Chapter 6
REESE
The candy cane hunt turns out to be more competitive than I expected. Rebecca is absolutely ruthless, darting between potted poinsettias and diving behind garland-draped columns like she’s starring in Die Hard—yes, it’s a Christmas movie.
Pookie trots along behind her, the Sleigh Queen sweater jingling with every step.
“Found one!” Rebecca triumphantly holds up a striped candy cane from behind a nutcracker statue that’s taller than she is.
“That’s seventeen for you, three for me,” I say, counting my pathetic collection.
“Not my fault you’re slow, Goofs.”
I shake my head, but I’m grinning. Watching her so carefree, laughing, and completely absorbed in hunting candy canes is a far cry from the exhausted woman who opened her hotel room door this morning in yesterday’s sparkly gown.
After the hunt, we join the other guests in decorating ornaments for the grand tree in the lobby, topped with a glowing, shining star. I’m attempting to paint a snowflake on a glass ball.
Rebecca was helping a little girl and struts over to me, inspecting my work. Smiling and shaking her head, she leans over, her hair tickling my cheek and making me dizzy with her warm, melted chocolate scent. “That looks more like a mutant ghost spider than a snowflake.”
I chuckle because she’s not wrong. “It’s abstract.”
“It has Halloween vibes and in case it wasn’t obvious, we’ve moved on to Christmas.” She sweeps her arm grandly at our surroundings.
I respond to her gentle teasing with a dry laugh. “Har har.” But I take a look at her ornament depicting a perfect winter scene with tiny trees and falling snow. It’s perfect. Like her.
Nudging me over on the bench, she says, “Here, let me help.”
She covers my hand with hers, holding the brush steady and guiding it in smooth motions. I forget how to breathe for a second. I glance at her profile and the freckles scattered across her nose that no amount of stage makeup has ever quite covered as she smooths the lines of the snowflake.
Focus on the ornament, Marchiano.
But no. All I can think about is Rebecca and how beautiful she is and not just as the famous singer everyone sees.
In the hours since I knocked on her door early this morning, it’s like she’s forgotten that she’s a star and remembered who she is.
A down-to-earth woman who has talent but who doesn’t take her diva dog—or fame—too seriously.
Right now, she embodies what it means to be beautiful inside and out.
I can’t get enough, but I know better. She’s my best friend’s sister. I hang these thoughts and our decorations on the towering tree—tucking mine toward the back.
While Rebecca steps aside and admires our work, Noella herds everyone together for a group photo, where Hollis waits with a camera.
“Everyone in front of the tree!”
A couple dozen people shuffle into position. While we squeeze in with the other guests, Rebecca sticks to my side. I noticed that as soon as the camera came out, she seemed to shrink. Her eyes dimming. It’s like the very idea of being in the spotlight exhausts her.
I’m not exactly sure what her life has been like on stage, but the way she straightens her shoulders tells me she’s bracing herself for a performance.
There’s a heaviness as she draws a breath before pitching her mouth upward.
The way she tilts her head at a “just so” angle makes me think she’s wearing a mask.
I want to pull her close and tell her that no one is watching except me.
But I can’t do that. Instead, I find her hand and twine my fingers through hers. She doesn’t pull away. Her fingers curl into mine, yet soften, like she’s holding fast and relaxing at the same time. Her chest eases on a breath, like this is the first time she’s truly relaxed in a long time.
The smile she flashes dazzles.
But it’s the real one. The smile I remember from when we were growing up and she’d play a perfect tune on the piano.
If I could hug her right now and promise that everything will be fine, I would, but I don’t know that for sure.
However, if I could give her one thing for Christmas, it would be to put out the fires in her life while at the same time making sure she feels nothing but whatever brings that very real smile to her face.
Hollis holds the camera aloft and calls, “Instead of ‘cheese,’ everyone say, ‘jingle bells!’”
Afterward, Rebecca’s hand moves toward where her pocket would be. It’s almost like a reflex and she freezes, then laughs softly.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“I was about to capture this for social media—a habit from having to record every moment of my life.” She looks almost relieved. “It’s kind of nice not having my phone.”
Her brown sugar gaze finds mine for a long moment. My pulse quickens, and I hold my breath as the air around us seems to blow away on a cookie-scented breeze.
