Chapter 9 #2
“I was restless, and I love Christmas, and Bailey dropped off some of his Christmas ornaments for the tree, so it was time.”
Hunter arched a brow. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you love Christmas so much?”
Words tumbled out of me, excitement spilling faster than I could catch it still on a high from Adrian’s call.
“Because it’s hope, and love, and snow, and twinkly lights that make everything feel magical.
It’s stories and songs, and that one second when everyone enjoys something happy and bright.
” My throat tightened and I trailed off, softer.
“And sometimes… it helps to remember the sadness too.” I swallowed hard, instantly regretting letting that slip, for showing too much.
I ducked my head, wishing I could reel the words back in.
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Thank you for the coffee. Anyway, I have to unpack those,” I pointed at boxes, which were empty now, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Look, I really am sorry about—”
“Bye,” I said, and scurried out of the store and into the back room, waiting until the bell rang again to indicate he’d left.
I didn’t want him to apologize. I wanted him to sweep me up in his arms and tell me he wanted me, that we could have a happy ever after, because that was the kind of hopeless romantic I was.
And I hated myself a little for it, for always wanting the big gesture, the swooping embrace, the promise that everything would work out like a fairy tale.
I knew life wasn’t like that—but still, I couldn’t stop the longing.
It was who I was, and maybe I’d never change.
Two days. That was how long I held out, and then I cracked.
A full week before Thanksgiving, and it was all Lucas Hayne’s fault.
He came in for a book he’d ordered for his niece, and he wouldn’t stop talking, which was usually my thing.
He had a lot to say about the parade, the Christmas market, the fact his sexy new partner was sexy—and yes, he managed to get that into the conversation at least twice.
“You’re quiet today,” he finally said, as I gift-wrapped the book.
“Couldn’t get a word in edgeways,” I smirked.
While I was ringing him up, Lucas’s gaze flicked between me and the window as if he was embarrassed to even bring it up. “Hey, did you know Hunter had a valuation done on The Real McCoy?”
“He did?” The question came out sharper than I’d meant, edged with shock and hurt. Of course, he was taking the post at the college—of course, he was leaving. The thought hit me like a fist, and I was angry, miserable, and confused all at once. He was sorry he’d kissed me, and he was leaving.
Okay. I can handle this. I’ll get over it.
Lucas blinked at me, and I knew I’d blown my calm cover.
I laughed too brightly, shaking my head. “Maybe we’ll have someone less grumpy next door.” I plastered on a smile to sell the joke, but Lucas wasn’t buying it. He gave me this long, searching look that made my gut twist. The act wasn’t convincing anyone, least of all me.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, and took the bag with the wrapped book, unable to add anything else to the awkwardness because a group of preteens and their teacher walked in, armed with book lists. “See you at the meeting later?”
Fuck. I’d forgotten that. How was it Friday already?
“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you there.” Kai and Bailey were having it at their house tonight, which meant I got the night off from hosting duties, but also that I had to watch the happiest couple on earth be all coupley, when I was still reeling from Hunter’s kiss and then his apology, and now finding out he’d accepted the job and was listing The Real McCoy.
And Bailey said he’d asked to go to tonight’s meeting. Why? He was leaving, so why did he want to be part of anything?
I groaned because I was so over this pining shit.
So over it.
Kai and Bailey’s place was an older house tucked a few streets back from the main square, big and welcoming, the kind of home with history in every polished floorboard.
I’d had the tour before—seen the attic where Bailey had set up his jewelry-making workshop, marveled at the light streaming in through the sloped windows.
The polished wooden floors gleamed, with rugs scattered across them to soften the footsteps, and the walls were covered with family photos.
Big group shots, candid smiles, gatherings around tables.
Bailey’s art was everywhere, too. Not just the jewelry, but sketches and drawings, some framed, some clipped up casually as though the house itself was an ever-changing gallery.
I spotted several things I recognized from around town—my heart squeezed when I saw his careful rendering of The Story Lantern, and right next to it, The Real McCoy, side by side as if they belonged together.
The door opened behind me, letting in a gust of cool November air, snow still clinging to it.
I didn’t need to turn to know it was Hunter.
Instead, I kept walking into the big front room with its open fire crackling in the hearth and high ceilings that made the place feel grander.
Everyone else was already sprawled in chairs and on the big sofa, laughter rising and falling in waves.
Only the small two-seater was left. I forced myself into one corner, notebook open in my lap.
A moment later, Hunter sat down beside me. “Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hi,” I answered, my voice catching a little, and bent over my notebook as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“I thought you might need my input on the uh… the… drinks situation.”
“Probably not,” I snarked, and regretted it when he sighed sadly.
Wes—”
“I have this idea,” I blurted out to everyone, and they stopped chatting and turned to me.
Oh, fuck, now I needed to come up with an idea.
Heat rushed to my face, but I pushed on, inspired by my weird dream.
“What if we had a float pulled by a giant yule goat?” I said quickly.
“Like, huge, with lights all down its horns, pulling a sleigh full of gifts and stories. And we could have kids handing out little scrolls with Nordic folklore tales on them. Make it interactive, fun, magical.” My words spilled out in a rush, and when I stopped, everyone was staring at me like they weren’t sure if I was a genius or completely unhinged.
“‘A giant yule goat’,” Lucas repeated, and blinked at me.
“Well, my theme is Nordic tales, and yeah… a giant yule goat.”
“This late in planning?” Kai asked.
“It’s too close until the parade,” Callum added.
“Easily enough time,” I lied, and scribbled notes into my book as the others discussed having an extra float, albeit a bike with the shell of a giant Yule goat, pulling a sleigh full of books on wheels.
“I like it,” Hunter said at my side. “I’ll help sponsor it and work on it with you—”
“I’ve got it,” I snapped, and thank goodness, everyone else was talking about the logistics of another float being added this close to the parade.
“Wes—”
“You don’t have to be interested,” I said under my breath, and he huffed.
“Well… I am.”
I turned to face him. “Did you accept the job?”
He blinked at me, surprised. “Not yet, I—”
“Did you have the realtor value The Real McCoy?”
That made his expression change, shifty, not quite able to meet my eyes. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m not a barista. I’m a history professor…” He seemed flustered.
“Why didn’t you tell me about moving ahead with selling the store?”
Now he was confused. “Why would I?”
I swallowed. Yeah, why would he tell me? “I might have wanted to buy it.”
“You do?” He seemed hopeful then, and I kicked myself. Maybe in a year, I could do that, when the trust fund was in my hands, but for now, fuck, I had nothing.
“No,” I said, then slid off the sofa so I could sit on the floor where Bailey had unfolded the huge parade map.
I couldn’t be angry with him selling, I understood why—he was a history professor, he didn’t want the store…
but fuck… my heart hurt. I needed to get over this mooning phase and get my life in order.
I was so freaking confused and out of my depth.
I traced the parade route with my finger, forcing my focus onto street names and float placement instead of the ache hollowing out my chest. Voices buzzed around me—Callum talking budgets, Bailey designing, Lucas debating logistics—but they sounded muffled, distant.
I swallowed hard and scribbled notes I’d never be able to read later, anything to keep my hands busy.
If Hunter was really leaving, then I had to learn how to breathe without him.
This was my town, my safe place, and I would never leave unless I had to.
Yes, it would break my heart if I had to close The Story Lantern, but I’d find something else to do for a year, and then maybe buy it back—if I even manage to sell it.
Then, somehow, I’d find someone in Wishing Tree or close enough who made me feel all squirmy inside, someone who actually felt squirmy right back at me.
Easy.