perfectly composed, while I tried not to crawl into the nearest pastry display and hide behind a tray of scones.
Afterward, Lydia and I had wandered back through the festival, and I’d done my best to play it cool.
It was the perfect afternoon, really, as snow glittered in the sunlight, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon and evergreens, and laughter spilled from the crowd.
But inside, I was all tangled like a ball of Christmas lights.
Everywhere I looked, I saw reminders of him.
The wreath station with the attack squirrel.
The chili cook-off area had been transformed into a cookie decorating table.
The spot by the bar’s patio where he’d hung Christmas lights just because Lydia had dared him.
And every time I caught a whiff of pine or smoke, my brain supplied his laugh.
The worst part? I didn’t even know what I was mad about anymore. The kiss? The fact that he’d left after it? Or that I wanted him to stay even when I’d practically shoved him out the door with emotions?
By the time we reached the edge of the square, Lydia stopped abruptly in front of the wreath-decorating booth and turned to me, hands on her hips.
“All right,” she said. “Enough is enough.”
I blinked. “Enough what?”
“Enough of the pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.”
She arched a brow. “You’re literally sulking in front of a table of holly berries.”
“I’m… reflecting.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “And I’m a reindeer.”
I sighed, crossing my arms. “Fine. Maybe I’m fretting a little.”
“A little? You’ve had the same storm cloud hovering over your head since the coffee shop.”
“Can we not do this here?” I said, lowering my voice. “Half the town’s within earshot.”
“Good,” she said, grabbing two candy canes from a nearby vendor and handing one to me. “You need sugar. And sense.”
I frowned. “Sense?”
“Melanie Sauser,” she said, “what are you so afraid of if you fall for Drew?”
My head snapped up. “What—”
“Oh, don’t you ‘what’ me,” she said, waving the candy cane like a sword. “You’ve been circling that man for months. You kiss him, panic, drink an entire bottle of wine, and now you’re walking around like love personally offended you.”
I groaned. “Lydia.”
“No,” she said firmly. “You’re going to listen.”
I stared at her. She stared back. The pregnant woman had her hands on her hips, and honestly, she looked ready to take on an entire army of emotional idiots.
“Look,” I said, softening. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple,” she said. “You’re scared. And I get it. Falling in love is terrifying. But you need to stop pretending this is about logistics.”
“Logistics matter,” I said, exasperated. “He lives here. I live in Seattle. He runs a bar. I work in a classroom, but my life, my everything, is there.”
“So what?” she asked, her voice rising a little. “So you have to live in the same town as your best friend? Have to give up overpriced lattes and sirens at midnight? So you don’t trip over tents on the sidewalk on your way to work? Sounds awful.”
I laughed despite myself. “You’re hard to fathom.”
“Still sounds like a compliment,” she said, smirking, and I groaned because, of course, she’d borrowed his line.
Her face softened. “Mel, listen to me. You’ve spent so long chasing what you thought you wanted that you don’t even notice when something real walks right up and sits across from you.
Drew’s not perfect. God knows he’s stubborn and flirty and occasionally smells like whiskey and trouble, but he’s good. And he’s yours, if you want him.”
My throat tightened. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” she said, quiet now. “It’s messy. But you know what else it is? Worth it.”
I stared at the snow at our feet, at the way it glittered under the afternoon light. “You sound like a Christmas card.”
“Good,” she said. “Maybe it’ll get through that big, sarcastic city-girl brain of yours.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled.
“Come on,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “Let’s walk before I start getting sentimental.”
“Too late.”
She laughed, and we started strolling past the vendor stalls again. The smell of caramel corn wafted through the air, and somewhere nearby, a group of carolers was doing their best to harmonize.
It should’ve been too much. Too festive, too loud, too Reckless River. But something about the moment eased the tightness in my chest.
We stopped at a stall selling hand-painted ornaments, each one unique and glittering. Lydia picked one up, a glass snowflake with gold trim, and smiled.
“For the baby’s first Christmas,” she said softly, paying for the item.
I felt my throat catch again. “You’re going to be an incredible mom, you know that?”
She looked at me, eyes warm. “Only if I can guilt you into being the world’s best honorary aunt.”
I laughed. “You’ve already got that locked down.”
She slipped the ornament into her bag, her grin widening. “Then it’s settled.”
