Chapter 3
REBECCA
Feeling slightly panicked about this situation, before Reese can disappear down the hallway, I blurt, “Let me buy you a hot cocoa for your trouble.”
“It was no trouble.”
I sing-song, “I noticed a little cocoa cart by the fireside lounge when I arrived last night.”
He pauses, exhaustion written across his face.
“Hmm. Maybe asking you if I can hitch a ride to Brady’s in Carson City isn’t the best idea, not if you’re half asleep on your feet and the roads are so treacherous, they’re closed.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “To be honest, I’d rather stack wood in only a t-shirt at the moment, but if you really want me to, I can—”
The idea of him stacking wood in a t-shirt and watching those muscles flex sends a warm wave through me.
“But I should get going, get some rest. I don’t live far.”
The view out the nearest window is a wall of white. Not exactly eager to send Reese into that or say goodbye just yet. The fact that he knew me before all the glitz and glam of my name in lights is unexpectedly comforting, all things considered.
“You worked a forty-eight-hour shift and then chased my dog through a hotel. The least I can do is sugar you up.”
His lips part slightly as if confused or concerned. He inclines his head. “Is that slang for something?”
My cheeks warm and I stumble back slightly, also working on a sleep—and sanity—deficit. I clap my hand over my mouth. “I drove here with no plan, no map, no change of clothes. It all became too much. I meant sugar as in chocolate, marshmallows, you know, the works.”
“Wait. What?”
Now I want to jump back in bed, pull the covers over my head, and not come out until next year. I told Reese that nobody knows where I am and that I threw my phone out a window. That I’m essentially on the run.
Fa la la la fail!
I didn’t mean to essentially reveal that I’m hiding from my career.
From Lilith, my publicist, my social media manager, and the entire circus that’s become my life.
But the words tumbled out, and now Reese Marchiano—Brady’s best friend, the guy I used to have the biggest, swooniest crush on—knows I’m having a breakdown.
Great. Very mature. Quite professional, Becca.
“I was in the mood for a hot cocoa too,” I say, trying to sound normal. Like, I haven’t just confessed to committing grand theft auto and phone-icide.
He looks at me with concern, those evergreen eyes studying my face in a way that makes me want to both run away and stay right here forever.
“I guess I can’t turn down an offer like that. Noella makes a great cup of hot chocolate. You’ve convinced me.”
Still dressed in last night’s performance attire, we wander downstairs.
A blazing fire crackles in the stone fireplace, casting warm light across the cozy space.
Garlands stuck with decorative stems made of glittery branches, berries, pinecones, and winter flowers in metallic silver and gold, frosted pine, and red berries create a lush Christmas tableau.
Glass icicles drip from entryways along with dried orange slice garlands strung with twine and wooden beads.
Candles cast everything aglow and the scent of cinnamon and chocolate fills the air.
As if anticipating us, Noella has two steaming mugs of cocoa ready in no time and delivers them to the small table by the fire, each topped with a mountain of whipped cream, crushed peppermint candy canes, and chocolate shavings.
I want to take a bath in it.
“They don’t mess around with their hot chocolate here,” I say, gesturing to the festive creations.
“It’s the best around. It gives me some ideas for the bakery,” Reese says, almost as an aside.
“What bakery?” I think back, wondering if Mrs. Marchiano opened one or if Reese is married to a beautiful baker who makes all of his buttery, doughy dreams come true.
I glance at his left hand and don’t see a wedding ring on his finger.
“The Firehouse Bakery, aka Crush Cakes, is the crew’s business to be.”
“The crew, as in you and the other firemen?”
He nods. “All of us are going in on transforming the old firehouse in Huckleberry Hill into a bakery and cafe. The county built a new safety complex in town and the neglected building, complete with a brass pole to slide down, was begging for something special. Plus, it’s something for us guys to do in our off time. ”
“That sounds delightful.” So cozy with that small town sweetness. And not at all what I’d expect from a bunch of burly firefighters—if the rest of them are anything like Reese.
He tells me a little more about the origin of Crush Cakes—cupcakes that consist of just the top part, the good stuff—and that they plan to open next spring.
Listening to him talk about their vision taking shape makes me melt into the chair. Pookie, sensing that I’ve finally relaxed, settles into my lap with a contented sigh. The dog has already forgotten about her great escape.
The cocoa is cool enough to drink and I wrap my hands around the warm mug. “I bet Lindy loves that. She’s a great baker.”
Thinking about my brother should make me fume, but I’m not because, of course, Brady tracked me down.
That’s what big brothers do, especially big brothers who are police officers.
To be real, part of me is relieved someone cares enough to check up on me, but not because they want me to do something or be somebody for them.
As much as I get from my fans, I give so much to the team, product endorsements, events, and more. Lilith is right, I did sign up for the spotlight, but had I been able to understand the terms and conditions, I may have thought twice about signing on the dotted line.
Playing my music in cafes on a Friday night and working at a bakery sounds more appealing right now. At least then I’d be able to see my family and friends—the people who really matter—on a regular basis.
Gazing at the crackling fire, I say, “I was looking forward to a normal Christmas with my mom and dad, Brady, his wife, and their kids. Just being Auntie Becca for once instead of ...” I gesture vaguely at myself.
“Rebecca Rios, pop sensation?” Reese says it without judgment, only stating a fact.
“Something like that.”
Nearby, Noella and Hollis discuss the weather with some guests and everyone agrees that there is nowhere they’d rather be to celebrate a snowed-in Christmas. Facing my new reality, I have to agree.
I take a sip of the cocoa and nearly moan.
