Page 47 of Santa's Girl
BECCA
Margie’s place smelled like cinnamon and strong coffee, but that was about the only festive thing about it.
No tree. No garland. Not even one of those fake pine-scented candles. Just a plain wreath on the front door, and I’m pretty sure she only hung it because the HOA made her.
I did even bother to pretend I didn’t miss him. Him, being Bear. Big, grumpy, broad-shouldered Bear who’d made me feel safer in two nights than Huntley did in two years. He also mad me feel sexy… I craved it the skin to skin the deep tongue kisses… I never really felt that way before.
Margie stirred something in a chipped blue mug and shot me a look over the rim.
“So. He didn’t come in with you?”
“Nope.” I curled up on her old corduroy couch. “I think goodbyes are hard for him. Maybe.”
Margie raised an eyebrow. “What happened up on that mountain?”
I grinned. “It was so much fun being snowed in. Honestly, if someone told me the men up here were so...everything,I would’ve visited way sooner.”
Margie laughed — one of those deep, chesty laughs that made her nose wrinkle. “Honey, why do you think I haven’t left in years?”
I laughed too, but it faded fast. Her eyes softened.
“You up for dinner and some shopping?” she asked, casual but kind.
I hesitated. “My car...”
“Oh, hush. My treat. But only if you spillallthe tea.”
Downtown lookedlike someone had thrown a Hallmark movie into a snow globe and shook it real good.
Strings of lights crisscrossed above the main street. Storefronts glowed with wreaths and garland, and a group of carolers in matching scarves were harmonizing near the bakery like they’d been hired straight off a Christmas card.
I stood on the sidewalk with a hot cider in hand, breathing in sugar and pine and wondering if I’d see him again.
“Maybe,” Margie said with a shrug, catching my look. “They come down every now and then. Supplies. Work. Trouble.”
I smiled into my cup. “He seems more like the ‘avoids trouble at all costs’ type.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, “only on the outside.”
Dinner was at a tiny place called Juniper Table — exposed brick, rosemary bread, candlelight flickering in mason jars. I hadn’t had a meal that nice since Huntley dragged me to a fusion restaurant that served scallops in spoons and charged triple digits for the privilege.
I sipped my wine and finally let the silence stretch.
“I’m going to redo my resume,” I said. “Actually sit down and take it seriously. Start applying for new jobs.”
Margie tilted her head. “Marketing again?”
“Maybe. Or something different. I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’ve got a few headhunters sending me links. Might set up a couple video calls tomorrow, during the day.”
“You thinking of moving?” she asked.
I looked around — the soft light, the wreath in the window, the snow drifting outside. My brain saidno,but something deeper whisperedmaybe.
“I’m thinking I need a reset,” I said. “A real one.”
She nodded, didn’t push. Just offered me the last bite of her dessert and said, “Well, if it’s a reset you want… these mountains aren’t a bad place to start and my guest room is rent free.”
I smiled, forked up the last bite of apple crumble, and tried not to think about Bear’s flannel still in my duffel.
