Page 22 of A Cozy Holiday
Still, maybe I could try.My boss is my only friend. It wouldn’t kill me to branch out.
I pull up an article on my laptop: “How to Make Friendsasan Adult.”
First tip: Compliment something they care about.
“I like this one,” I say, pointing to a lopsided marlin riding a turtle near the espresso machine.
She peeks over her shoulder and smiles. “I made that one.”
“Oh.” Complimenting, done. Ordering carbs, step two? “Can I try your cranberry bread?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Hey.” My voice comes out too loud. “I need to apologize.”
She looks up from behind the pastry case, surprised. “For what?”
“For being…” I gesture vaguely at myself. “Weird. And short with you. I’m afishout of water here, and the only things I normally talk to people about are whether their cat ate string, whether their dog has worms, or whether I need to tell them their hamster has approximately six hours to live.” I’m talking too fast now, but the word vomit won’t stop. “So, my social skills are about as good as my flirting skills, which are catastrophically bad. I’m single and recently dumped, and my closest friend is Miriam, who owns the clinic I work at, so that should tell you everything about my life choices.”
Winnie stares at me for a beat. Then she reaches under the counter and pulls out a bottle of Baileys.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her whole face softens. “You should’ve just started there.”
She pours a generous glug into a fresh mug of coffee, brings it over to me, then pours one for herself. She settles in the seat across from me, placing the half-filled pot on the table.
“It’s ten in the morning,” I point out weakly.
“And you just told me your best friend is your boss and you got dumped during the holidays.” She raises her mug, a traditional thick white diner mug withCarp-e Diemin big block letters and a woman fishing off to the side. “If that doesn’t earn morning Baileys, nothing does.”
I pick up my identical cup and clank it against hers. The warmth seeps into my palms. “Thanks.”
“For what it’s worth? You’re doing fine. Better than the last city person who came through—some tech bro on a ‘digital detox’ who complained that our Wi-Fi was too slow and asked if we had a SoulCycle.”
A laugh bursts out of me in the most unexpected and genuine way.
“There she is.” Winnie’s lips curve into a grin, the most defined Cupid’s bow I’ve ever seen, coated in deep crimson. “Also, Jamie’s place is too far out to get packages this time of year, so if you need anything, you can use my PO box.”
“Thank you.”
“So. Recently dumped. How recent are we talking? Like, wounds-still-fresh recent or I-keyed-his-car-and-feel-great recent?”
I take a long sip of the Baileys coffee. “Found him in bed with someone dressed as a sexy Grinch. Two days ago. In our apartment.”
“Jesus.” Winnie tops off my mug without asking. “And let me guess. Was it Carter? Brad?Hunter?”
“Parker.”
“Of course it was.” She says it with such disgust that I almost smile again. “Finance bro? Wore boat shoes unironically?”
“He ran a podcast and used to play for the Brooklyn Nets. And yes to the boat shoes. No socks.”
“No socks?” Winnie clutches her chest like she’s been wounded. “I’m gonna be sick. I’m actually nauseous right now.”
A real laugh escapes me.
“Okay, new rule.” She plants both hands on the resin table. “You stay here as long as you want. Free Baileys. Unlimited cranberry bread. And if you need to vent about Parker the Sockless, I am here for it. We can make a dartboard with his face. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks. That’s really nice.”
