Chapter 16

Moving on.

Brighton couldn't get the words out of her head as she absorbed the friendly way Lola— Charlotte— was behaving toward her. The change was sudden, a shock, like a lamp switched on in a dark room. While Brighton continued to clean the glitter from Charlotte's skin, Charlotte talked.

Rather, she asked questions.

A lot of questions.

Do you like Nashville?

Where do you work?

What's your favorite cocktail to make?

Do you visit your parents often?

How are Bonnie and Hank?

Brighton answered them all, trying not to notice that Charlotte avoided any and all inquisitions into Brighton's dating life or their direct shared history. She asked her own questions as well: How was the Rosalind Quartet formed? How is teaching going? What cities are you visiting on your European tour?

She also sidestepped Charlotte's love life, but by the time Charlotte was mostly glitter-free, Brighton felt…lighter. Their interaction in the restroom was all small talk, to be sure, a clinical sharing of facts about each other's lives over the past five years, but it was better than Charlotte's cold shoulder and labored sighs, and better than the myriad knots that had formed in Brighton's stomach over the past few days every time she'd seen her ex.

"And your own music…how's that going?" Charlotte asked as Brighton rinsed out the washcloth.

Brighton kept her eyes on the rush of water. Charlotte had made her stance on the Katies' use of "December Light" very clear, and Brighton honestly couldn't bear to get into it right now, not with Charlotte Donovan, who'd achieved every dream her mind had ever conjured.

"One step at a time, okay?" Brighton said, shutting off the water and then folding the cloth into a square.

Charlotte's mouth twitched, but she said nothing else about it.

"Ready to go back out there?" Brighton asked.

Charlotte nodded, then hesitated at the door. "One more thing." Her hand stilled on the doorknob, and she took a deep breath. "I still don't want anyone to know."

Brighton frowned. "About us?"

Charlotte nodded. "I think it's just too much for the holidays. For everyone. And I've got this tour to get ready for. I don't want my quartet to…" She trailed off, sighed.

Hurt flashed through Brighton—a secret to be hidden—but she also got it. When she really thought about it, she didn't necessarily want the entire household to know she had left Charlotte at the altar either. Adele's reaction was hard enough, and she was Brighton's best friend.

"Okay," Brighton said. "A fresh start."

Charlotte lifted a brow but nodded. And when the two of them walked out of the restroom and joined the rest of the Two Turtledoves attendees, Brighton had nearly convinced herself that a friendship— a fresh start —with Charlotte was possible.

Nearly.

Watered Down was a rough-and-tumble pub in downtown Winter River—weathered wood exterior, roof in need of replacing, an old door that used to be red but had faded to resemble something like cat sick. "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" wafted against the poorly insulated windows, which were rimmed with vintage-style Christmas lights, a fourth of which had burned out.

It was messy and a little down on its luck, and Brighton had never seen anything so beautiful.

She sat at a round table in the corner with all the other guests from the Berry house—and Wes —the pleather of her chair cracked like a spiderweb, and smiled as the server set down a pitcher of something called Mistletoe Margaritas, which looked like plain old margaritas to Brighton, but that would also do just fine. She'd enjoyed all of Nina's wines since she'd arrived in Winter River but, Jesus, did she ever welcome something stronger.

"To kicking ass!" Manish called out, tipping the lime-green beverage into all of their glasses and then holding his up.

"Hear, hear," Adele said, and they all clinked glasses.

Charlotte sat next to Brighton, Wes on her other side, her posture erect as she inspected her tequila-heavy drink with some trepidation. Come to think of it, Brighton wasn't sure Charlotte had ever even had tequila.

"It's good," Brighton said, nudging her shoulder. "Try it."

"Be careful, though," Wes said, taking his own sip. "This thing'll strip your skin right off your bones."

"Sounds unpleasant," Charlotte said.

"Oddly enough, quite the opposite," he said.

Charlotte laughed and wrinkled her nose, then sipped daintily. Brighton most certainly did not notice the way her red mouth closed around the glass, the pink of her tongue licking at the salt.

She didn't notice that at all.

Nor did she notice how her stomach tightened at the way Charlotte laughed so lightly and easily with Wes. She had no idea what was going on between the two of them and tried not to think about it. Fresh start probably meant the opposite of losing her shit over her ex flirting with someone else.

Holding his hand.

Fresh start meant friends. Fresh start meant Charlotte could hold anyone's hand she wanted and Brighton would toast to their happiness.

