Page 26 of Hers for the Weekend

Cole looked at her skeptically. “Do you not trust me, a professional secret keeper for, like, world governments, with whom you once committed felony arson that I told no one about for decades, to keep this secret for you? Because I’m going to be very offended.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Who did you already tell?”

“Sawyer, but he’s not going to tell anyone! He was there when I talked to you.” Cole shrank, his shoulders rolling in and his smile turning into a grimace. “I’m sorry! But I swear, it’s actual state secret time from here on out. Forgive me? Because I’m keeping it a secret from Mimi and you know I would never do that for anyone else.”

He glanced over her head and said dramatically, “Mimi! Look who’s here!”

Tara turned to see her ex-fiancée.

Miriam Blum was a tiny, elven force of nature. Standing five foot on a tall day, her wild mass of dark brown curls gave her another couple of inches in every direction. She was wearing a pair of paint-spattered skinny jeans, a hoodie so big she must have stolen it from Cole with the cuffs rolled up to fit her arms, and ancient Doc Martens Tara had never seen before. She supposed you rarely needed to wear Docs in the heat of South Carolina.

They’d seen each other since their breakup, although sparingly. Miriam had come to Charleston earlier in the year to pack up her warehouse of art and the rest of her stuff, and make her apologies for the way things had ended. Tara had gotten over the situation easily enough, since mostly her pride had been wounded. She and Miriam had entered into an engagement of convenience, with the clear purpose of never falling in love, and the engagement had ceased to be convenient for Miriam.

She’d been hurt, as a friend, that Miriam hadn’t been more honest with her, but with some distance she acknowledged that most people wouldn’t have known how to handle the situation Miriam had found herself in, especially in the middle of grieving.

How do you call your partner and say, “Hey, good news/bad news, I met my soulmate”?

Still, Miriam hung back, looking nervous. A small part of Tara wanted to be a little mean and let her squirm, but her training was too ingrained. “Miriam!” she said, putting on her brightest smile (not even a fake one!) and offering a hug that Miriam accepted. “It’s so wonderful to be here. You look incredible.”

This, too, was genuine. Miriam’s skin was brighter, her eyes less sad. Tara would not have described her as haunted before, or even dulled—she was one of the most vibrant people Tara had ever met—but the difference, between then and now, was striking. Carrigan’s, and love, suited her.

“You look…” Miriam paused. “Cold. Beautiful, but cold! Let’s get you inside.”

She wanted to say the cold didn’t bother her, but she was a Southern girl through and through. Give her 90 degrees and 100 percent humidity over a white Christmas any day. Following Miriam into the warm foyer was a relief.

Until she was hit by the wall of noise, color, and light that was Carrigan’s at Christmas.

Why were there real trees inside the inn?! Were there not enough on the front lawn? Why was every single tree decorated in a different theme, none of them coordinating with the one next to it? Every tree was lit up like a lighthouse, and not a single white bulb anywhere to be found. As Tara tried to process this onslaught of visual information, the Chipmunks started playing overhead, imploring Christmas to not be late (How could Christmas be late? It was always on the same day), and the trees began blinking in unison.

Cole’s familiar weight at her back might have been the only reason she didn’t faint.

“Oh God,” she said, and found she had actually clutched her actual pearls, “this is… really something.”

Miriam snorted. “It’s not exactly your aesthetic, I know. But look! We completed the installation of the wallpaper!”

“I don’t know how I would be expected to see the wallpaper behind all the trees, garland, tinsel, and other varied holiday ephemera,” Tara said flatly, “but I can certainly no longer smell it, which is a wonderful sign.”

“You know,” Miriam observed, “for a woman who has spent all her life in a place that mildews like it was the city’s vocation, you’re very picky about this issue.”

There was simply nothing to do but ignore that remark. Miriam, who knew her well, would expect that of her, so she wasn’t even being rude.

“Noelle took Holly upstairs to your room if you’d like to get settled. Hannah is in the kitchen with Mrs. Matthews.” Miriam gestured to the left, where a swinging door opened to the dining room and kitchen. “Levi is helping his dad fix something in the reindeer enclosure.”

She’d only met Levi in person for a few minutes, when he had, at her request, come to kidnap Cole off her couch this past summer, but she was looking forward to seeing him again. And eating his food. Why be friends with a famous chef if they don’t feed you, after all?

A cat of enormous size, with ear tufts as wide as a normal cat was long, sauntered through Cole’s legs to wind himself around Tara’s.

“Oh, and Kringle is, apparently, here, although he’s supposed to stay in the Carriage House.”

Kringle chirped at them. Cole gathered him up and flipped him upside down, carrying him like a baby, if babies weighed thirty pounds and had tails the length of an adult human arm.

“Come on,” he said, though Tara wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the cat, “I’ll show you to your room.”

Chapter 10

Holly

Carrigan’s Christmasland felt like taking an acid trip in an abandoned 1960s department store. Holly had expected it to be wild, because Miriam’s upcycled antique art business, Blum Again Vintage & Curios, had a strong whiff of that energy, and Holly suspected Miriam had gotten it from her great-aunt Cass. Still, even after looking at the social media feeds for the farm and scrolling over photos and videos posted by guests, she wasn’t prepared for the full sensory experience. She wondered how Tara was handling it—Holly had noticed that Tara dealt best in minimal sensory environments.

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