Page 2 of Mashed Hearts
Pete laughed. "Welcome to winter in Vermont. Want some wine?"
"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Beth grabbed a glass and clinked it against mine. "So, what's the gossip? Kait, you still single and ready to mingle, or did you finally snag that barista you were eyeing?"
I choked on my sip. "God, no. I learned that he's got the personality of wet cardboard. I'm focusing on me right now. Self-care and all that jazz."
Beth raised an eyebrow. "Self-care, huh? Sounds like code for vibrators and Netflix. A whole different meaning to Netflix and Chill.“
Ainsley swatted her with a dish towel. "Beth! We're not even an hour in."
"What? It's true. Own it, Kait."
I roll my eyes but couldn't help laughing. Beth had always been the blunt one, the truth-teller who called us on our bullshit. Back in high school, she'd been the one to organize our midnight bonfires and sneak us into R-rated movies. Now she was in art school, painting murals that probably cost more than my tuition with a huge following on social media.
We chatted as Ainsley directed us to chop veggies—carrots for me, onions for Beth. Pete was on meat duty, rubbing it down with herbs while Ainsley mixed pie filling. The cabin filled with the sounds of laughter and clinking knives, the kind of easy rhythm that only comes from years of friendship.
Next to arrive was Micah, our resident tech geek. He burst through the door without knocking, his glasses fogged from the cold, carrying a laptop bag and a six-pack of craft beer. "Sup, losers? I come bearing gifts—IPAs that taste like pine trees and regret."
"Micah!" I yelled, wiping my hands on a towel before hugging him. He smelled like cold air and that weird energy drink he was addicted to. Micah had been the quiet kid in high school, the one buried in code and video games, but college had turned him into a semi-social butterfly. He was studying computer science at MIT, because of course he was.
"Dude, you look like you haven't slept since midterms," Pete said, clapping him on the back.
Micah grinned, pushing his glasses up. "Sleep is for the weak. I've been hacking away at this AI project. It's basically Skynet, but cuter."
Beth smirked. "As long as it doesn't take over the world before dinner."
We folded Micah into the chaos, handing him salad making duties. He regaled us with stories of dorm pranks and a disastrous group project where his partner thought "algorithm"was a type of dance move. I laughed until my sides hurt, the wine loosening the knots in my chest.
The door opened again, this time with Jack sauntering in like he owned the place. Jack was the charmer, the one with the dimples and the easy smile that got him out of detention more times than I could count. He was pre-law now, at some fancy university, but he still had that high school swagger.
"Ladies and gents, the party's here!" he announced, dropping his duffel and spreading his arms wide.
"Jack, you ego-maniac," I teased, but let him pull me into a bear hug. He smelled like expensive cologne and mischief.
"Kait, looking hot as ever. College treating you right?"
"Better than it treated you in high school chem," I shot back. Jack had famously blown up a beaker during a lab, earning him the nickname "Boom Boom" for a semester.
He winced dramatically. "Low blow. But fair."
Jack jumped right in, stealing a carrot stick and flirting shamelessly with Beth, who rolled her eyes but blushed anyway. They had this on-again, off-again flirtation that never went anywhere, but it was entertaining as hell.
Finally, Hope arrived, fashionably late as always. She was the planner, the one who'd organized this whole trip via a color-coded Google Doc. Her dark hair was sleek, her outfit perfectly coordinated—wool coat, boots, scarf—like she'd stepped out of a J.Crew catalog.
"Sorry, sorry! Flight delay from Boston," she said, wheeling in her suitcase. Hope was in business school, interning at some startup that sounded way too adult for our age.
We all mobbed her with hugs, and soon the cabin was alive with seven voices overlapping. Ainsley cranked up the holiday playlist—Mariah Carey belting out about all she wanted for Christmas—while Pete checked on the roast in the oven. Beth and Micah argued over the best way to mash potatoes (lumpy vs.smooth, a debate as old as time), and Jack tried to sneak extra wine into everyone's glasses.
I found myself at the island counter, stirring gravy while catching up with Hope. "So, how's the internship? Saving the corporate world one spreadsheet at a time?"
She laughed, sipping her drink. "It's intense, but good. Pays the bills. What about you? Still writing that novel in your spare time?"
I shrugged, a flush creeping up my neck. "Kinda. It's more like fanfic at this point. But yeah, dreaming of being the next Nora Roberts."
"You totally could be," Ainsley chimed in from across the kitchen. "Your stories in high school lit class were epic."
"Remember that one about the pirate and the princess?" Beth added. "Steamy as hell."
I groaned. "Please don't remind me. I was sixteen and obsessed with bodice-rippers.”
