Chapter 19 I Still Hate You
Nineteen
I Still Hate You
Logan
Through the grapevine, I learned purse bingo is on Tuesday nights at the Crooked Reindeer, and it’s best to stay away until after eight.
Since I’m not in need of a purse, I heed the warning.
By a quarter after, I stroll in, desperate for a distraction.
Skating didn’t cut it, the walls of my house are closing in, and stewing in my thoughts is about as fun as listening to carolers sing off-key in January.
Another lesson I learned, even when purse bingo is over, the crowd lingers.
I search for an empty barstool, but most were still occupied except for a few near the middle.
My fingers curl over the back, when a hand on mine stops me.
“Sorry, Logan, the seat’s taken.”
I blink. “Uh… sure. No problem.” I move to the next one. “Hey, Frank, this one free?”
He flicks his gaze to the bartenders, then to the far end of the bar, then back to me. “Nope. The missus is in the bathroom.”
My brows pinch together. “Alright.” I continue down the row of stools.
Every empty stool has suddenly been “claimed,” like there’s a secret no-Logan rule I didn’t get the memo about.
By the time I reach the end, there’s only one spot left—next to Brie.
I clear my throat. “Let me guess, this seat’s taken as well? ”
She peers up at me through her dark lashes. “If I say yes, are you going to stand there until another seat opens up?”
“Probably.”
She motions to the empty stool. “It’s all yours. I’m about finished anyway.”
“Wait.” I take a seat. “Before you go, I owe you an apology. I was kind of a jerk the other day.”
She rolls the bottom of the beer bottle on the bar top. “More like asshole.”
“Kind of an asshole.”
She lifts a brow. “Kind of?”
I laugh. “Okay. A lot of an asshole. You didn’t deserve that. Especially being so nice to Josie.”
Her face softens. “She’s a great kid. Super smart. She even knew the conversions when we doubled the recipe. I was impressed.”
“She gets that from her mom.”
Brie playfully elbows me. “Give yourself more credit than that, Mr. Valedictorian.”
A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. She has no reason to be nice to me, but here she is cracking jokes. “Yeah, well. I haven’t been feeling very smart as of late. Anyway, I just want to say I’m sorry.”
She nods slowly. “Apology accepted. And… I’m sorry too. I should’ve asked before baking with Josie. If I were in your shoes, I’d be upset if a stranger was baking cookies with my kid.”
I shake my head. “You’re not a stranger. You’re forgiven.” I exhale a deep breath. “What ever happened to Minnesota Nice?”
This time it’s her turn to laugh. “Minnesota Nice is alive and well. But screw with the wrong person, and it turns into Minnesota Vindictive. You haven’t been gone that long.”
“It feels like a lifetime. Either way, you didn’t deserve my wrath. The holidays are… stressful.”
“You can say that again. This year especially.” She takes a sip of beer, her pink lips wrapping around the bottle.
I force my gaze away before my imagination goes R rated.
There’s one question that’s been on the tip of my tongue.
Now that I know the truth, I want to know what her answer is. “How was your date with Simon?”
She chokes on her beer. “Oh! Uh… grrreat.”
I smirk. “So great it didn’t happen?” Her head snaps up. “Sloane told me the truth.”
“She would. Always the responsible one.” She takes another sip.
“Why lie?”
“Why do you care so much?” She arches a brow.
Clearly, these are questions neither of us want to answer. So I take a new approach. “Then why didn’t you show up to exchange the Christmas decorations?”
Something flickers across her face before she exhales. “Something came up.”
I nod, not buying it, but an interrogation doesn’t seem appropriate.
“Alright.” She swallows the last gulp of her drink. “I should get going.”
The thought of her leaving twists something in my gut. “Let me buy you another one. It’s the least I can do for being an asshole.”
She side-eyes me. “Are you trying to get me drunk so I’ll spill all my Christmas festival secrets?”
I laugh. “No. But if you want to share your secret of how you keep your hot chocolate piping hot, I’m all ears.”
Her lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “I knew it. You’re here for recon.”
“Josie scolded me for my lukewarm hot chocolate. Plus,” I point between her and me, “this is kind of nice.”
“Conversation?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “No sabotages. Plans of infiltration. Decapitating reindeer.”
She bursts into laughter. “I barely touched it, and its head fell off. You need to secure your reindeer heads better.”
“Fair.” I wave Sydney over for another round, and I glance at Brie for confirmation.
She sighs, but her smile lingers. “Fine. One more.”
While Sydney gets our drinks, I turn to Brie and ask, “What have you been up to? Did you stay in Mount Holly after graduation?”
She twists a napkin between her fingers, a wry chuckle escaping. “No. I went to college. In my senior year, I started an internship which later led to landing my dream job. I was the marketing director for the nation’s most sought-after Christmas treat.”
