Page 7 of Minted

The worst thing about Barbara is that in spite of spending way less money than I do each time, she’s my stiffest competition for best gift.

Which is why I find myself eyeing her bag.

“What?” she asks.

“What’s that?” I toss my head. “Killian’s gift?”

“Yes.” She knows I’m competitive. She likes to irritate me by being obtuse. “It is his gift.”

“You’re a punk,” I say. “Just tell me what it is.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Actually,” Dave says. “I’m not sure you will. I doubt Killian’s planning to come back in any time soon.”

“Wait, really?” I ask. “He’s not coming in to see us?” I can’t help frowning. “Then why did I even come?”

“Because you’re showing your support to Killian,” Barbara says. “Officially. But really, we came for moral support for Dave and Seren, and we came for the peach cobbler.”

“Is that what I’m smelling?” I pull out a kitchen chair and sit. If they had a plate and utensils, I’d grab those too. It’s always a mad dash when something comes out that Seren has baked, but with teenagers around, it’ll be even worse.

Except, they’re all outside, like chumps.

“Surely we’ll get first dibs, right?” I catch Seren’s eye. “How many of them are there outside?”

She laughs. “No more than a dozen. We made Killian promise to keep it small.”

“And how much cobbler did you make, exactly?” I may sound greedy, but once someone has had some of Seren’s dessert, they start acting the same way.

“Well, there’s a cake.” She points. “And I made three cobblers. That should be more than enough.”

“I call the leftovers,” I say.

“You can’t do that,” Barbara says. “That’s not how it works.”

I frown. “If you pull the ‘my parents died and my husband left me’ card one more time. . .” I shake my head. “You should have a punch card, and you only get special treatment twenty times.”

“Well, my husband did leave me,” she says, “and today, I found out that I get to go to a bunch of Christmas parties for our clients. . .with the heads of the other departments.” She compresses her lips and widens her eyes. “Which includes him. . .and her.”

“Wait.” Seren drags a chair over next to me. “You don’t mean James and Kristy.”

Barbara nods slowly.

“That’s crap,” Seren says. “I’m calling your boss to tell her where she can—”

“It’s fine,” Barbara says with a forced smile. “Because Jennifer says I can bring a plus one.” She pauses. “So, now it definitely won’t be awkward.” She groans. “I hate the holidays.”

“You used to love the holidays.” Seren looks so sad. Seren isn’t ever supposed to be sad. She’s like a Precious Moments figurine, or like, the angel in a school Christmas pageant. She should always be smiling.

“Quit your job,” I say. “Come work for me.”

“Because running away and imposing on an old friend’s not pathetic,” she says. “It’s fine. Honestly. It’s just work, and it’s been six months. At some point, it’ll stop bothering me.” But she looks pretty bothered right now.

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Seren says. “Wounds don’t heal when you keep rubbing salt in them.”

“They don’t?” Dave asks. “I think they do, but it’s just more painful.”

Seren swats at him. “Stop being a know-it-all.”

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