She knocked back a large swallow of her beverage and focused on Charlotte's widening eyes as she drank too, the tiny smile that pulled at her lips.

"Told you," Brighton said.

"Careful, killer," Sloane said as Charlotte took another sip. "Wes is right—tequila is a fair-weather friend."

Elle waved their hand. "Charlotte deserves to let loose; leave her alone."

"Hear, hear," Adele said again, then winked at Brighton, because of course Brighton had updated her on what had gone on in the bakery's restroom earlier that day.

Now here they all were at Watered Down for Holiday Movie Trivia Night, and Brighton planned to dominate. She also planned to get a little tipsy, enough to dull the memory of the last few days, the Katies, and "December Light" in her mind.

For a night, at least.

Brighton tipped back more of her own drink, relishing the salty-sour-sweet in her mouth. Oh, this was good, and it would go down easy, that was certain.

"Hey, welcome, everyone!" A guy with tight jeans and a nearly obscene holiday sweater held a mic on the tiny stage at the front of the pub. He had sandy hair and eyeliner and the brightest white smile Brighton had ever seen.

"Okay, hello, now," Manish said, turning his chair to face the host.

"I'm Eli, and this is Holiday Movie Trivia!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles.

"Now why isn't he part of Two Turtledoves?" Manish asked.

"Because he's married to the bartender," Sloane said.

Manish turned to look at the bearded and tatted fellow behind the bar, then sunk down in his chair. "Noted."

"Rules are simple," Eli said, pacing the stage. "Come up with a team name, and write it at the top of your form. For each round, record your answer, bring it to me, and we'll see who the true holiday movie royalty is."

"Oh, that'd be me," Brighton said loudly. The tequila was already buzzing through her blood, and she always got talkative under alcohol's influence.

"No, no," Sloane said just as loudly. "Queen, right here."

Charlotte laughed, her glass at her lips. "I don't know, Sloane. I'm pretty adept at Christmas movie quotes."

Sloane scoffed. "You? Elizabeth Scrooge?"

"I wasn't always such a scrooge."

She glanced at Brighton, barely, but enough that a wash of memories crested through Brighton's chest, all the Decembers they had spent in the Fairbrook living room with bowls of popcorn and hot chocolate, a constant stream of Christmas movies playing on the TV.

Eli explained some of the different genres they'd be covering, as well as the winner's prize—a lamp in the shape of a leg, reminiscent of the lamp from A Christmas Story.

"You'll have to share custody," Eli said, and everyone laughed.

"Okay, we have to win that for Mom's living-room window," Adele said.

"Agreed," Sloane said, and clinked her glass against her sister's.

"I want that for the restaurant," Wes said.

"No, wait, I need that for my apartment," Manish said.

Elle laughed. "It'll be your personal item on the plane."

"My lovey," Manish said.

"Okay, people, we need a name," Adele said, ripping off a square of trivia paper from the pad in the center of the table. "Thoughts?"

"The Elizabeth Scrooges," Sloane said, winking at Charlotte.

Charlotte took another gulp of her margarita, then lifted a single devastating brow. "I approve."

"What about the South Bend Shovel Slayers," Brighton said. "You know, from Home Alone ?"

"Clever, clever," Adele said, her pen in her mouth.

"Um, the Cheery Queeries," Manish said, spreading his hands out. "How is that not obvious to everyone?"

"That's got my vote," Wes said.

"The Cheery Queeries!" Elle said.

"That's not movie-related," Brighton said.

"It's gay," Manish said. "It defies expectations and knocks down walls."

Brighton laughed. "Fair enough."

"The Cheery Queeries it is," Adele said, writing the name at the top of their paper.

"All right, trivia players, first round is coming up!" Eli said. He held up a large Santa hat, then dipped a hand inside and pulled out a red card. "First question: Name all of Kevin McCallister's siblings in Home Alone . Remember, Google is strictly forbidden!"

"Easy-peasy," Brighton said. "Buzz, Megan, Linnie, and Jeff."

"Damn, girl," Manish said.

"I've seen it at least twenty times," Brighton said. "I can name all the cousins too."

Adele wrote down the answer and took their paper up to Eli. Then the group exploded in victory when it turned out they were the only team to get all four names correct.

"Next question!" Eli said. "What was the name of the doll that Scott Calvin's company worked on in The Santa Clause ?"

"What?" Elle said. "Who the hell would remember that?"

