2. Nico
NICO
Iwas not the murdering type, but this morning was testing me.
It was supposed to be one of the best days of my life—dropping off all fifteen canvases for my first gallery opening. I’d been working for and dreaming of this day since college graduation. The plan was to hand over the paintings and get out as quickly as possible.
But of fucking course, Gus was in his office with his new muse sitting on his lap like a fucking trophy.
It was the third time I’d passed by his open door, because no one was available to help me carry these canvases in from the rental truck.
I hated that I was sweat-stained and paint-covered.
I hated that Gus was watching, in his perfectly pressed suit and coiffed black hair, looking like he just left the salon.
He certainly wasn’t going to leave his throne to help me, even if I was supposed to be the star of the show.
As soon as the office manager logged all my canvases, I needed to get out of town.
“Nico.” On my fourth trip past Gus’s door, he finally acknowledged me. “Have you met Ted?”
I paused and leaned against the doorframe, wiping my hair back from my face. “Don’t think so.”
Things between Gus and me had been over for three months, as soon as I’d discovered he was texting a college kid on the side, but with the gallery event already announced—and my paintings almost finished—I decided to stick it out.
I was willing to let Gus use his connections in the art world as an unintended apology for his asshole behavior if it meant advancing my career.
Ted was barely twenty-two. I’d been twenty-four when Gus and I met at a local slam poetry event. I was thirty-one now, past the apparent expiration date.
“He’s going to be the next big thing,” Gus said. “I can tell. So talented.”
Ted looked up at Gus with hearts in his eyes. Meanwhile, Gus was staring at me, as if waiting to see if his hits were landing. I held back the memories of how those words sounded when they were about me. I had been so eager, so lonely, so desperate. Heartbroken, too.
Now, I was just mad and tired.
I’d be damned if I let Gus see any of that.
Straightening my shoulders, I slapped on a smile and reached out to shake Ted’s hand.
His attention shot to Gus, and he hesitated, so I shrugged and slid my hand back into my pocket.
I was over this whole song-and-dance, but I knew how to play the game by now.
Gus continued. “I’d like for you to meet with him and give him some pointers.”
Where he got the audacity, I would never know. At least Ted had the good sense to look embarrassed by the exchange.
“Have his people contact my people.” I barely managed to avoid rolling my eyes, but my voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Ungrateful,” Gus said with a sneer. “Everything you have is because of me, and this is how you act.”
“If the only things I know are what you’ve taught me, I’m not sure what I can pass on to Teddy here that you couldn’t do better.” I raised my eyebrow in challenge.
If Gus seriously wanted me to give his new boyfriend advice, point number one would be to break up with that controlling, condescending jerk as quickly as possible.
He huffed and turned his attention back to Ted, whispering what I was sure were honey-coated lies into his ear, effectively dismissing me.
“If we’re done here,” I said. “I only have the rental truck for an hour, so I should get going.”
Not waiting for an answer, I turned and walked down the hall toward the service entrance in the alley. Once this show was over, I hoped I never saw Gus again.
It had been an hour since I returned the rental truck, and I was still driving circles around Boston in my tiny sedan, not wanting to slow down but not knowing where to go.
Vermont tugged at me, but I didn’t have a reason to show up in Sleighbell Springs.
I was purposely avoiding the highway that led there.
The Frost family dairy was the only place that had ever felt remotely like home, but I’d let that bridge fall into disrepair.
As if I’d conjured it, my phone started ringing, and Mark Frost’s name appeared on the caller ID.
“Galanis!” My best friend’s voice was always scratchy because he insisted on managing a dairy farm despite having a hay allergy. I could hear the sound of cows in the background. “How did things go at the gallery?”
“Oh, fine,” I said. “Although I could have done without Gus flaunting his happy new relationship in my face.”
“What a dick.”
“Yeah.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Not much I can do about it if I want him to host my show.”
“Do you need to be in Boston for the next few days? I might have a proposition for you.”
I hummed, considering. “No, my work is done until opening night.”
“Ok, so Cameron hired a muralist to do some work in his store, but the guy ghosted him. He only has two weeks until his big creamsicle day party, so he needs someone ASAP. How about you stay with me at the farm? We can hang out like old times, and you can save the day over at Frosty’s.”
