Page 6 of Holiday at Home
With one last glance toward Violet, I head down Main Street to where I parked my rental car on Baybreeze. In the spirit of not being a hypocrite, I study my surroundings—the quaint shops and storefronts, their store windows decorated with spray-on snow and handwritten holiday wishes, string lights twinkling and swooping between awnings. Despite my earlier grumbling, I have to hand it to the people of Stillwater Bay. They’re doing a damn fine job with what they have.
“Whatever,” Gavin says, voice drenched in the utter dismissal I’ve come to expect from the smartphone indoctrinated of the world.
A.k.a. everyone I meet.
“What are you up to?” he continues. “Talk to your ex yet?”
“I just left her shop.”
The clack of Gavin’s fingers on a keyboard slows, then quiets altogether. “Oh wow. I bet that was tough. How’d she take it?”
Let’s unpack that question a bit, shall we?
Gavin wants to know how Violet took one last douchebag move from the man who broke his promise to marry her over the phone on Christmas Eve.
A man who drops back into her life, on the grand reopening of the bakery they were supposed to run together, simply because he wanted something from her.
A man who, after realizing the sheer skeeziness of what he was about to do, bought a cinnamon roll and left without explaining why he was there.
“I mean?—”
“I can’t begin to imagine how difficult that conversation was,” Gavin cuts in before I have a chance to come clean. “But nothing good in this life is easy. You’re sitting on a goldminehere. A goldmine you’ve been nurturing and refining for years. A goldmine you can’t bring to life until Violet signs over her intellectual property rights on the original idea.”
Something in that last sentence has my jaw clenching.
It’s not what was said—because it’s true. I can’t move forward without Violet’s signature.
It’s not even how he said it. Gavin has a level of tact and decency that can be rare in our circle.
It’s just…
I don’t know. After seeing how sad Violet looked, something about this whole thing doesn’t sit right with me. I mean, she didn’t even have Christmas music playing and that used to be her favorite part of the holidays. What was I gonna do? Slap that contract on the counter like it was no big deal?
“What’d she say?” Gavin asks. There’s still nothing wrong with the question or the way he asked it, but my jaw tightens even further.
“I didn’t exactly bring it up.”
Gavin pauses. “You didn’t exactly bring it up to her because you don’t intend to? Or because something got in the way? Because you know as well as I do that you can’t move forward without her signature on that contract.”
“I’m very aware.” I switch my phone to my other ear. “The timing seemed wrong. That’s all.”
Walking into that bakery, seeing Violet standing there, it was like walking into the best memory. The smell of cookies and pastry mingling with coffee. The same bakery cases filled with yummy goodness. The handful of tables and chairs perched near the window. Violet, with her golden red hair and gray eyes, that heart shaped face and a smile that could stop traffic.
Except the tables and chairs were new.
And the walls were painted a different color.
And Violet’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“I will tell her,” I say to Gavin. “I’m here a couple more days before the family ski trip. She and I are sure to run into each other. Stillwater Bay’s not that big.”
Gavin and I end our call, and I stop in front of my rental car. For half a second, I consider turning around, blasting through the doors of Sterling’s, plopping the contract on the counter, and informing Violet that our idea for Holiday Coffee & Cake is being rebranded into Holiday Jitters—the newest coffee sensation to hit consumers since caffeine addiction came into existence.
That’d be easier, right?
The deed would be done. I could move on. I could go on this family ski trip without one last onerous task hanging over my head.
But I don’t.