"Oh god, I know this one," Sloane said. "That scary little white-girl doll that wasn't even cute. Shit, what was her name?"

"Polly?" Brighton said, the name just outside her reach. "Holly?"

"But it was, like, a whole name, not just a first name," Adele said. "Wasn't it?"

"I've never even seen this movie," Wes said.

"It's awful," Manish said.

"If by awful you mean fucking great ," Brighton said. "Dammit, the doll was, like…she was in a little dress and—"

"Do-It-All-for-You Dolly," Charlotte said casually, pouring herself another glassful of Mistletoe Margarita.

The group blinked at her.

"What?" she said, sipping. "I'm right."

"Oh my god, you are," Sloane said.

"Do-It-All-for-You Dolly?" Manish said, his brows raised. "What, exactly , does Dolly do for you?"

Elle nearly did a spit take.

"Sounds iffy, that's all I'm saying," Manish said.

Charlotte laughed, a real laugh, her laugh, and Brighton couldn't help but smile back, something swelling around her heart. It had been five years since she'd heard that laugh.

"You're brilliant," Brighton said to her while Elle took their answer up to Eli.

"Like you didn't already know this about me," Charlotte said quietly.

Brighton laughed then, her shoulder pressing into Charlotte's. "I did know."

They looked at each other for a second, the air between them growing thick with—

No.

Brighton didn't want to say it. Didn't want to even think it.

Charlotte's throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes bright and lovely. A strand of silvery hair fell over her cheek, and Brighton lifted a hand to tuck it behind her ear.

An instinct.

But she stopped herself just in time, instead changing course to pull her own hair over her shoulder.

Charlotte cleared her throat and looked away, then took another gulp of her margarita. Several gulps, in fact, then pulled the pitcher closer to her. "I need another drink."

Brighton didn't realize Charlotte was completely plastered until they were leaving Watered Down with the leg lamp nestled in Manish's arms.

Charlotte grabbed Brighton's arm as they meandered through the tables toward the door, nearly pulling Brighton down with her.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Brighton asked, turning to steady Charlotte. Wes grabbed Charlotte's other arm.

"I'm fine," Charlotte said, but she blinked at the dim room, then pulled at her coat, which Brighton now noticed was buttoned crookedly. "I'm hot. Is it hot in here?"

"No," Brighton said slowly. Her own head was swimming a little, but she'd also had plenty of water and a generous helping of duck nachos. Now that she thought about it, she didn't recall seeing Charlotte eat much more than a few nibbles.

"It's definitely hot," Charlotte said, her voice slurring her consonants.

"Uh-oh," Brighton said.

"One too many," Wes said. "Or maybe five."

"Yeah," Brighton said.

"What?" Charlotte said as Brighton looped an arm through hers.

"I think you're drunk," Brighton said.

"I am not." Charlotte tilted to the side, then batted at her face. Brighton thought she might be trying to prove her sobriety by touching her nose.

It was kind of adorable.

"You most certainly are," Wes said.

"I don't get drunk," Charlotte said. "Never have, never will." Except her words came out like "Ner-ha-ner-will," pretty much disproving her point.

Still, as Brighton laughed and she and Wes led Charlotte out of the bar and into the frosty night, she realized she'd never seen Charlotte Donovan actually drunk, or anything past buzzed. Not in high school, not in college. Their first night in Winter River, she'd definitely gotten tipsy but nowhere near drunk. Not like this. Charlotte had tasted any wine they'd sneaked from Bonnie's collection as teenagers, interested in blends and vintages, and at Berklee, she'd been far too focused to mess around with excess drinking. They'd gone to parties, but Charlotte had either sipped demurely or forgone alcohol altogether.

"If it's not good , why drink it?" she'd said one time at a Halloween party when they were sophomores. Brighton had been slurping happily on something green that admittedly tasted like a combination of bile and sour apple.

"I guess you liked those margaritas, huh?" Brighton said now, doing her level best to keep Charlotte from slipping all over the icy parking lot.

"I did," Charlotte said. "They were delibous…delimous…"

"Don't hurt yourself," Brighton said, laughing.

"Why can't I say the word?" Charlotte said.

"Tequila."

"Tequila!" Charlotte shouted into the night, pulling the attention of the rest of their group, who were already at the car. They turned as one, jaws dropping.

"Oh my god," Manish said. "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

"Charlotte," Sloane said, hurrying toward them. "Are you okay?"

