Page 4 of Friends Don't Kiss

I look around.Eighty candles.Can’t really misplace eighty fucking candles. Did I even buy them? Yeah, yeah, I did. I remember buying them. I remember deciding they would ruin the aesthetic of the cake—so seventy-nine would go on the petits fours and only one on the cake itself.

Petits fours! Yes. There they are. And inside one of the pastry boxes—candles.

Found them! Crisis averted.

I exhale and let my shoulders drop. I can relax now.

Then my phone dings, and the name on the display makes me think the relaxing might not happen after all.

Mother

Are you still bringing someone?

Fuck. I forgot about that.

No, Mother, I’m not bringing anyone. Who the fuck would I bring?

That’s the plan.

Is that a yes or a no?

Does it really matter? Of course not.

It’s 90% yes. He had a last-minute thing at work and is trying to get out of it.

What’s his name again?

Ugh. I better not answer that, because I’m guaranteed to forget what I told her and then I won’t be able to keep my story straight when I’m interrogated—at this point, it’s fair to say that I will be.

I exit the chat.

Sighing, I glance out the window, my tension easing incrementally as I let my gaze wander past the small apartment complex where I live—Sunrise Farms—down toward Emerald Creek. The village sits nestled in a bend of the river, huddled around a green. The golden numbers on the church clock gleam in the setting sun, its white steeple sharp against the winter sky. Thick snow blankets the roofs, and plumes of smoke billow softly from chimneys—maybe from Ms. Angela’s bed-and-breakfast, or my friends Chris and Alex’s Victorian house-slash-bakery.

I could say I made my home in Emerald Creek, and it’d be true.

But it’s more than that.

Emerald Creek took me in when I was at my lowest and built me up. This place and the people that live here are my true family.

Taking a deep breath, I count to three. It’s only one evening. And it’s for Grams.

My gaze drops to the small parking lot below, and I grimace. There are many advantages to living at Sunrise Farms. Lockers for skis, snowboards, and bikes. Management clears the access for us.

But the downside? No covered parking. And winters in Northern Vermont can last six months.

Luckily, my first friend in Emerald Creek—and incidentally responsible for me moving here in the first place—Colton, the town mechanic, installed a remote starter for my Corolla.

Which isn’t working this morning. I stab the fucker again. Open my window, bracing against the cold.

Nope.

Great. I’ll tell Colton—eventually. Not now for sure, or even this weekend. Knowing him, he’d want to fix it immediately. And since he also lives at Sunrise Farms, it would literally be a right now situation. He already does so much for me, no way am I asking him for anything on a weekend.

The falling snow already added a fresh layer on my car, even though I cleared it before Willow got here. I shove my heeled booties in my bag, swap them for my snow boots, and haul my cakes and pastries outside. After securing all the boxes so they don’t slide around in my trunk, I climb into the driver’s seat and recheck my list.

One cake

Petits fours9 boxes

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