As if coming out of a daze, we both give our heads a little shake.
She claps her hands together and says, “Well, what’s next in our Christmas extravaganza?”
I’m grateful for the distraction, even if part of me wants to stay in that moment a little longer.
My stomach growls. “How about lunch?”
“Yes, feed me. All this Christmas fun has built up my appetite. I tell myself that I’m allergic to carbs. That’s patently not true.”
I take this to mean her job doesn’t afford her many treats in the way of comfort food and I want to see her pile her plate high with whatever she wants for once.
Lunch is a build-your-own baked potato bar that I’m going to introduce at the station next time I’m on dinner duty.
Patton, aka Maverick, is a phenomenal cook, but we all have to chip in.
I top my spud with everything, including bacon bits, cowboy butter, sour cream, chives, chili, cheese sauce, and broccoli.
“This is amazing,” Rebecca says around a dainty mouthful. “When is the last time you just ate whatever you wanted without someone photographing it?”
“This morning’s hot chocolate?”
She loads more cheese onto her potato. “But before that, back in my so-called real life, everything I eat gets scrutinized. Too many carbs, too much sugar, wrong image for the brand. Blah, blah, blah.” She does air quotes around “brand” with her fork.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a fully loaded baked potato? ”
“Don’t be shy. No cameras here.” As I say it, the relief on her face is visible.
I have to admit, it’s nice of the hotel staff and guests to give her privacy. Then again, there are some things more important than seeing a famous pop star at a resort—things like celebrating Christmas. Everyone here are gold star high achievers when it comes to that.
After lunch, Rebecca insists Pookie needs a nap. “She’s had a very exhausting morning of being adorable.” This comes with a head-to-toe tickle, scratch, and pet as the dog licks her hands.
By all accounts, I should also get some shut-eye. But being with Becca has invigorated me in a way that makes me buzz like I had a caffeine infusion. I don’t think a nap will help.
After a potty break for the puglet, Rebecca drops her off in her room for naptime.
The lodge has provided gear, and I help Rebecca into a puffy coat that’s about two sizes too big.
She laughs. “I look like a marshmallow.”
“A very festive marshmallow.”
She playfully sticks her tongue out at me.
But more than anything, I want her to be warm, for her belly to be full, and for her to wear that happy smile again.
When we step outside, the snow still falls steadily. Fat flakes drift down like nature’s confetti.
Wearing a red fur-trimmed jacket, Noella and Hollis lead winter activities under a covered pavilion, complete with heat lamps.
We enter “Minute to Win It” style challenges with winter themes.
Rebecca and I end up on a team with a family from Sacramento—parents and two kids. They are delighted to have Rebecca and me as teammates, because we suggest we name our team the “Reindeer Games Champions.”
First up is the Snowball Toss, except the snowballs are actually marshmallows, and we have to throw them through a wreath into a bowl. Rebecca is a pro.
“Hidden talent?” I ask after she lands three in a row.
“I have excellent hand-eye coordination. Key for piano playing.” She nudges me and waggles her eyebrows.
I wiggle my fingers. “Good pun.”
The Rudolph’s Nose challenge nearly does me in. I’m supposed to swing a ribbon with a red pompom attached to the end and land it on my nose without using my hands. After three failed attempts, Rebecca is laughing so hard she’s practically crying.
“You look ridiculous,” she manages between gasps.
“This is harder than it looks!”
“Clearly.” But hearing her laugh with abandon is worth the tiny dent to my ego.
We crush the Christmas Tree Stack—turns out Rebecca’s sewing skills translate to steady hands for cup stacking. The Santa Beard Challenge involves sticking cotton balls to our faces using only whipped cream, and by the end, we both look like we’ve been attacked by a cloud.
“We’re having snow much fun,” Rebecca says, using our favorite pun like she means it.
I’m not a fan of participation prizes, but everyone gets festive socks—which is practical because my feet are cold. The grand prize, a winter adventure kit that includes sleds, snowshoes, and more, goes to the team called the Gingerbread Gang. They get to work trying out their new gear right away.
After high-fiving our fellow teammates, Rebecca and I venture into the actual snow to build a snowman. Or rather, snow people.
“We need three,” Rebecca declares. “One for each of us. Even Pookie.”
“Pookie is currently napping in a heated room while we do all the work. That hardly seems fair,” I joke.