"She's drunk," Brighton said. "Very."

"I'm not ," Charlotte said, waving a finger at Brighton, then narrowing her eyes at her. " You are very, very pretty."

Brighton laughed, but her cheeks warmed nonetheless. She glanced at Wes, half wondering if maybe he'd be bothered by the comment, but he simply gazed between the two of them, a small smile on his face.

"Oh my god, I've never heard her compliment someone like that," Sloane said. "Let's get her in the car."

"Wait, Charlotte complimented someone?" Elle asked.

"She said Brighton was pretty," Sloane said as she took Charlotte's other arm and led her toward Nina's SUV.

"She is pretty," Charlotte said, then tipped her head back and looked at the sky. "Like the stars. The moon."

"Wow," Manish said. "We should keep some tequila on hand at rehearsals. I'd love more than a that-was-sufficient glare at the end of a concerto."

Sloane slapped Manish's chest as she passed him, then hauled Charlotte into the front seat.

"You're okay to drive?" Wes asked Sloane.

"Deli's driving," she said as she buckled Charlotte inside, then looked up at Wes. He stood by the passenger door, his hands in his pockets. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, but his eyes were all soft and gooey as he looked at Sloane. Brighton watched them stare at each other for a second, a million questions about their history spilling into her head before she scrambled into the first row, diagonal so she could keep an eye on Charlotte. Adele drove, Sloane slid in next to Brighton, and the rest of the quartet piled into the back row. Brighton watched Charlotte the entire drive back to Nina's house, Wes and Sloane's tender moment forgotten, concern and something else billowing in her chest.

Something soft but sore, like a day-old bruise.

Like the stars. The moon .

She shook off the happy swell she'd felt when Charlotte said she was pretty. She was just a bit romance starved, a bit discombobulated over this whole week and seeing Charlotte again.

And Charlotte was drunk.

She hadn't meant what she'd said…or, at least, she never would have said it if she were sober.

The drive felt like an eternity, winding along mountain roads. Once they arrived, Brighton all but leaped from the car, rounding the front to get to Charlotte. When Brighton opened the door, Charlotte nearly tumbled out and into her arms, laughing as she did so.

"I feel funny," she said.

Brighton held on to her shoulders. "I bet you do."

Once inside, Brighton headed for the stairs with Charlotte. "Can I take her to your room to lie down?" she asked Sloane.

"Yeah, of course," Sloane said. "I'll bring up some water and Tylenol."

"Perfect."

"Oh dear," Nina said, appearing from the kitchen and wiping her hands on a dish towel. Snickerdoodle rounded the corner as well, wagging his tail and sniffing at Charlotte. "Mistletoe Margaritas?"

"The one and only," Adele said. "But in happier news, we won you this incredibly tacky lamp!" She grabbed the fishnet-clad leg from Manish and plopped it into her mother's arms.

"Oh…wow," Nina said. "Thank you?"

Their laughter faded behind them as Brighton hauled Charlotte up the stairs toward Sloane's room. Snickerdoodle followed, but Brighton managed to keep him in the hall, even as she smiled at how much this dog seemed to adore Charlotte. As soon as she released Charlotte, just for a second to close Sloane's door and turn on the light, Charlotte fell face-first onto the bed.

"Jesus," Brighton said, hurrying toward her.

But Charlotte was laughing as she turned slowly onto her back. She blinked at the ceiling, and Brighton started unlacing her boots for her.

"That looks like a boob," Charlotte said, pointing at the light fixture, a glass sphere with a brass-plated nickel border and center lock.

Brighton glanced at it. "It does."

"Boobs," Charlotte said, drawing out the o 's.

Brighton laughed. "Boobs."

"They're nice."

"That, they are."

Charlotte sighed. "I think I'm drunk."

"Oh, I don't know, seems to me like you're behaving pretty normally."

Charlotte smiled at that, her eyes now following Brighton's movements as she tugged off Charlotte's boots and unbuttoned her coat, then moved to the top of the bed and pulled down the covers.

"Get in," Brighton said after she worked off Charlotte's coat, then helped her under the duvet. It was quite a sight, Charlotte Donovan contorting her body into a complicated pretzel to achieve such a simple task, but Brighton let her figure it out. Soon she was situated in the bed, covers pulled up to her chin.

Brighton set a trash can next to the bed in case Charlotte got sick, then tucked in the sheets around Charlotte even tighter. "We've got to get some water and Tylenol in you before you can sleep, okay?"

