Page 76 of Dream a Little Dream

“Yeah. I do.” Another pause. “Do you loveher?”

Way to throw it back in my court, I thought. I held on to his question a moment, making sure I gave it full weight. Finally, I turned back to him and nodded. “I do.”

“Gonna tell her?”

“When it’s right,” I said. “Unlike some people, I like taking my time, enjoying the journey.”

“That’s not what this is,” Jonathan said easily. “This is you looking both ways before crossing the very busy street.”

“That’s the thing about busy streets. They’re dangerous. More often than not, you get smashed like a reckless frog. Do I look like a reckless frog to you?”

“I can honestly say I’ve never once called you that, even in private.”

“There ya go. You, however, might be one.”

He took a deep breath and pulled his shoulders to his ears, knocking me off him. “If this is what reckless frogs feel like, sentence me to the lily pad.”

“When did we get to be so poetic?” I asked. “I’m really proud of us.”

“Same. A pecan latte and some reading?”

I stood. “Sold.”

The time we spent together that day was slow paced and awesome. We read our books, sipped our warm drinks, and chatted intermittently, as if we had all the time in the world. The only problem was, now Iknew that wasn’t true. There was an expiration date on our regularly scheduled friendship. I felt the tick-tock of every second that passed, knowing it was one fewer that we had together. I didn’t know what I was going to do without Jonathan in my daily life. It was honestly something I never thought I’d have to face. We were supposed to find people to get married to, live next door to each other, raise our kids side by side, and watch them grow into the same caliber of best friends we were. This all felt horribly wrong, but what else was I supposed to do but support this person I loved as he reached for the life he longed for?

I could do this, hard as it was. I could adjust. For him. For my friend.

* * *

I woke up the day of the Jamboree with a much-needed excited spring in my step. It felt like a special day, and that’s because it was. I looked forward to so many aspects of today, it was hard to dim the smile that accompanied me from room to room as I prepared for work. Even the temperature was perfect. A crisp fifty-six degrees, ideal for a light jacket and warm cider by the bonfire later.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before everything that could possibly go wrong at the store certainly did. First, the registers all froze at the same time, some sort of system-wide glitch. Then a pallet of cranberries overturned, leaving smashed remains all over aisle two like a scene from a Christmas horror flick. Customers tracked the smashed skins and juices all over the store like the footprints of a killer’s hasty retreat. Maya had to go home early because her morning sickness was in full force and the cranberry massacre had triggered a strong bout of nausea.

Down a checker, the checkout lines, now entirely manual, were unusually long and customers were not happy. The general state of the store felt chaotic and unorganized to the point that I wanted to sit on the floor and give up. To help push myself through, I raced to the break room to grab a cup of coffee before heading back into the trenches, only to watch the machine sputter its last breath.Noooo!All my fault. I should have replaced the thing when it started acting up months ago.

“We’ll get you a newer, fancier model,” Peter said, and clapped me on the shoulder. At least he was here today. “I will happily make you a cup from it.”

I’d say one thing: Having a boss like Peter had gone a long way. He was knowledgeable, collaborative, and kind. Because he lived acouple of hours away and oversaw a group of stores along the coastline, we only saw him about once a week. However, when he was around, he always found a way to improve our service and the store overall.

He was in town today for the Jamboree and had brought his wife, who also seemed like a down-to-earth, truly easygoing person. I’d promised her my blueberry muffin recipe, which I didn’t give out to just anyone. It was all about the butter-salt ratio. “And please tell Maddie that the roasted turkey legs are all the way at the back of the park, near the winter wonderland. And if she wants to see the Dickensian carolers from a good spot, she needs to be near the Christmas tree maze twenty minutes before their start time. This town goes crazy for top hats. It gets rabid. I’m not even making that up. It’s like their own personal boy band.”

“Will do,” Peter said. “And I get it. Top hats bring all the girls to my yard, too. Now, get out of here and set up the coolest booth ever. Feed the people. Make us famous.”

“You think I can risk heading over with all this going on still?” I looked around the store that felt anything but calm. Mrs. Rabniki had just let out a little scream as Jim Deavers snatched the last box of cinnamon candy canes. I made a mental note to up the order next week.

Peter cracked his knuckles. “I’ll open up register three myself. It’s been a while, but I can scan groceries with the best of ’em. Look out, Dreamers.”

Peter was honestly an adorable person with his shiny dark hair and glasses. Faber would have died before helping an actual customer. I enjoyed the rumors that Faber was nursing his wounded ego alone in his oversized house, pining for Harlowe while cursing her name at the same time, wandering around his front yard in his bathrobe, muttering curse words at passing pets. He’d rebound. People with money often did. But I planned to take solace in the little bit of karma coming his way in the meantime. Maybe he’d pick up an annoying case of the hiccups, too. Would serve the bastard right.

When I arrived at Bountiful Park, the wind whipped through the trees, which caught me off guard. It didn’t feel like holiday wind whipping, and instead came with an undercurrent of foreboding. I paused in concern, wishing I’d checked out a more recent weather report. The BeLeaf booth would require some extra reinforcements to keep the salami slices from spiraling into the air and the cheddar cubes from tumbling into oblivion. I certainly didn’t need my charcuterie table heading off to Oz on me. Maya was supposed to come with meto set up for the Jamboree, but it looked like I’d have to make do on my own.

“Need some help?” Elizabeth asked, appearing out of nowhere. She placed a palm square on the tablecloth to help secure it.

“God, yes,” I said. I quirked my eyebrow. “You’re here early.” Elizabeth didn’t have a booth to set up, and the hour before the Jamboree was reserved for vendors only. Not that I minded in the slightest.

“What can I say? I live for these seasonal events. Did you know I didn’t sleep last night?” Her eyes were wide and happy. While Elizabeth and I were kindred spirits in our love for small-town culture, she did have me by a nose in the obsessed category. “Plus, I’m in charge of the bake sale table benefiting teen runaways.”

“Of course you are.” Elizabeth Draper had always been our resident saint and do-gooder. She participated in anything and everything there was to join.

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