“Wow, sounds impressive. Congratulations.” I lean toward her and whisper, “So what is the nation’s most sought-after Christmas treat? The Yule log?”
“Nope. A fruitcake. It gets a bad rap, but come December, everyone is lining up for blocks to get their hands on one. They’re closet fruitcake enthusiasts. They go feral for the moist, dark cake that’s loaded with yummy, dried fruits. We could hardly keep up with the demand.”
I take a swig of beer.
“Huh. Who would have thought? Clearly, this job isn’t in Mount Holly, so what happened between the fruitcake and now?”
Her smile dims. “After three years with the company, I lost my job. To meet the demand, they moved production out of the country.”
“Damn. So they fired their marketing director?”
She huffs out a humorless laugh. “Technically, assistant marketing director. But it was my campaigns that went viral. The real kicker? I went home to tell my fiancé I’d been laid off—”
My gaze drifts to her left hand, which is thankfully empty.
“—only for him to tell me he’s calling off the wedding and dumping me. Apparently, Tiffany across the hallway was much better at keeping him satisfied.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”
She lifts her chin. “It stung. But honestly? It was for the best. I wasn’t about to fight for a man who didn’t put me first. Since the apartment was his, I tucked my tail between my legs and came back to Mount Holly.
I did what all the cool kids do and moved in with my parents and worked at my dad’s hardware shop for four years until I got the job as Mount Holly’s assistant event coordinator. ”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s a tough world out there.”
She smirks and elbows me. “Says the guy who played in the NHL and got a bajillion sponsorship deals with five houses scattered across the US.”
I laugh. “I only had two. One in Boston and one in Chicago. But now it’s just the one in Mount Holly. Either way, it’s still tough.” My voice drops as I pick at the label on the bottle, little flakes of paper falling to the bar top. “I never imagined I’d be a widower at thirty-three.”
Brie’s hand lands on my forearm, warm and grounding. Her voice softens. “I’m sorry about your wife. I can’t imagine what that’s been like. Especially with Josie.”
Slowly, I lift my gaze. Her eyes hold mine, steady and kind, and for one dizzying second, I want to lean into her. “Thanks. Every time I think I’m over it, I question whether I really am.”
“Is it something you can ever get over?” She yanks her hand away when she realizes her hand is still on my arm. I immediately miss her touch, but sitting here with her, it hurts a little less. “Now, I should probably get going.”
“Can I walk you to your car?” Asking her to stay for another might be a bit much. It makes me feel desperate for attention. Maybe I am. Hers, anyway.
“Are you leaving? You just got here.”
“No. But it’s dark out.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I insist.”
“I—I can’t say no to that.” She spins on her stool toward me. Her knees brush against my thigh, and my pulse skitters. The dim lighting causes a twinkle to dance within her brown irises. “Sorry,” she murmurs before sliding off the stool.
We shrug into our coats. I toss a coaster over my beer, calling out to Sydney, “Be right back!” She smirks and nudges the other bartender, and I swear they’re both in on some kind of bet.
As I pass Frank, the stool next to him is still empty. “Hey Frank, I thought the missus was in the bathroom.” I nod to the empty stool next to him.
He shifts guiltily. “Oh. Um. She must have snuck out the bathroom window.”
I can’t fight the smile. “Not the first time, I’m guessing.” Jogging to catch up, I lean down so only Brie hears. “I think the whole bar’s conspiring against us.”
Her brows knit together. “Why do you say that?”
I shake my head. Maybe I’m imagining it. “It’s nothing.” I hold the door open for her, my arm brushing hers as the cold air slaps me awake. “Did you know there’s a reporter in town doing a story about Christmas festivals?”
“Yes!” Her eyes light up. “She’s only the editor of one of the largest Christmas magazines in the nation. I’ve been subscribing to it for years. If I can land an interview, it’ll seal the deal for the Mount Holly coordinator position.” When we reach her SUV, she unlocks it with the key fob.
“You’re applying for the job?”
She nods, back pressed against the door. “It’s what I’ve been working toward for eight years.”
“You’d be amazing at it.” She smiles at the compliment, and for one reckless second, I’m ready to close the distance between us—this time no snowbank, no interruptions. Just my lips on hers.
Instead, she whispers, “Thanks for walking me out.” She slips into her seat, starting the engine. With a look that’s equal parts warning and tease, she adds, “Just because we’re civil tonight doesn’t mean anything. I still hate you.”
A smile flirts on my lips. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.” She pauses, eyes catching mine again. “Oh—and that hug with Simon? Strictly festival business. He’s making me a custom drink.”
I’m such an idiot. “Good night, Brie.”
“Night, Logan.”
Her lavender scent lingers long after I close the door and the taillights disappear down the street.
Somehow, one great night erases all the shit-tastic ones.
Now with the Simon shit put to rest, perhaps we’re headed in the right direction of at least not hating each other.
She says she still does, but I think that’s bullshit. And I’m going to prove it.