It’s perfectly rich and I swizzle a peppermint candy cane in the creamy liquid.
The last time I had hot chocolate was with my niece.
I’m her godmother and Brady and Lindy named her Ruthie Rebecca—she’s so special to me.
She was born with a rare blood disorder, but has been doing well, is so brave and strong.
I wish I could bring her here. She and the boys would love this place.
The corner of Reese’s mouth hooks to one side and his eyes shine in the firelight as he turns his attention to it. It’s like we have a silent exchange that relays contentment. We’re safe from the storm. At least for now.
This setting, the unexpected company and the hot chocolate make me feel like it’s really Christmas rather than like I’m participating in a commercialized event.
When I look up, Reese is watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
He’s grown up since I last saw him. Filled out.
His light brown hair is a little mussed, and there’s stubble along his strong jaw.
He’s always been handsome, but now he’s the kind of handsome that makes me forget my name, which is convenient because right now I just want to be anonymous.
But it’s also inconvenient since he’s my brother’s best friend and therefore completely off-limits.
“It’s really upstanding that you became a firefighter,” I say to fill the silence, vaguely recalling that he’d wanted to since we were kids.
“I joined the Sierra Nevada Spur station about five years ago.” He leans back in his chair, more at ease now. “Utility and tools position. I’m the guy who breaks things and cuts holes in roofs.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Sometimes. Mostly it’s rewarding.” He pauses. “Your brother looks after you, you know. Always has.”
My chest tightens. “I know.”
“So what’s the plan? I assume you’ll catch a flight out tomorrow, be home for Christmas dinner?”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That was the plan. Do you think I can still get home in time—even with the storm?”
Reese pulls out his phone, scrolling through something. His expression grows serious. “Right. The weather.” He grunts. “Well, unless you have a private pilot willing to brave what’s coming …”
“What do you mean? I could handle another night here, but I might be stuck longer than that?”
“With the polar vortex moving in, it might be best to wait until the day after Christmas. That’s when I have to report for duty, too.
The news is calling the storm ‘Frosty’s Blizzard Blast.’ We can expect a day or two worth of the white stuff.
The nearest airport is Carson City, but the mountain roads are already closed, which means it’ll be a bit before we’re plowed out. ”
My heart sinks as he reads the report. “I was thinking it would blow over and that I could leave tomorrow. Now what am I going to do?”
Taking charge, he says, “I recommend you call your brother and let him know you’re okay.” He slides his phone across the table.
I stare at it like it might bite me. But he’s right. Brady deserves to know I’m safe, even if I’m not ready to go back to my regularly scheduled career.
I pick up the phone and tap his name, which in Reese’s phone reads The Brade-ster.
“You guys always had the goofiest nicknames for each other. It’s nice that you’ve remained friends.” I think of all the ones I’ve lost and the so-called friends who’ve attached themselves to me to serve their own interests. It’s all so clear to me now.
“Brady is the best, even if he calls me Reese’s Pieces,” he says with a chuckle.
“I’m sure he’d say the same about you.” I let out a slow sigh.
“Staying connected with family and friends is the most important … I’m here to admit that it’s lonely at the top.
I’m constantly surrounded by people, but they’re not exactly friends.
More like opportunists. At least, it feels that way a lot of the time. ”
A blue Christmas settles over me as I press Call.
Brady answers on the first ring. “Reese? Did you find her?”
“It’s me,” I say.
“Becca! You’ve had me so worried. Lilith called, said you took her car and disappeared. Are you okay?”
Glancing at Reese, I worry he heard that part of my sordid tale. I stand up, pacing in front of the fire. He sits quietly, as if trying not to listen, but his brow furrows as if he gleaned enough to know that I did not make a clean getaway.
“I’m fine. I just ... I needed a break.” I explain that Lilith wanted me to perform on Christmas for a very questionable foundation that masquerades as caring about kids, but doesn’t in reality—and everything that led me here.
“I couldn’t continue. I can’t spend another Christmas pretending to care about things I don’t believe in. ” The truth spills out of me.
“So you stole a car and threw your phone out a window?” my brother asks.
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
Brady sighs, and I can picture him rubbing his temples the way he always does when I stress him out. “Where are you?”
“Timber’s Edge Inn.”
I shoot Reese a questioning look.
He mouths. In Huckleberry Hill.
I tell my brother, then add, “It’s actually lovely. Very Christmas-y.”
“And Reese found you?”
He studies his hot chocolate.
“Yeah. He’s here.”
“Good. Becca, listen, we’re snowed-in too. The whole area is. But I need to know you’re safe.”
“I’m safe.” My voice cracks. “I can’t spend Christmas alone, Brady.”
There’s a pause, and then I hear a muffled conversation. Brady is talking to someone, probably his wife, Lindy.
“Please put Reese on,” Brady says.
I walk back to the table and hand over the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
Reese takes it, and I watch his face as he listens carefully to whatever my brother is saying. His eyebrows lift in surprise.
“You want me to what?” Pause. “Well, I do have the next few days off, so ...” Another pause. “Okay. Yeah. Got it.”
He hands me the phone and my brother and I say goodbye. When I hang up, Reese has a twinkle in his evergreen eyes. Eyes I definitely shouldn’t be noticing—along with his broad forehead and that strong jaw and the way his uniform shirt fits snug across his shoulders.
“So?” I ask.
“So,” he says, a small grin tugging at his lips. “It looks like it’s you, me, and Timber’s Edge Inn for Christmas.”
My heart does a little leap that has nothing to do with the sugar in the hot chocolate.