Page 74 of A Cozy Holiday
Miriam cups my face. “Then you tell him you got scared. It’s okay. But the only way you prove you aren’t going anywhere is by staying.”
She’s right. She’s always right. But this conversation has revealed the imperfect woman underneath the person I’ve worshipped for so long. And I think I like this version better.
It’s…comfortable.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too,” she says firmly.
“But there are no flights tonight.” I may have already checked.
Miriam smiles, tossing her keys to me. “Take my car. Go back. Stay. Show him you’re not running.”
I catch the keys, heart hammering. I realize that I don’t have to haveeverythingfigured out.
I have money.
I can come back to New York anytime.
But right now, love feels like a risk I finally want to take.
Chapter 22
Fuck Settling
“Thank you, Gary!”I call, and he waves before riding back into the storm, a trail of white powder behind him.
I stand at the entrance of Carp-e Diem, watching his taillights disappear up the hill. My heart thwacks against my ribs. Part nerves, part hope, part absolute terror. The fairy lights strung between the lampposts sway in the wind, casting dancing shadows across the freshly fallen snow. It’s the kind of picturesque New England evening that belongs on a postcard, the kind I used to roll my eyes at back in New York.
I’ve been gone for less than two days, but it feels nice being back.
While driving Miriam’s car to Maine, I called Gary and asked him to drop me off in town on his snowmobile since the roads are still closed. He accepted after I helped Butters the other day. He didn’t ask any questions, just gave me a knowing smile that said he’d been waiting for this.
I also texted Winnie on the way, telling her I needed help getting Jamie to the café. She’d responded immediately:Say no more. I got you.
I got you.
I finally have people who’vegot me, and it feels like a miracle.
I push through the door. The little bell chimes, and the scent of coffee and cinnamon wraps around me like a hug. A few customers glance up, waving at me, like this is where I’m supposed to be.
Winnie scrunches her nose, her pink glasses sliding down as she gives me a little wave. “He’s in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Go.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You’ve got this. And for what it’s worth? He’s been miserable without you. Like, scary miserable. He made sourdough yesterday. The angry kind.”
“There’s an angry kind of sourdough?”
“When my brother makes it, yes.” She gives me a gentle push. “Now go get him before he starts on the rye.”
I swallow hard, adjust my scarf, and walk through the beaded fish curtains, one of which hits me right in the eyeball.
“Ow.” I slap my hand over my face like an eyepatch.
“Gotta be careful with those things,” Jamie says, and I whip toward his voice, hand still covering my wounded retina. He’s kneading dough on the floured countertop.
“I—Jamie, I…” I huff.“I wanted to make a better entrance.”
