Page 38 of Never Sleigh Never
Organizing a Christmas carnival wasn’t on my bucket list. It’s not remotely close to anything on any list of mine, but it was on Brooke’s. Over the years leading up to what was supposed to be the inaugural year, she’d often ask for my input on activities or my advice on what type of vendors to have, but otherwise she did the rest. She was only months away from making it happen. Then she was gone.
“Your silence is my answer.” He nods. “I’m going to be real with you. And you might hate me for it and won’t want to hear it, but it’s been three years. I think it’s time for you to live your life for yourself. And not someone else.”
A spark of heat shoots up my neck. “You’re right about one thing—I don’t want to hear it.”
He raises both hands and backs off a step. “Alright. As your friend, I want to be honest with you. I’ve known you for a long time. I only want to see you happy.”
I lift the beer to my lips, letting the cool liquid settle my jumbled thoughts. When was the last time I was happy? Certainly not anytime in the last three years. Sure, there were brief moments of joy, like when Josie nailed her part in the school play. She was very excited. Or when she brought home her report card with all As. Proud dad moment. Or the year she wanted ice skates for Christmas because she wanted to be like her dad, so we spent the afternoon skating at the park. The first time I felt less alone was lying in the snowbank with Brie’s body pressed on top of mine.
I down another gulp of beer and scan the room, mostly to change the subject—and there she is. Brie throws her head back at something Willa says, laugh lines fanning at the corners of her eyes. Even when she hates me, she lights up a room. And she’s still beautiful when she does it.
“Brie’s looking good these days, huh?” Simon murmurs.
I tear my gaze away, hoping I didn’t stare too long. “Yeah.” Stunning would be more accurate.
“I was thinking of asking her out.” He shrugs.
My muscles tense. Simon likes Brie? No way. Not possible. “Why would you do that?”
He chuckles. “Well, we’ve been friends for a while. She’s single, and I’m single. Perhaps something will develop between us.” He throws the bar towel over his shoulder and rests his palms on the smooth wood surface in front of me.
The words “the fuck you will” get lodged in my throat. I have no claim on her. Then why do I want to reach across the bar and wrap my hands around his throat and tell him she’s mine?
“Unless you’re planning on asking her out?” He lifts his brow.
Oh shit. This is a test. We’re playing chicken. I make my mouth form the words. “You go right ahead.”
“Alright.” He straightens to his full height; eyebrow cocked like a challenge. “I’ll do that right now.”
“You do that.” My foot bounces on the ring of the barstool. My grip tightens on the bottle of beer, and I’m surprised I don’t crush it into a thousand shards.
He pivots on his heel and struts toward Brie. He’s not going to ask her out. He’s probably just going to ask if she needs another drink. Discreetly as possible, I glance over my shoulder to witness their interaction. As soon as he reaches their table, all three of their heads turn to him. His mouth moves, but I don’t know what he’s saying. A second later, Brie jumps up from her stool and wraps her arms around his neck. Their embrace lasts entirely too long for my liking. Fuck. He just asked her out, didn’t he? They break apart, and he nods at the other two girls.
Simon returns wearing a smug little half-smile. “It’s done.”
“Congratulations.” I grit through my teeth.
Pain knifes through me—clean, sharp, just below the ribs. Tipping back the last of my beer, I slam the bottle a little harder than necessary. The stool screeches as I stand. “I forgot I have some things to take care of at home,” I mutter. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out some cash and toss it onto the bar before stomping my way toward the exit. I punch through the door, the dark, cold, crisp night air smacking into me like a brick—a stark mirror to my current mood.
Fourteen
Fraternizing With The Enemy
Brie
I swing into Reindeer Ridge just in time to catch the end of Henry’s latest episode of Brad’s Great Escape. He’s half-dragging, half-sweet-talking the escape artist toward the open barn, a bucket of feed in one hand and patience hanging by a thread in the other. Tilly, his speckled Australian shepherd, did the real negotiating—one authoritative bark and Brad gave in and clomped inside. After he secures the gate, Henry rounds the corner, mumbling to himself.
“Morning,” I call, wiggling my fingers. “Did Brad make it far this time?”
His head shoots up. “Oh. Hey Brie. He made it to the Ericksons’ farm.” He pulls off his knit cap and runs his hand through his dark-brown hair. “If I had to guess, he’s planning a multi-farm jailbreak.”
I laugh. “Why can I picture that happening?”
Henry smiles and jams his beanie back on. “You laugh now but just wait. We’ll be living on our own Animal Farm in a few years. What can I help you with today?”
“I’m here to pick up my tree for the festival. How tall is it this year? Fifteen feet? Seventeen?” I rub my mitten-covered hands together, leaning in, as I wait for his answer. Maybe it’s even bigger than I expected?
“About that.” He winces. “The tallest one I have is ten.”