“Uh…” My stomach clenched at the mention of his younger brother. His ridiculously hot younger brother who I still harbored an unrequited crush on from our college days.
“Think about it,” Mark said. “I miss you, and I’m not sure Cameron has many other options on this short notice. It’s perfect.”
“I miss you, too, but…”
“You promised you’d come visit soon.” Mark sounded desperate. “I know I haven’t been the greatest friend, and I wish I could make it to your gallery opening, but it’s hard to find a pet-sitter for forty-two cows.”
He was right that I’d been avoiding coming back into town, but he was wrong about the reason. This was my best friend, though. I’d do anything for him, and by extension, for Cameron.
“I’m not going back on my word,” I said. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”
I heard something clatter, and Mark cursed under his breath. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m already packed, I just needed somewhere to go. I’ll head that way now.”
“Hell yes, bro!” Mark whooped. “Get your ass over here. Cameron lives in the apartment above the garage now, but I can get the guest room ready for you.”
“Can’t wait,” I said despite the nerves swirling in my gut.
“Wait until I tell Cameron. He’s going to be thrilled. You’ll help him, right?”
I sighed. It would be nice to have a project to work on for a few days, although I was pretty sure the youngest Frost sibling wouldn’t want anything to do with me. “If he wants my help, he has it.”
Even if I was just doing it to convince Mark that I didn’t hate him for his obligations to the farm.
I knew these roads by heart even though it had been years since I’d driven them.
I lost myself to my grungy emo playlist, my throat sore from screaming into the void during the three-hour drive from Boston.
I wasn’t going to show any weakness at the gallery—Gus was like a shark out for blood—but once I was in the privacy of my car, all bets were off.
I could barely see the city limits sign down the road when all the emergency lights lit up my dashboard, and white smoke began billowing from under the hood of my car.
I wasn’t going to ask if the day could get any worse because that would jinx it, but it felt like some god had woken up on the wrong side of the bed today.
There was a gravel pull-off in front of the Welcome to Sleighbell Springs sign for tourists to take their cheesy photos, so I eased my car to stop right below it.
The sign didn’t look any worse for wear, but I certainly did.
My eyes were red-rimmed, and my nose could give Rudolph a run for his money.
The front seat was littered with tissues.
This was not how I imagined my triumphant return to town.
When I left, I was on the hunt for bigger and better things for my art career, yes, but more importantly, I was trying to find where I belonged.
My parents had moved me around so much as a kid that I’d never been able to put down roots.
As soon as I could take control of my living arrangements, I had to find a place that was mine.
Now I was crawling back after a breakup, with a solo art show I’d slept my way into and a broken-down car. Once the show was over, I’d have to find a new place to land. Again. There was no way I was staying in Boston, where my ex had power over my career.
I scrolled my phone looking up the number for the tow truck in town, and almost laughed when Burl Cane picked up. He’d been driving the tow truck and snowplow since I lived here. Some things never changed.
It was only fifteen minutes later that Burl, a balding older guy in a Vermont University Hockey sweatshirt, pulled up and hooked my car to the back. Thankfully, he was the quiet type and simply hummed along to the local year-round Christmas radio station, KXMS.
Mistletoe Street was just like I remembered it; the town’s main street was decked out in Christmas decorations even in August. People toned it down during the off-season, but it never completely stopped. The quaint brick buildings that used to box me in now almost glittered with nostalgia.
There was one storefront where my gaze lingered a little longer than the rest—Frosty’s Creamery.
A few years ago, Mark told me Cameron had opened an ice cream shop slash eggnog distribution center on the main drag.
Now, the sight of it pulled me in like a magnet.
The painted trim and colorful snowflakes on the large windows made my chest hurt as I wondered if the man I’d left behind was inside.
We dropped my car at Dasher’s and Prancer’s, the former car dealership turned dance studio and mechanic shop.
Jorge was the mechanic on duty, and he told me he’d do his best to get my car up and running as soon as he could.
I hadn’t seen Jorge since high school, but I recognized him right away, even with his mechanic’s coveralls and oil under his fingernails.
Burl offered to give me a lift to Mark’s, and once we turned onto the gravel road leading to the farmhouse, the tension in my shoulders eased.
Despite everything that led me here, it felt good to be back.