Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Brooke

The Carston house stood the same as always, candles in the windows, wreath on the front door. Even from the car in the front, I could already hear the chatter of people inside, the massive two-story house with its gabled green roof still not big enough to hold everyone.

“Merry Christmas to me, I guess,” I said, shutting off the car and stepping out into the swirling snow drifting down off the trees. That wintry smell like burning campfires and roasting chestnuts wrapped itself around me like a comforting blanket, and above all else, I couldn’t believe how quiet the area was. Every time I got back from the Charlotte metropolitan center, standing out here felt like I was at the edge of the world.

I tugged my scarf tighter around my neck as I trudged up to the front door, knocking softly while I kicked the snow off my boots. The sudden eruption of chatter from inside told me already I was about to be overloaded. I’d told my mom over the phone on the drive up to make sure things didn’t get too loud, that there wouldn’t be too many voices at once, but keeping the Carston kids in line was like trying to keep water stacked.

“Well, if I’m not mistaken,” my dad’s big voice said from the other side of the door before he opened it—he was a bulky guy with thin gray hair, and he was already winning the ugly sweater contest, based on that ghastly thing he had on with dancing reindeer and actual lights stitched into the knitting. “I’ll be,” he said, cracking a big grin. “A real, live celebrity in the flesh, here to visit us for Christmas? This must be some kind of Christmas miracle, huh?”

I rolled my eyes, smiling to myself. “I see you’re as funny as ever, Dad,” I said, stepping into the doorway and opening my arms to give him a hug. He nearly crushed me to death with one arm, and I wheezed. “Good lord. I’m not made of titanium. Try not to kill the Christmas miracle?”

“Welcome home, Brooke,” he said, squeezing me again.

“Brooke’s home!” I heard my brother Jonathan calling from the other room, and then a chorus of people shouting as the foyer crowded full. I barely got out of my boots before I was overwhelmed with a wave of people stepping up for hugs—my mom Lou in her dark curls and dress style I’d always teased as her 50s housewife chic, squeezing me before my sister followed suit, her husband, my uncle Randolph in the same tweed jacket he always wore around the house with his big fuzzy slippers—

People squeezed in around me, asking questions until it melted together in my head and a buzzing sensation pressed in at the back of my skull, and I winced as I tried to keep up with the so nice to see you, it’s been so long, I missed you. When Mom noticed, she raised her voice and said, “Not too loud, now,” but her speaking up with it just made it worse.

They chattered around me about dinner and the week plans and how long I had been and how was my music going, and I struggled to keep up as I slipped out of my coat and followed the crowd through to the living room. The crackling fireplace smelled sweet, and the massive Christmas tree in the corner was beautiful dressed up in silver and gold, but chatter from the kitchen and Christmas music playing only made my head spin worse.

It was a hand on my shoulder from behind that pulled me out of it. “Howdy, stranger,” a voice I barely recognized said, and I turned back to where it took me a minute to even place who it was anymore, she looked so different now. Maybe not everything stayed the same around here.

“Nicole?” I said, not even sure if it was, as I tuned out the chatter behind me. I hadn’t seen Nicole since we were nineteen—back when we’d been everything. She looked gorgeous in a cable-knit scarf and loose gray sweater, ash-blonde hair pulled back into a quick ponytail, her face that perfect oval shape that all the beauty blogs told you made you automatically pretty, and looking at her, I wasn’t sure I could disagree anymore. I might not have even recognized her if her eyes didn’t still look the exact same, such a light brown they looked like gold, turning down sharply at the inner corners. She’d been teased for them back in middle school, other girls calling her cat-eye. I’d been convinced then they were just jealous, but now I knew it for a fact. “Nicole Livingston? Is that seriously you?”

She cracked a big smile, white teeth on red lipstick, as she handed me a paper coffee cup. “Café au lait with the Smoky Mountain house blend. Figured it was a long shot you still like that one, but figured also you’ve been driving for hours and won’t complain about coffee.”

“I’ve never in my life complained about coffee,” I said, taking the cup gratefully, my fingers brushing hers. It took me back to held hands as we played around the mountain lake and snuck our way through the woods. “It’s been forever. I barely even recognized you.”

She glanced past me at my family. “Graham gave me a delivery for Brooke. Mind if I take her for a bit?”

