Page 13 of Nicky

Sharon joined in the laughter, then turned back to me, her tone shifting to something a little softer. “You’re doing okay, though, right? I know this time of year’s a lot.”

I nodded, a tightness creeping into my chest. “I’m managing,” I said, my voice quieter than usual. I didn’t want to get into it in front of Markus, but I appreciated her concern.

Sharon gave me a knowing look. “This time of year always hits harder, doesn’t it? Heather loved Christmas. It was her favorite.” She paused, her voice softening. “You’re doing great, Nicholas. She’d be proud.”

I blinked at the mention of my mom, and it hit me harder than I expected. She’d always loved the holidays, and the memories of her laughing around the tree, her joy in the little things, stung more than I liked to admit. I swallowed, trying to push away the lump in my throat.

Markus gave me a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything, letting the silence settle for a moment. Sharon looked at him kindly. “This town’s lucky to have him.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, quickly looking down at my drink to gather my wits about me, but grateful for the moment of quiet support.

Sharon smiled again, her gaze lingering on me for just a beat longer before she turned back to Markus. “Anyway, I’ll let youtwo get back to it. I just wanted to say hi and check in. You take care now, Nicholas. And, Dr. Webber, it was nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Markus said, standing to shake her hand once more.

After Sharon left, I sat back in my chair, feeling the weight of her words linger. I wasn’t sure how I felt about being reminded of my mom, but I was grateful for her kindness.

Markus broke the silence, his voice low, tentative. “Heather was your mom?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, uncomfortable but not wanting to brush his question off, not about my mother. “Yes, the best mother in the world. Sharon was her best friend. Mom was... well, she was a part of this place. It’s weird, sometimes, running into people who still remember her so clearly.”

Markus didn’t push, but I could tell he wanted to ask more. Instead, he just nodded, letting the conversation shift. “I get it. Small towns are like that.”

I smiled weakly, taking another sip of my drink. “Yeah. They don’t let you forget anything.”

Markus leaned back in his chair, his tone lighter. “Well, I’d say you’ve got a lot of people who care about you here. That counts for something, right?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I appreciated him trying. It felt a little easier with him here. Maybe a little less lonely.

I cleared my throat, steering the conversation to safer ground. “There’s one more spot we can hit before I start charging you. Ready?” I stood and grabbed my coat. “It’s getting crowded out there.”

“Thanks for playing tour guide,” Markus said, rising to his feet, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You should charge for this.”

I rolled my eyes, heading for the door. “Yeah, for the ‘grumpy guy who drags you around town’ experience. Sounds thrilling.”

Markus chuckled, keeping pace beside me. “Hey, don’t sell yourself short. People love authenticity these days.”

“Right,” I said dryly, holding the door open for him. “Tell that to Beverly and Mrs. Thompson next time they rope me into one of their schemes.”

“Wait,” Markus said, pausing outside and holding his chest in mock horror, his grin widening. “You’re telling me this whole tour was their idea?”

“You know this,” I said, rolling my eyes again. “They wouldn’t let it go.”

Markus laughed, the sound warmly cutting through the cold air. “Remind me to thank them later.”

“Please don’t,” I muttered, but his laughter followed us down the street.

Cedar Ridge wasn’t much of a hike—just enough to warm your legs and flush your cheeks in the crisp December air. The trail wound through a canopy of pines, their needles dusted with snow that sparkled under the fading light. At the top, the trees parted to reveal the town below, wrapped in a patchwork of twinkling lights. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint strains of carolers reached us on the breeze, mingling with the scent of pine and the rich, earthy undertone of damp soil. The Hollow looked like something out of a snow globe from up here.

Markus let out a low whistle. “This is... something else.”

I didn’t respond, leaning against the weathered railing that edged the overlook. The Hollow stretched out before us, every corner familiar, yet distant from up here. My chest felt tight. It always did when I came here, though I couldn’t tell if it was from the memories.

Markus stepped up beside me, his shoulder close enough to brush mine. I caught the faint scent of his cologne—something warm and woodsy—and it was surprisingly grounding.

“You bring people up here often, or is this a special occasion?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent to it that made my pulse skip.

I shrugged, eyes still on the town below. “Not really. It’s kind of my go-to spot when I need to think.”

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