Page 64 of Christmas at Hart's Ridge

“Come on, Ethan,” I pleaded softly. “We need to talk about this.”

He turned. “Does it have to be here? Now?”

“Is there a better time?”

“How about never,” he suggested.

I held his gaze, saying nothing.

He sighed. “Fine,” he groused. “Now. Do you want coffee?”

I nodded. “Hot chocolate, please.”

“Non-fat milk, with whip?”

He knew me so well. Full-fat milk was a waste of calories, in my opinion, because I couldn’t taste the difference in hot chocolate. But whipped cream was an indulgence too good to resist. Balance. Keeping track of every single calorie didn’t matter anymore, but some habits weren’t worth breaking. “Yeah.”

While Ethan put in our order with the barista, I nabbed the two frayed, plaid-upholstered chairs that faced the gas fireplace in the back of the cafe. It was set up like an old-fashioned Christmas movie. Argyle knit stockings hung from the fireplace mantle, garlands of pine boughs and red berries stretched across the wall, and Bing Crosby crooned wistfully about a snowy Christmas.

It was cozy and warm, so I removed my coat, keeping my green scarf wrapped loosely around my neck. Then I sneaked a peek at my phone. Still no message from Luke. Another Buchanan boy avoiding me. I would deal with him later.

“Let’s get some sugar in you, Princess,” Ethan said, squeezing between the chairs to join me at the fireplace. “Maybe it can sweeten that scowl you’re sporting.”

I transferred my scowl from my phone to him, but as Ethan predicted, it didn’t last past that first sip of chocolatey goodness. “Thank you. Luke still hasn’t called me.”

Ethan cocked his head. “Were you expecting him to?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“Are you sure?” He fiddled with the cardboard sleeve on his coffee cup. He had ordered both of our drinks to go, rather than take the more environmentally conscious option of porcelain mugs. Bold of him to assume I would be done with this conversation before we finished our drinks. “He usually doesn’t.”

“Ethan,” I warned. Because I loved him, but I wasn’t going to sit here and listen to him talk shit about Luke. Not silently, anyway.

“I’m just saying, there always comes a point when he stops calling. Usually that point is around three weeks.”

I rolled my eyes. “This is different. Because it’s him and me, not him and anyone else. He’ll call. Or he’ll show up.” Eventually. Right now maybe he needed some space to feel his feelings. I would give him that. For another hour or so, at least. Then I was coming for him.

In more than one way, I hoped, but that was the sort of thing I probably shouldn’t share with his younger brother.

“You and Luke. Together.” Ethan stared at the fire. “So where does that leave us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this changes things. You have to know that, Bethany. We were best friends—”

I sucked in a sharp breath, blinking hard. “Were?”

“Dammit,” he muttered. “Are. Of course we’re still friends.”

“Bestfriends,” I insisted.

“Bethany.” He set the coffee down on the little table between us and scrubbed his hands over his face. “How is this going to work? How can it be you and me when there’s a you and him? You were the person I turned to when I was pissed at my brother. Now you’re dating him. It changes everything.”

“It doesn’t have to. If you want to bitch about Luke, I’ll listen. I’ll even nod very sympathetically and pat your back. And I won’t interfere. Whatever you say, I won’t repeat it back to him.”

“Bethany—”

“And that goes both ways.” I cut him off, leaning forward to meet his gaze earnestly. “I mean, I don’t think I’ll have a reason to gripe about Luke, but if it happens, I won’t put you in the middle. I won’t ask you to choose sides.”

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