Page 43 of When in December

Don’t look at me like that,I wanted to tell him.

“I’m not going to stop reaching out my hand,” insisted Barrett softly, his voice not holding an ounce of the thick anger that dripped off my own. “Not for Oz. Not for you. Not for Vassar.”

“You shouldn’t say?—”

“Why not?” he asked. “Why not, Hayes? Vassar would be ashamed, you know.”

“Why do you think I care about that?”

“Because I know I do. And whether you believe me or not, I live every day, thinking about him,” he said. “Pretty sure you do too.”

“Then … you must not know me that well anymore,” I said.

Barrett laughed loudly. The sound rivaled the music. “Shut up, Hayes. You know I know you all better than I know myself half the time.”

Swallowing, I didn’t answer him. Being next to Barrett only served to stir up all the memories and thoughts that I’d pusheddown the past few weeks and hoped had maybe disappeared forever, like I’d disappeared—or thought I could for a little while until I sorted myself back out.

Barrett didn’t get the memo.

He conned me into another drink, though I barely tasted it before he yanked me into him for a hug. “I’ll see you then.”

“What?”

“At my party. After I get back from visiting a few other family members I promised I would see if I made it back in one piece, I’m hosting a party at my new place.”

“You have a place?”

“You know it,” he said. “I told you, I’m thinking about sticking around for a while.”

“And I’m going to tell you again that I think you’re going to get bored and reconsider.”

“I don’t think so this time. My house. Holiday party. I’ll send you the address, and you’re going to be there,” Barrett said. “Bring someone if you want.”

I made no promises. “Like I’m bringing anyone.”

“Then, just make sure you bring yourself,” he said. “Though I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you sooner.”

“I hope not.”

He shrugged with another smile that I never liked on him.

“You better not mess with me, Barrett,” I called out after him as I made my way back to my truck.

He laughed loud enough that it echoed against the dark sky. “Who said I was messing with you?”

I should’ve gotten out of the truck immediately. I should’ve shoved the door open and made my way inside the cabin a fewfeet away from the detached garage. Instead, I shut my eyes for a minute. My head lolled back against the passenger seat as I listened to the silence, feeling the oddest sensation of cold seeping through my layers until I was sure my bones would turn to ice.

When I blinked my eyes back open, I saw the small light was on in the mudroom—or what, according to the plans, would eventually become the mudroom if I ever called to get the washer and dryer back on the calendar to be delivered. Was the homemaker back?

I swore that she’d left after she yelled at me.

Told me I was a jerk and to leave her alone.

In the moment, I’d reveled in hearing the words I screamed at myself half the time. Now, I felt empty.

I slammed the truck door open and headed inside.

Poppy?I almost asked aloud.

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