We wandered for a while longer, weaving through the crowd. The laughter, the chatter, the music—it all started to soak in. Slowly, the edges of my self-pity melted, replaced by something gentler.
By the time we circled back toward the river, the sky had begun to turn that late-afternoon shade of rose gold, the water reflecting the light in shimmers.
And there, on the far side of the street, was Drew.
He was helping one of the vendors haul a heater closer to a stall, sleeves pushed up, flannel rolled to his elbows, snow catching in his hair. He looked… sensational.
Lydia followed my gaze and smiled. “You know, I think that man’s been in love with you since before you realized it.”
“Don’t,” I said, but my voice cracked just a little.
She squeezed my arm. “Then go talk to him. Or don’t. But don’t pretend you don’t care.”
I swallowed hard, the words catching somewhere between my heart and common sense.
She started walking toward a booth selling cider, leaving me standing there with my pulse racing and my courage arguing with itself.
And maybe it was the music drifting from the speakers, some classic crooner singing about love and Christmas and second chances, or maybe it was the look on Drew’s face when he finally noticed me.
But in that moment, I stopped thinking about city apartments and long-distance problems and every reason I’d given myself not to fall.
Because when he smiled that slow, warm, and a little uncertain grin, I realized Lydia was right.
Maybe it was that simple.
Sometimes you just had to let go of fear long enough to see what was standing right in front of you.
Across the street, Drew laughed at something the vendor said, head tipped back, snow catching in his hair like a hundred glittering secrets.
He looked like he belonged here…like part of the landscape itself.
The flannel, the easy grin, the way people naturally gravitated toward him.
Reckless River fit him like it had been made for him.
And me? I was still standing on the curb, staring like someone watching a movie they didn’t remember auditioning for.
Lydia handed me a cider and nudged me once more, but when I didn’t move, she sighed.
“Fine. Stubborn as ever.” She turned toward a booth selling hand-knit scarves. “But you can’t dodge this forever, Mel. Eventually, you’re going to have to decide whether you’re running from something or toward it.”
I didn’t answer. I just watched as she walked away, her bright red scarf disappearing into the crowd.
The music from the square drifted down the street—soft, wistful. The kind of melody that made you want to believe in happy endings even when you knew better.
Drew finished helping the vendor and straightened up, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Then, as if he felt it, my gaze, the weight of it, he turned.
Our eyes met across the street.
It wasn’t long. Maybe a second. Maybe less. But it was enough to undo me.
There was surprise there, yes. But something else, too. Something quiet and cautious.
And for a heartbeat, it looked like he might cross the street.
I almost hoped he would.
But a group of kids dashed between us, trailing laughter and snow, and by the time the path cleared, he’d looked away. Someone from the festival called his name, and just like that, the moment was gone.
He turned toward The Rusty Stag, his shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.
I stood there long enough for my cider to cool too much as my fingers numbed around the paper cup.
Lydia’s words replayed in my head: What are you so afraid of?
I wanted to shout back that it wasn’t fear. It was realism. Practicality. Distance. That it wasn’t as simple as falling for someone who lived in another world.
But the truth sat there in my chest, uncomfortably honest.
It was fear.
Because falling for Drew meant admitting I didn’t know what came next.
And I wasn’t sure I was brave enough for that.
A gust of wind tugged at my scarf, and I turned away from the river, heading back toward the truck. The town square glowed behind me, laughter and bells echoing like a life I didn’t know how to step into.
When I reached the vehicle, Lydia was already waiting inside, the heater running, and her hands wrapped around her cocoa. She looked at me, one brow raised, and said nothing.
“Don’t,” I warned, sliding into the passenger seat.
“Wasn’t gonna,” she said lightly, pulling onto the road. “But if you keep staring out the window like that, I might start playing Christmas love songs just to see you squirm.”
I didn’t take the bait. I just watched the town lights blur through the windshield as we drove back along the river for more antiquing, and the snow fell in slow, steady whispers.
Lydia hummed quietly beside me, some old Christmas tune I didn’t recognize, and for once, I didn’t interrupt.
Because my thoughts were too full of Drew—his smile, his silence, and that almost-moment between us that felt like a spark in the cold.
And maybe that was the real problem.
We weren’t finished. Not by a long shot.
But for now, neither of us seemed brave enough to take the next step.