Page 16 of Home for Christmas in July

“Here, take a sip.”

She tried to bat it away. “Noelle? Did you hear me?”

I waited until she drank, then I set the glass aside and stared into her tired blue eyes. “I heard you. Of course not. That was decades ago. Water under the bridge. Ancient history.”

She grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, cutting off my steady stream of lies. “Stop.”

“Nick lovesyou, Carol.”

She gave me a sad smile. “I know. And I love him. But he’snot going to be okay when I’m gone. He’s going to need someone to help him through it.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to beat this,” I told her fiercely.

My best friend held my gaze as she shook her head slowly. “No, Noelle. I’m not. I’m dying. I’m dying, and I love you, and I love Nick. So if you can be there for each other after I’m gone, you should. It’s what I want.”

I had to clear my throat several times to choke the words out. “I’ll be there for Nick and your girls because I love you, and because I love them. All of them. As a friend. Okay? That’s all I am. A friend.”

She held my gaze for a moment longer and something like disappointment filled her eyes. Then a shadow crossed her face as her eyelids fluttered closed. Once she was soundly sleeping, I covered her with a thin blanket and fled the house like I was being chased.

I figured I’d give her a few days, let the awkwardness of that conversation fade, and then things would be back to normal between us. Or as close to normal as they could be given the situation. But I misjudged how much time we had. The next time I stepped foot inside the inn was for the celebration of life after her burial service.

“Earth to Noelle!”

The sickening memory fades as I jerk myself back to the present. Holly’s waving a paper an inch in front of my nose.

“Sorry.” I manage shakily. “Lost in thought.”

“Clearly.” She thrusts the paper into my hands. “Look! It’s a map. And a riddle. Someone put together a scavenger hunt for you!”

My heartache over the memory of that last conversation with Carol doesn’t go away. It doesn’t even fade. But itdoesslide over to make room for the excitement that stirs in me as I stare down at the map of Mistletoe Mountain and a small envelope markedClue No. 1.

Holly yells for the others to get in here, and they all crowd around, urging me to open the clue. I slit the envelope open with my fingernail, remove a folded note card, and scan the typed note.

“Well? What’s it say?” Rosemary demands.

I read it aloud:‘Your first clue isn’t difficult. The land of the sweets has many treats. Go to the place where you’ll find a strong one.’

Merry claps her hands. “How fun! Noelle, you have your very own holiday mystery!”

I’m still staring down at the clue, wheels turning. When I look up, I can’t hide my grin. “Looks that way. I wish you girls could solve it with me, but?—”

Sage groans. “But we have our hands full with the open house prep.”

“We’ll live vicariously through you,” Ivy assures me. “Be sure to report back.”

I tuck the envelope away in my purse and promise to do exactly that.

CHAPTER 6

Nick

The sun glints off the lake, my truck bumps along the unpaved access road that leads to the fishing cabin. I’m almost to the turnoff at the bottom of what I charitably call my driveway when I spot Enrique Morales flagging me down from the path out of the woods. I roll to a stop and lower my window.

Enrique’s my closest neighbor up here, although his cabin is a good quarter mile from mine. So we don’t exactly see a lot of each other unless we run into each other in town. He taught middle school social studies in Brooklyn for twenty-five years. When he retired six years ago, he moved up here and developed a love for skiing. Mistletoe Mountain doesn’t have a big ski resort of its own. Folks head over to one of the more established spots for serious skiing. But our county parkhas a couple slopes and a rustic ski lodge. Enrique—who swore he’d never work with kids again after he retired—teamed up with the school district to run an after-school ski club in season.

He’s not coming from the direction of his property. The footpath he’s on leads down from the ski lodge. I lean out to greet him.

“Morning.”

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