Page 23 of A Cozy Holiday
“Also—” Winnie leans in, eyes gleaming. “My brother’s been single for years, and he hasn’t looked at anyone the way he looked at you this morning. Just saying.”
“That’s not—” Heat floods my face. “We literally just met, and I’m a complete disaster right now—”
“Sweetheart.” Winnie raises her Baileys-spiked coffee like she’s making a toast. “We’re all disasters. Some of us just hide it behind fish decor and Irish cream.”
Two hours later,I’ve sent three emails to old professors, downloaded enough PDFs on reindeer obstetrics to crash my hard drive, and ordered approximately six hundred dollars’ worth of veterinary supplies to Winnie’s PO box.
I’ve also learned Winnie’s entire life story.
She took over the store the moment she turned eighteen from her friend’s mom, who ran off with some yoga instructor. She’s dated every eligible man in town. She’s obsessed with fish buthas never caught one. She believes ghosts are real.I keep waiting for her to run out of material, but she doesn’t. And annoyingly…I kind of like it. She’s interesting. A natural storyteller. Friendly in a way I’d forgotten adults not paying me can be.
The last real friend I had was Naja back at Penn, but she moved to San Diego after vet school, and we fell into that weird limbo of liking each other’s Instagram posts twice a year.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard and didn’t feel guilty about not working fast enough.
The lunch rush hits around noon, a grand total of eight people whom Winnie treats like she’s running a Michelin-star establishment. She knows everyone’s order, everyone’s business, everyone’s grandmother. I try to work through it, but I keep getting distracted by fragments of conversation.
“—heard maple syrup production’s down this year—”
“—you believe what Margaret said at book club—”
“—Jamie’s got that city vet staying with him, did you hear—”
My ears burn, and I duck behind my laptop screen.
The moment the last customer leaves, Mr. Henderson, who took twenty minutes to decide between the blueberry and bran muffins, Winnie plops down across from me with two fresh lattes. “Okay, where were we? Right. My tattoo tour.”
She’s already shown me four of them: a tiny stingray behind her ear, a rock crab on her wrist, the wordneverthelesson her ribcage, and now she’s rolling up her sleeve to reveal a surprisingly detailed octopus.
My phone alarm cuts through Winnie’s explanation of why her octopus tattoo is anatomically accurate.
“Oh, I’ve gotta meet Jamie at the school,” I say, sliding my laptop into my small backpack.
“He’s not picking you up?”
“Nope. I’m walking. I need the fresh air. And before you ask, yes, I’ll be fine. It’s just a little snow.”
Winnie squints at my boots. “Not in those, you won’t. You’ll sink in the snow, city girl.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She disappears behind the counter and reemerges holding what look like wooden tennis rackets with leather straps. “You can borrow these.”
“What are those?”
“Snowshoes. You’re welcome.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you messing with me?”
Winnie just grins. “If you’re staying here, you gotta learn how to get around. You’ll thank me.”
Chapter 6
When the Fuck Did I Sign Up to Climb Everest?
The friendshipwith Winnie is over. Absolutely, completely fucking done.
“Fuck,” I huff, dragging one snowshoed foot in front of the other. I’m drenched under my jacket, and my thighs are screaming louder than after any Barry’s Bootcamp class.