“I’ll show her later when she comes outside for a potty break. We don’t want to leave her out.”
“Anything for the pugcess,” I say with a chuckle when I really mean I’ll do whatever Rebecca wants, which is a surprising thought to have.
I’ve known this woman for nearly her entire life.
Grew up with her brother, vaguely recall when she learned to ride a bike, her first piano recital, when she got braces …
However, I never thought of her like this.
Like a woman instead of just my best friend’s little sister. Someone I notice in every room she’s in. Whose hand I want to hold. Someone I’d rearrange my entire day for. Like someone I’m already dreading saying goodbye to when the roads clear.
We roll snow into increasingly large spheres. Rebecca’s cheeks are pink from the cold, and snowflakes dot her hair like gems. She’s even more beautiful like this, natural without all the professional makeup.
The snow dog, aka Pookie, ends up larger than in real life. Noella provides some accessories and even comes up with a small scarf for the “dog.”
“Perfect,” Becca says, stepping back to admire our work.
“I look a little lumpy.”
She playfully whacks me. “No, you make a very handsome snowman.”
I raise my eyebrows.
But before another “moment” of flirty or intense eye contact between us has a chance to mess with my pulse, she says, “Now snow angels.”
“Really?”
“When is the last time you made a snow angel?”
I can’t actually remember.
Holding hands, we fall backward into the fresh snow, sweeping our arms and legs. The sky above is heavy and gray, snow falling steadily. For a beat, everything is quiet except for the soft sound of our breathing and the distant jingle of bells.
“This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like,” Rebecca says softly.
“Yeah. It is.”
We both get up to admire our angels and our eyes meet and a stirring that turns into a whirring rushes through me.
It’s electric like a fuse burning, showering us with sparks instead of snow.
The world tilts in a way that makes winter seem warmer, the edges of our surroundings blurring as we move closer.
We’re just standing here, but it feels significant. Like this is a turning point in our lives. Like today isn’t another day that will easily slip from memory, lost to the past.
I smooth a loose piece of Becca’s hair from her cheek with my fingers. Her lips quirk with a smile as her brown sugar gaze reaches for mine.
Then a chunk of snow falls from a tree branch above and lands directly on my face, quickly melting and sending cold liquid into the neck of my jacket. I grumble and try to brush it away.
Rebecca’s laughter breaks the spell, but I’m grateful because I was about two seconds away from doing something incredibly stupid, like kissing my best friend’s sister.
We head inside, clapping snow off our gear and leaving everything in the mud room to dry. Noella directs us toward the fireplace, where mugs of warm apple cider are waiting.
The phone rings and Noella answers, her attention immediately on Rebecca with an expression of alarm. “Miss Rivers, you have a phone call. They say it’s urgent.”
Rebecca’s face goes pale. “Can you take a message?”
“They were quite insistent. Something important about—”
“So is warming up by the fire,” Rebecca mutters.
I slide my hand into hers, wanting her to know she has backup if she needs it. I’m here for her in a way that it doesn’t seem like a lot of the people in that part of her life are.
Tension makes her shoulders bunch up as she tries to be polite but firm. “Thank you, but, um, I’m not available.”
Noella looks uncertain. Even from across the room, the caller squawks through the phone. “It’s a Ms. Lilith? She said—”
“Please tell her I’ll call her back.” Rebecca takes the mug of cider I’m offering and heads toward the fireplace.
I follow, noticing how her hands shake slightly as she sits down.
“Is everything alright?”
“Fine.” But she’s not looking at me. “Just ... I’m not ready to deal with that yet.”
I settle onto the cushy love seat beside her. I take my phone out of my pocket so it doesn’t poke me in the leg and set it on the side table. Rebecca watches me as I deliberately don’t look at it. She seems almost surprised.
“You’re not constantly on your phone,” she observes.
“I keep it close if I’m on call or if the station needs something, but ...” I shrug. “I guess I’d rather look up and around than down, you know?”
“I don’t, actually.” Her voice is quiet and she lets out what seems like a long-held breath. “Or I didn’t. But I’m starting to remember what it’s like to live rather than perform.”
The fire crackles and outside the snow continues to fall. Inside this cozy inn, it feels like the rest of the world can’t quite reach us.
At least for now.