Chapter Five
Flannery
Mee-Maw's cottage smelled like butter, sugar, and cinnamon—the scent of every Christmas I could remember. I rolled out snickerdoodle dough on her worn wooden pastry board while she piped white frosting rosettes onto bell-shaped sugar cookies.
Vixen lounged on the windowsill, white fur bright against the gray afternoon light. She kept looking at me with those knowing green eyes.
Finally. Twenty-six years. And even if he never calls again, at least you know what you were missing.
Smug cat.
"You have a glow, dear," Mee-Maw said, looking up from her frosting work.
My hand slipped on the rolling pin. "What?"
"A glow." She studied me over her reading glasses. "Something's different about you today."
Warmth flooded my face. "I don't know what you mean."
"Mmm-hmm." She went back to piping delicate swirls. "You've checked your phone seventeen times in the last hour. Burned the first batch of snickerdoodles—and you never burn cookies. Keep touching your neck."
My hand jerked away from my throat—from where Shep's mouth had been this morning. And last night. And—
"Tired," I managed. "Long shift at the shop."
"Well, you should rest before church tonight." Mee-Maw picked up her frosting bag again. "That green velvet dress will be lovely on you. I'm glad you're finally wearing it."
My phone sat silent on the counter beside the flour canister. Still nothing. No texts, no calls, nothing since that awful goodbye in the parking lot six hours ago.
We don't have to make it complicated.
I'd said that. Cut him off before he could say last night had been a mistake, that the morning had been nice but he had responsibilities, a son, a real life to get back to.
Maybe he'd realized that sleeping with the awkward librarian had been fun but not something he wanted to repeat.
Maybe he was trying to figure out how to be polite when we inevitably crossed paths in town.
I'd made it easy for both of us.
Except now I couldn't stop wondering what he'd been about to say when I interrupted him.
"Flannery?" Mee-Maw was watching me. "Where did you go?"
"Sorry. Thinking." The dough needed my attention. "What time do we need to leave for church?"
"Service starts at seven. We should head over around six-thirty to help set up the reception." She gestured at the cooling racks covered in cookies. "These all need to come with us."
I nodded and went back to rolling, but my hands moved on autopilot while my mind spun in circles.
He hadn't texted. Hadn't called. Which meant I'd been right—it had been one night. A blizzard and proximity and two people who got caught up in the moment.
He was probably relieved I'd given him an out.
"You know," Mee-Maw said quietly, "when I was your age, I met your grandfather at a church social.
We got caught in a rainstorm, waited it out in the gazebo at Silver Bell Lake.
" She piped careful lines on a star-shaped cookie.
"We talked for hours. When the rain stopped, I convinced myself someone like your grandfather couldn't possibly be interested in the shy English teacher with her nose in a book. "
I glanced up, surprised. She'd never told me this.
"I avoided him for a week. Nearly lost the best thing that ever happened to me because I was too scared to believe it could be real."
"But he came after you?"
"Eventually. After I'd made us both miserable." She set down her frosting bag and looked at me directly. "Don't make my mistake, sweetheart. If someone matters, you have to be brave enough to find out."
The words settled in my stomach like stones. But how could I be brave when my phone stayed silent? When he'd let me drive away this morning without trying to stop me?
"I should get ready," I said, my voice rough. "Need to shower and do my hair."
Mee-Maw squeezed my hand as I passed. "Whatever you're afraid of, it's worth facing. Trust me."
***
I stood in front of the mirror in my childhood bedroom—the same room I'd grown up in after my parents died, the same faded wallpaper with tiny flowers, the same quilt Mee-Maw had made when I was ten.
The green velvet dress fit like it was made for me. Knee-length, fitted bodice with a modest neckline, three-quarter sleeves. I'd bought it on sale last year and never worn it, convinced it was too fancy, too much attention, too unlike the cardigans and long skirts I hid behind.
But when I studied my reflection now, I didn't see someone trying too hard. I saw a woman. Someone who'd spent a night learning what her body could feel, what pleasure meant, what it was like to be wanted.
Even if it had only been for one night.
I left my hair down, the honey-highlighted waves falling past my shoulders instead of twisted up with knitting needles. Applied mascara and lip gloss. The velvet was soft under my palms as I smoothed it over my hips, warm from my body heat. I could feel my pulse through the fabric.
