Page 25 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
She glanced over both shoulders, scanning the lobby and dining area, wondering if she might catch his eye or find him nearby, waiting, lingering, eagerly anticipating her arrival.
Ha, right, Meg.
He’s with someone else.
Matt wasn’t waiting on pins and needles, counting down the seconds until he saw her. His girlfriend, emphasis ongirlfriend, was throwing him a huge birthday party.
Get it together, Meg.
She texted Jill after she unpacked and got settled in her cabin, which was equally luxurious. It had a kitchen, dining area, and a giant stone fireplace stacked with fresh-cut logs ready to burn.
Meet me in the lodge.
I scored us cozy seats in by the fire.
Meg changed into her favorite dress—the Grace Kelly, made from gray flannel with dark pink straps and a matching ribbon around the waist. Stepping into the dress made her feel like old Hollywood. She checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror. Her blond hair had grown out to her shoulders and was cut in an angled, long bob. Her green eyes were flecked with brown and gold, depending on how they caught the light. Freckles dotted her cheeks and forehead. Spending the bulk of her days working on articles outside had left her skin a natural glow.
Not bad, Meg.
Was she dressing up in hopes of a Matt sighting?
Yes.
Was it futile?
Sure.
But at least she would feel good in the face of meeting Matt’s girlfriend.
She grabbed her puffy coat, ignoring the hammering in her chest as she headed for the main lodge.
If Matt was already here, Jill would have mentioned it, right?
He must have tons to do to prepare for the weekend. Or maybe he and Lucinda were off on a romantic snowshoe tour before the festivities began.
Meg tried to rationalize all the reasons Matt Parker certainly wouldn’t be athisown party.
She practically skipped to the lodge at the thought of getting to see Jill, but she wasn’t ready to have a face-to-face with Matt yet.
What would she say?
Just pretend like the last year hadn’t existed?
It was his birthday weekend, after all. Was it better to ignore the past? To forget about how they’d left things? Or did she need to confront it head-on?
She sighed as tightly packed snow crunched under her feet. The air was sharp and clean, laced with the bright scent of pine needles and the faint, earthy, mineral tang of the dusty red rock—hard evidence of Central Oregon’s geologically active past.
This was where it had happened. This was where it had all gone down.
In some ways, it still felt like yesterday—that first glimpse of seeing someone who looked like Pops and then the realization that it was Pops.
She fought to keep the memories at bay.
Keep breathing.
Go get a drink, Meg.
It’s all going to be okay.
