Page 5 of Christmas Candy

“It’s okay if you didn’t want to come right out and ask me.” His smirk reappears. “I understand.”

“No. I can walk myself home, thank you very much.” I reach for the boxes.

He scoops them into his arms and jerks his chin at the front door, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes. “Wait there. I’ll just get my coat.”

Hank

“Doyou keep upwith anyone from school?” I walk along beside her, the boxes of sweets in my arms.

“You really don’t have to walk me. I’ve been walking myself home every night for years.” She sticks close to the row of shops and turns her head toward the darkened windows of Burt’s Hardware as a car passes, the tires hissing on the slick street.

I plow ahead. “I still talk to Greg Freemont sometimes. Brandon Yearling, too. He has a farm about twenty miles from town. We get together and shoot pool out at Cooter’s at least once a month.”

“What about Linda?” She asks the question in a rapid huff, then bites her lip as if she wishes she could take it back.

I haven’t thought about Linda in years. We dated in high school. The typical cliché—she was a cheerleader and I was an athlete. But it ended right after senior year. Now she’s married to the police chief’s son and has three cute kids. What interests me is Olive’s jealous tone. Jealousy means she’s got feelings. Feelings mean I’ve got a chance.

I keep my voice even. “I’ve seen her around town with her kids sometimes since I’ve gotten back, but other than that, no.”

She nods quickly. “Right, her kids. She’s married and all.”

“Yeah.” We turn right at the end of the block and head toward the oak-lined street marking the start of the more residential part of town. “So, what about you? Anyone you still talk to?”

“Candace Turley, though she’s Candace Lincoln now, and a few others.”

Now it’s my turn. “What about Pace?”

She glances at me, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “What about him?”

“Didn’t you two date senior year?” I distinctly remember wanting to beat the ever-living shit out of him when he’d bragged in gym about going all the way with Olive.

“Pace?” She stops and shakes her head at me. “Pace Beverly and me?” She laughs, but no amusement colors her tone. “You think the quarterback datedme?”

I realize I look like a fool with my nose wrinkled up and confusion stretching across my face, but I can’t help it. “You didn’t date him?”

“No.” She takes a few more steps before stopping again and facing me. “Pace never said two words to me in school. None of you did.” Her eyes narrow. “In fact, this is the most you’ve ever said to me.”

Mayday, mayday. “I was just trying to—”

“If this is some dumb game for you, it’s not funny. Maybe I was your joke in high school, but now I’m an adult. I live my life, I have great friends, and I run a business I’m proud of.” She holds her arms out. “Give me the boxes. We’re done here.”

“Wait. Look, I’m sorry.” When her expression softens the slightest bit, I barrel onward, “I know we didn’t talk in high school, and we didn’t exactly hit it off well when I opened my sweets shop across from your studio, but I …” I swallow hard and my palms begin to sweat and stick to the boxes.

“You what?” She arches a dark eyebrow.

“I want to start over, if that’s possible.” I hold out the figurative olive branch, pun intended. “I don’t want you to hate me or my shop.”

“Why?” Her incredulous breath plumes in front of her face. “Why do you care about whether or not I like you? What does it even matter?”

I have an embarrassingly huge crush on you,probably won’t go over well. Instead, I say, “Because I want us to be good neighbors. We both have businesses to run. There’s no need for acrimony between us. Okay?”

She chews on her bottom lip as she considers me. After another beat of silence, she shrugs. “Fine. I can be civil, but don’t expect me to be popping into your shop or doing you any favors.”

“Of course not.” I begin walking again, and she joins me at my elbow. “Though if you want a favor from me, all you have to do is ask.”

She frowns.

Shit. “What?”

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