Page 21 of Friends Don't Kiss

Oh. Right. My car. I unlock my front door and grab them off the kitchen counter, then pass them to him. He closes his fingers around mine. “You okay?” he says, a frown marring his forehead.

I’ll be okay once you stop touching me. “Yeah, course I’m okay.” I slip from his grip and turn to lock my front door.Take slow breaths.It’s a trick Chloe taught us. And surprisingly, it works. “Thanks, by the way,” I say, my voice coming out a little funny. He is going to work on my car, and as usual, he won’t make me pay for labor.

“It’s just, you have your migraine face,” he says.

He can tell?I tense. “I do?” I say as I take the staircase. “I think it’s under control.” I hope it’s not coming back. It doesn’t feel like it will.

Colton falls into step behind me. “You got a ride?”

I nod. “Willow.”

“Oh.” He seems disappointed.

“You need me for something?” I suddenly feel guilty I’m going to spend some time with my friends while he’ll be working—for free—on my car.

“Nah. Just gonna tow it into the shop now, have her ready for tomorrow, first thing.” He holds the door open for me, making me feel both special and weird. Did he use to do that before? Before yesterday.

I can’t remember. He probably did, and I didn’t notice, or I’d tease him for practicing his good manners on me. That sounds about right.

I should do this. Tease him.

But I can’t think of something sassy that only he would totally appreciate. My brain freezes as much as my body warms up. I am so fucked. I roll my eyes at myself, then catch myself before Colton can see me.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks as Willow turns into the parking lot.

I walk with him toward his truck and Willow. “Sure,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck to ease the tension.

“You talk to Bill yet?”

His change of topic catches me off guard, his question inexplicably making me sad. “Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” he asks, stopping at his truck.

I tilt my head to look at Colton’s gentle eyes, and I can’t get a read on him. “He was hoping you guys could still go to the races together. I said yes. Hope that was okay?”

Colton squints, looking away. “Cool,” is his only answer. Then he climbs into his truck, and I get into Willow’s car, feeling weirdly lonely.

“You don’t look too good,” Willow says.

“Migraine,” is all I can think to answer as we follow Colton’s truck outside the parking lot. My gaze stays on him as he takes a right, toward his shop.

Willow makes the left toward town. “Oh, no. Let me know if you need to get home all of a sudden, okay?”

“I’ll be okay.” Coffee with my friends is what I really need right now.

As we drive through The Green, I glance at my friends’ businesses. To the right, the large Victorian house where Alex was an apprentice not so long ago, until she and Chris, Emerald Creek’s baker, fell in love. The house is decorated for Christmas with string lights outlining all the windows and trim, and a gorgeous wreath on the door.

To the left, across The Green, Lazy’s is still closed, but Clover’s Nook is lit, looking totally cozy with holiday greens and lights in their window boxes, and crimson bows hanging on each window. “Chloe’s Nook is busy already,” I say, pointing to patrons walking down from the church at the top of The Green.

“Chloe’s killing it with her brunch. What pastries are you making for her this week? I heard Emma saying she bases her dinners there on their dessert menu,” Willows says with a playful wink.

“Really?” It’s probably not true, or not entirely, but it’s a nice thing to say. “Carrot cake, tiramisu, and a chestnut mousse with maple crisps and whipped cream.” It’s nothing fancy or even creative, but it fits the expectations for Chloe’s guests this season, and it pays my bills—or part of them.

“You had me at chestnut mousse,” Willow says as she pulls up to Easy Monday. “You should bribe Emma with it and have her help you with your business plan.” Emma is a CPA, and I use her services—along with everyone else in town. Willow has been on my case to look at my numbers and make a plan, and she has a point. It’s time for me to step up my game.

“You’re right.” I sigh. “Now would be a good time. Before the rush of the holidays.” Thinking about looking at rows of numbers threatens to bring back my migraine, but as I step out of the car, the cold November air hits my lungs in a good way.

I take a few steps toward the large stone building. Behind it, the grounds slope down to the river. In the summer, it’s a garden where Millie puts tables and chairs for people to sit and watch the river flow. Right now, it’s a serene white expanse, leading to the river freezing up on the sides. In its center, the water still rushes in a loud, bubbly stream, as if in a hurry to get somewhere before the deep cold of January stops it entirely in its tracks.

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