Chapter 7
“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Claire says.
We’re at Beans & Brews, Harmony Hills’ coffee shop that turns into a pub in the evenings, drinking Cranberry Ginger Sparklers.
The cocktails are made with cranberry juice, vodka, ginger-infused simple syrup, and club soda, and have frozen cranberries floating on top, with a festive sprig of rosemary nestled amongst the berries.
“Me, too.” I pluck out a frozen cranberry and pop it into my mouth, crunching the sour fruit.
We’ve already had a good hug and cry at her grandmother’s memorial, but I’m looking forward to catching up properly.
So far we’ve discussed the Cranberry Ginger Sparklers, the fact there’s no snow yet, and the story of Mary Piggins at the memorial.
“Rest in Peace, Libby’s baby toe,” Claire declared, after a solid minute of laughing at my reaction to Mary Piggins stealing Jonah’s sugar cookie from my hand.
(“She’s really the sweetest thing,” my friend assures me.)
“Fill me in on your life,” I say now, stirring my drink with one finger. Claire laughs softly, watching me—she’s nowhere near a germaphobe, impossible with three kids, but chooses the rosemary sprig to stir her own drink. “How’s Kirby? The kids? I can’t believe Jasmine and Jonah are already six.”
“Tell me about it. And Lucy is almost two! It goes so fast. Well, that’s not entirely true.
The days are long but the years short.” Claire sips her drink.
“Kirby’s great, though busy. He’s on staff at Westhaven Memorial, plus doing a locum for a family doc who went back to England to look after her dad. ”
Claire’s high-school-sweetheart husband, Kirby Kirkpatrick, like me, is double licensed in emergency medicine and family medicine, which allows him to work in the hospital and at a community clinic.
They now live in Westhaven, which is about double the size of Harmony Hills and a thirty-minute drive away.
Claire’s an accountant who works freelance, though mostly she’s busy with the kids these days.
“Is he looking to open his own practice?” I nibble at the bowl of nuts between us—cinnamon-sugar roasted cashews, and highly addictive.
“Maybe in a few years?” Claire replies. “We really hoped we could swing buying your parents’ practice and come back here, but we just don’t have the savings yet.”
She glances at her phone, vibrating on the table, so doesn’t see the look of confusion and shock on my face at her comment. “Uh-oh, it’s Kirby’s mom. She’s watching the kids tonight.”
Claire answers her phone, but I’m barely listening. We really hoped we could swing buying your parents’ practice, but we just don’t have the savings yet. What does that mean? Since when were my parents even considering selling Munro Medical?
“I’m on my way. Thanks, Charlotte,” Claire says. She ends the call and slides her phone into her purse. “Libby, I’m so sorry but I have to run. Lucy has a fever.”
She’s calm, the way most parents of many kids are when they come into the emergency room with fevers, or relentless stomach bugs, broken arms, mysterious rashes. I can always tell the experienced parents from the newbies.
“Let me know if you want me to take a look at her,” I say. What I want is to pepper her with questions about my parents’ clinic, but now’s not the time.
Claire doesn’t notice my angst, searching for her wallet in her large purse. I wave away her attempts to pay. “I’ve got this.”
We hug goodbye, and then Claire is gone. Luckily, Kirby’s parents live about two blocks from Beans & Brews, so it’s a short walk.
“Oh, shoot,” I murmur, remembering item number nine on Amelia’s list: Jonah & Jasmine, flower kids ? I’m typing out a text to Claire when someone says my name.
“Hey there, Libby.”
I glance up from my text, find Liam standing next to the table.
“Oh, hey!” I set my phone down. He looks good in that effortless-yet-put-together way—distressed jeans, a salmon-pink T-shirt that fits exactly right under his dark brown corduroy trucker jacket with the faux shearling lining.
His wavy hair is a touch mussed, likely from being under a toque. Luckily, the dimples still pop.
“Where’s your calamitous sidekick tonight?” I’m feeling cheeky, and somewhat tipsy from the sparklers that may have had more vodka in them than I thought.
“Past her bedtime,” Liam says with an easy smile. He gestures to Claire’s cocktail glass, mostly full. “Big night for you, or am I interrupting something?”
“Claire was here, but she had to take off. Lucy has a fever.”
“Poor kiddo,” Liam says. “I can’t imagine the stress of a sick kid—I get worked up when one of my animals isn’t well.”
“It helps when the dad’s a doctor. Or a friend is, only a text away,” I reply, tapping my phone. “I guess in your case, with the animals, a vet is more useful?”
Liam nods. “Becks has come through for me so many times.”
He glances towards the back of the room, where I see a small group playing darts.
Beckett is currently at the dartboard, removing her dart from the bull’s-eye.
She glances over at us, smiling, and waves.
I return her smile. That’s my soon-to-be sister-in-law , I think, still a touch stunned by how quickly this is all happening.
“We’re having a little pre-wedding celebration,” Liam says. “Want to join us?”
Yes. No. Yes. No.
I may be reading more into the ask than is there, but I also know I’ve had almost two sparklers (soon to be two and a half, if I finish Claire’s drink, too), and I am not a big drinker.
Tapping out at this stage is wise. The wedding’s tomorrow, and I don’t want anything—especially an avoidable hangover—to ruin Amelia’s big day. “Rain check?”
“You got it,” Liam says, rapping the table lightly with his knuckles, his smile deepening. “But probably a snow check, if the forecast is right.”
It’s so adorably cheesy that I can’t help but grin, and I almost change my mind. Hangover be damned! I can hydrate, take something for the headache. But I need to avoid complicating things, even if said complication is this cute, funny, and charming guy.
“Snow check it is,” I reply, feeling better than I have in a while. I know it’s not only because of the Cranberry Ginger Sparklers.