Page 33 of The Bright Side of Christmas
The reply comes back quickly.
Colton. Come to the bar tonight.
The tiniest spark of strange warmth flares in my chest, and despite having no interest in going and sitting at a bar again, I find myself fighting back a small smile. The last time I came to the bar, I enjoyed myself, even if I mostly sat alone and chatted with Colton. I’ve never had someone who wanted to spend time or talk to me for no reason other than shooting the shit.
I got into the music business young, Midnight Ash hitting it big when I was barely eighteen, so almost all of my formativeyears were spent with people kissing my ass, friendliness always coming with some kind of ulterior motive or trying to get something from me. But to everyone in this town, I’m just some persnickety new resident, so it would seem Colton simply wanted to chat and get to know me genuinely.
Still, accepting his offer feels far too strange and out of character for me, so I decline.
No thanks.
His response comes back quickly and is confusing.
lol
Confusing, that is, until he sends his next text:
Your little bird will be there.
Wren.
Wren, who hasn’t put a decoration on my lawn in days, a torture I’m realizing I may have actually started to enjoy.
Wren, who, despite going to bed early one night, started staying up late the very next day.
Wren, whom I wanted to kiss so fucking badly, my body ached with restraint. I’ve come to realize that everyone tells Wren what they want from her and what they need from her, but I don’t think anyone ever asks her what she wants or needs. I’m determined to be the first to get that out of her.
I look at the blank notebook before me, random words scribbled in the margins as if they’re going to spark some creativity and pull me out of my rut, but nothing seems to be working. Despite being in Holly Ridge for almost a month, I still haven’t been able to write a single lyric.
My gaze shifts back to my phone and Colt’s text. Maybe I just need to experience some normalcy. Maybe a normal night out in a small-town bar will spark something. After all, the best songs are about normal, relatable human experiences.
The next thing I know, I’m in my car, headed to the bar.
It’s about trying new things to get inspired, though. My quick decision had nothing to do with the last text I received. Of course not.
“You know, I didn’t think it would work,” Colton says, after I sit down in the same spot I sat in last time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
He shakes his head, thoroughly entertained by my denial. “You weren’t going to come before I told you Wren would be here.”
“I decided I needed to get out of the house. I was just kidding when I said no.” He looks at me with a disbelieving look, and I shrug as if it doesn’t matter to me.
But I didn’t come here for Wren. I came here because after declining his offer, I realized I had nothing else to look forward to for the night other than staring at yet another blank piece of paper. I enjoyed myself last time I came, so maybe if I continued, the inspiration would spark.
DefinitelynotWren.
Unfortunately, the second I walked in, I regretted agreeing to it. I thought it would be a low-key night since it was a goddamn Tuesday, but I should have known that nothing in this town is low-key.
Instead, seemingly every adult in this town is here tonight, every table is full, and the volume is louder than it was last time. Christmas music is playing over the speakers, which means at some point, “All Lit Up” is probably going to play and make me want to leave. There seems to be a fundraiser happening, with raffle baskets along the back wall, along with a high-top tablewith two stools beside it, one where Hallie sits, the other where Wren is, her pretty red bow having some kind of sparkles on it today that are gleaming in the low light of the bar.
Not that I’m watching.
When I turn back, Colton is watching me with a self-satisfied grin and lets out a small laugh.
Ten or so minutes later, after a good amount of small talk that surprisingly doesn’t feel tedious, Colton slides two drinks over time, one bright red and one a dark brown soda.
“Mind taking this to them?” he asks, tipping his chin. Without having to check, I know he means his sister and Wren.