Charlotte nodded like a little kid, her eyes wide and still glued on Brighton, as though she were working on a mental math problem. And then—Brighton couldn't help it—she crouched down and smoothed Charlotte's hair back from her forehead, the silver strands a little coarse yet so familiar under her fingers. Charlotte's eyes fluttered shut, then back open.

Brighton felt shaky, a little drunk herself, though she didn't think it was the tequila anymore. She forced her hand back to her side, forced herself to stand all the way up, forced herself to take a step back toward the door.

"Don't," Charlotte said, reaching out to take her hand. "Don't go."

And god, those two tiny words, spoken on a whisper with Charlotte's amber eyes fixed on Brighton's, they felt like a revelation. A nugget of truth, finally, after so many hours spent building up facades.

"Okay," Brighton said, sitting down on the bed, Charlotte's hand still curled into hers. "I'll stay as long as you need."

Charlotte smiled, blinked heavily. "You're so good to me."

Brighton laughed, shook her head. "I'm not."

"You are. You were . Always, every day. Until…"

Brighton looked down, shame warming her cheeks. Silence settled between them for a while, long enough that her shame receded as Charlotte squeezed her hand, a few deep breaths working into her lungs and blood.

"I miss you."

Charlotte said it so quietly that Brighton wondered for a second if she'd imagined it. But a ghost of the words swirled between them, Charlotte still looking at Brighton, still gripping her hand.

"You do?" Brighton asked, her eyes already stinging.

"Every day," Charlotte said. Her own eyes didn't fill, but her voice shook a bit, a rasp to the consonants revealing her emotion. "I've never loved anyone like I love you. Never will."

Tears spilled over Brighton's cheeks, and she leaned down, tucking Charlotte's hand to her chest, pressing their foreheads together.

"Lola," she said, and that was all she could get out, Charlotte's declarations taking up every other space in her brain.

"I miss that too," Charlotte said. "My name."

Brighton nodded against her. "I…I want to make it right. Make us right."

"You—"

"There are so many things I need to explain," Brighton went on, "if you'll just let me."

"Bright—"

"We can go slow. As slow as you want. Just please let me try."

Brighton knew she was starting to babble, her adrenaline pumping at Charlotte's words, Charlotte's sweetness , which Brighton hadn't realized she'd desperately wanted, needed, for years. She took a deep breath, trying to slow herself down. She didn't want to scare Charlotte off, didn't want to fuck up again. Charlotte trembled, and Brighton held her tighter, their mouths brushing.

"Lola," she whispered.

Then, suddenly, Charlotte shoved her away so violently that Brighton nearly slid off the edge of the bed. Brighton gasped, clinging to the duvet as Charlotte bent over the bed, grabbed the trash can, and proceeded to hurl up the contents of her stomach.

Brighton blinked, taking a second to realize what had happened, then scrambled up to hold back Charlotte's hair, which was falling precariously around her face while she puked.

"It's okay," Brighton said, securing Charlotte's hair with one hand and rubbing her back with the other.

Charlotte groaned.

"So we're at that stage," Sloane said, appearing in the doorway armed with a huge glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. She set both on the nightstand.

"We are," Brighton said.

Sloane winced as Charlotte retched again. "She's gonna hate herself in the morning."

Brighton certainly didn't envy the headache and nausea Charlotte would probably endure. Still, even as she heard Charlotte's sick hit the plastic-lined wastebasket and wished she could magically make Charlotte feel better, she smiled.

Charlotte's confessions filtered through her brain, settling around her heart.

And Brighton knew. Right then, with the smell of vomit wafting around her. She knew Adele was right—she loved Charlotte Donovan.

Her Lola.

And Charlotte loved her too.

"Want me to take over?" Sloane asked.

Brighton shook her head. "I've got it."

Sloane nodded, tilted her head at Brighton. "You're pretty devoted for having just met her."

Brighton opened her mouth but then closed it. She simply smiled, shrugged. She didn't want to lie to Sloane, who'd been nothing but wonderful to her, but she knew their history was Charlotte's to tell.

"Okay, well, let me know if you need anything," Sloane said.

"I will. See you in a bit."

Then Sloane left, and Charlotte eventually emptied herself out, flopped back onto the bed with sweat on her brow. Brighton helped her drink some water and take the pills, then turned her on her side and rubbed her back, humming "December Light" as Charlotte fell asleep.