Page 5 of Decking the Halls
Wren
I’ve been sitting in this corner booth since 9:45, on my third cup of Mike’s paint-stripper coffee, watching the door like a teenager in some cringy ‘80s movie. The cracked vinyl catches on my jeans every time I shift, which is often, because my body won’t stay still. The rain outside has slowed to a mist, the kind that fogs up the windows and makes the neon OPEN sign work overtime to be seen on Cape Arago Highway. Technically, Mike’s is in Empire, which Iguessis actually a part of Coos Bay now. It’s hard to remember what’s changed from my childhood. It’s all the same to me. And, honestly… it’s difficult to focus on the geopolitics of the town you grew up in when your mind is otherwise occupied withher.
Edie Montgomery. Nick’s ex.
The woman I should’ve never looked at twice, but did—when my brother brought her home for Christmas and I felt my stomach drop like I had ridden my bike over a steep hill waytoo fast. The kid who grew up with us, was a couple of years and grades younger than us… she had grown up. And she wasgorgeous.
She’s going to show. I know it. The same way I know engines, or when a carb’s about to flood from just the sound. There’s a certainty that lives in my gut that started the first time I saw that Christmas photo Nick sent.
A year of pretending I wasn’t picturing her when I fixed bikes and a year of trying not to see her in the corner of every crowded room, in every woman with a too-kind smile.
I’ve been wanting my brother’s girlfriend.Ex-girlfriend, now. Thank God.
The bell above Mike’s door chimes at 10:02, and there she is—rain drenching her hair and cheeks pink from the cold. Jeans that hug too well… shit, a red sweater that shouldn’t be legal this close to Christmas. She’s everything I’ve wanted to see come walking through that door today. The exact princess youhoperings a rusty bell and makes eye contact with a surly waitress who has huffed more sea lion shit than cinnamon-scented holiday candles.
Edie spots me immediately, and the smile that touches her lips punches me in the face.
“You came.”
“You sound surprised.” She slides into the booth across from me, rain still shining in her curls. Vanilla drifts across the table.
“Not surprised,” I say. “Grateful.” I signal for another cup. “Figured you might talk yourself out of it.”
“I tried.” Her voice has that hitch I noticed two years ago, the kind that betrays emotion she doesn’t want to show. “Made a whole list of reasons this is a terrible idea.”
“How long was the list?”
“Three pages. All mental, of course.”
“Damn. Yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” Her fingers find the sugar dispenser, fidgeting. “Though I’m not sure why.”
Marcy, the waitress, drops off a mug and the caramel syrup without being asked. Small-town nosiness stipulates that everyone knows everyone else’s business. Edie adds sugar until it’s a dessert in a cup, and I can’t stop watching her. The focus. The small, pleased sound she makes after the first sip.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nick always gave you shit about how you took your coffee, didn’t he?”
Her cheeks are redder, despite being in the warmth. “Said it was childish.”
“Nick’s an idiot who drinks overpriced bitter water and calls it sophisticated.” I lean back. “Besides, I like sweet things.”
She laughs. “Is that your move? Coffee shop double entendres?”
“I don’t have moves,” I say. “Just intentions.”
Her gaze flicks up, curious. “And what exactly are your intentions?”
“To drink coffee with the most beautiful woman in this diner,” I say. “Maybe convince her to try Mike’s terrible pie. See if I can make her laugh hard enough to forget my last name.”
“That’s all?”
“For now.” I take a slow sip. “The rest might send you back to your three-page list.”
Her laugh breaks something open inside me. It’s too genuine. Something that’s lacking even in this town these days.
“You’re nothing like Nick,” she says.