Shep had looked at me like I was radiant. Like every curve was exactly right. And even if that had been heat-of-the-moment desire, even if it wouldn't happen again—I'd carry that feeling with me. The knowledge that I could be wanted like that.
Vixen sat on my old desk, grooming a paw with exaggerated dignity.
Not bad. You actually look confident. He'd be an idiot not to want more.
"Thanks," I muttered. "I think."
She meowed once—approval or sarcasm, hard to tell with cats.
Mee-Maw smiled when I came into the living room. "Lovely. You're lovely."
"It's not too much?"
"It's perfect." She handed me my coat. "Now let's get these cookies to church before Mrs. Henderson sends out a search party."
***
Mistletoe Ridge Community Church blazed with light against the dark winter evening. Every window glowed golden, the steeple cross shining white against the sky. The parking lot was packed—the whole town turning out for Christmas Eve service.
Mee-Maw and I carried cookie trays through the side entrance to the fellowship hall. Red and green tablecloths covered long tables, garland hung around the room, and the scent of coffee brewing filled the air.
"Flannery!" Mrs. Henderson bustled over. "Oh good, Charlotte said you were bringing snickerdoodles. Put them right there, dear."
I set down my tray and helped Mee-Maw arrange cookies on serving platters. Around us, the room filled with familiar faces—Mrs. Yates and Mrs. Tucker by the punch bowl, the Millers trying to corral Jayden and his little sister, Pastor Bright testing the microphone.
My hands shook slightly as I arranged cookies. Shep would be here. With Dash. With his family. And I'd have to see him, maybe talk to him, figure out how to act like my heart wasn't breaking.
"Ready?" Mee-Maw asked gently.
No. "Yes."
We made our way to the sanctuary. Already packed, pews filling fast, families squeezing together.
The scent of pine boughs mixed with melting candle wax and old hymnals, someone's perfume—roses and powder—drifting past. Candles waited on windowsills.
Poinsettias flanked the altar. The massive Christmas tree in the corner sparkled with handmade ornaments.
Mee-Maw found seats near the middle, and I tried very hard not to scan the room for a tall, dark-haired cowboy with a little boy in tow.
I lasted maybe thirty seconds.
There. Three rows up, across the center aisle. Dark jacket, white shirt, no tie. Dash sat beside him in a miniature matching outfit, little boots swinging off the pew. Next to them, his parents plus his brothers Shane and Dusty with their girlfriends.
The Starrs—his whole family.
As if he could feel me staring, Shep's head turned. Our eyes met across the crowded sanctuary, and the noise—rustling programs, murmured conversations, organ music—faded into background static.
My breath caught. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at his collar. He'd shaved, and even from here I could see the sharp line of his jaw. When his hand came down to ruffle Dash's hair, the movement was so tender something squeezed in my chest.
What was he thinking? That last night had been a mistake? That he was relieved I'd made it easy?
Or—
Dash tugged his sleeve again, and Shep turned away.
All through the service, I was hyperaware of him three rows up.
When we stood to sing "O Come All Ye Faithful," I strained to hear his voice.
When Pastor Bright talked about unexpected blessings and finding light in darkness, I thought about a blizzard and a boutique and learning I was brave enough to ask for what I wanted.
We lit candles, flames passing person to person until the sanctuary blazed with light. Singing "Silent Night" in the flickering glow, my voice caught on all is calm, all is bright.
Nothing felt calm. My pulse hammered in my ears. Everything felt too bright, too sharp, hope and heartbreak tangled together.
"The Lord bless you and keep you," Pastor Bright said, raising his hands. "The Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you. The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," the congregation echoed.
People began filing out toward the fellowship hall. Mee-Maw stopped to chat with Mrs. Henderson. The crowd carried me forward—
A small body slammed into my legs.
"Miss Flannery!" Dash wrapped his arms around my knees. "Merry Christmas!"
I steadied myself against a pew, grinning down at him. "Merry Christmas, Dash."
"We had pancakes and Jayden and me built a fort and guess what?" He bounced on his toes. "We got a baby horse! Her name's Comet and she was born this morning and she's so tiny and can you come see her? Please?"
Looking up, I found Shep walking toward us, the Starrs trailing behind. His mother with the same dark hair, his father with the same build, his brothers tall and broad-shouldered.
They all turned to look.
"Dash, let Miss Flannery breathe," Shep said quietly, his eyes on mine.
"But can she come see Comet?" Dash insisted. "Please, Daddy?"