“We just got her, Nicole,” Dad laughed, but Mom beamed.

“Go on, kidnap my daughter,” she said, eyes sparkling, and Nicole put a hand on my arm.

“Well, you heard the lady,” she said. “You’re officially my latest kidnapping victim.”

“Should I call someone about this?” I said, but it wasn’t like I was complaining as she led me off to the side, into the dark colors of the study, a geometric pattern on the rug and carved wood furniture. The bookshelves smelled like old memories and cozy nights curled up watching snow fall, and the firelight cast dancing shapes over the walls, the big brick fireplace opening through into the living room. With the quiet of the study, not a sound but the fire crackling, I felt the pressure dissolve from my forehead.

“Feel free to try, Brooke,” she laughed, the door swinging shut behind us. “You’re in my territory now.” But she relaxed, giving me a studying look. “You looked like you needed an out from the noise.”

I let out a long breath, just meeting her gaze. What even did I say in this kind of situation? I hadn’t seen her in over a decade. We’d been childhood best friends. We fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, usually to the dismay of the adults around us who had to deal with two people tag-teaming their way into trouble. And something about her still felt like that spark—the intensity of her eye contact, that subtle mischief there in her smirk.

Of course, maybe I just liked pretty girls. I hadn’t been with a girl in eight years, but that didn’t mean I was only interested in men.

“How’d you know?” I said, raising an eyebrow. The drifting snowfall outside the window said it had finally moved past just snow shaken from trees and had turned to actual snowfall. “Don’t most people wince at meeting their families?”

She laughed, another flash of white teeth. I didn’t know people actually had smiles that perfect. She looked like a photoshopped model for an Invisalign ad. “Some people do, but if my memory serves, you were never one of those people.”

“Sounds like your memory serves well,” I said, leaving out the unsaid. If you remember about my sensory issues.

“What can I say? I got to choose between remembers things about other people and remembers to do her own damn laundry, and I think I made the right call.”

“Laundry can wait.” I sipped the coffee, closing my eyes and letting the taste take me back years and years. That husky warmth with the sweetness of the milk—it was like drinking firelit memories, and I melted into it. “God, that’s good. Thanks, Nicole. Are you visiting for Christmas, too?”

“Oh, no,” she laughed, straightening. “I’m a permanent resident of Mountain Crossing. I know what we said—couldn’t stand this place, going to bail as soon as we get the chance. I moved to Chicago for a couple years, but it just didn’t feel right. Always felt like I had to prove something.” She shrugged, leaning back against the bookshelves, turning to the window watching snow drift down, and I followed her gaze, leaning back next to her. It took some of my willpower to not sneak glances at her instead. “Still glad I went, though. Sometimes you have to leave to appreciate what you had. And then once you do, odds are good it’s still waiting there for you to come back.”

“I see living in the mountains for so long has made you wise indeed.”

She laughed. “That might be the first time anyone’s ever described me as wise, Brooke. Usually it’s more like cheeky little troublemaker.”

I grinned at her. “You and me both, Nicole. But you know that.”

She leaned in closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’ve still got Penn’s old badge.”

“No way,” I laughed, turning to her. “Do you just wear it like a trophy now? He got chased out of town, right?”

“Yes he did. But nope. Still kept under lock and key. Not a soul knows about it but you.” She winked. “So, you know. Just because I’ve stuck around doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft.”

“Ah. So I should be worried about being your latest kidnapping victim.”

She tossed her hair back. “C’mon. Would being kidnapped by me be so bad? Anyone I kidnapped would just have to paint Christmas ornaments with me over peppermint hot chocolate and Christmas movies.”

“Well, better not be for ransom. You can’t ransom one of seven siblings, their parents won’t even notice one’s gone.”

She met my eyes, a twinkle in hers. “Last I checked, Brooke, dear, you’ve got quite a high profile.”

“Ah. Did the background check to make sure you kidnapped the right girl. Responsible of you.”

“Well, needless to say, everyone in Mountain Crossing is a big fan of your music,” she said. “Myself included. Better get used to, you know… hearing yourself singing basically everywhere you go around here for Christmas.”

I winced. “That Christmas album?”

“Everywhere. We all enjoy winter nights to the sound of Brooke Carston’s smooth, mellow vocals.”

“That’ll be weird,” I said lightly.

“Feel nice being home?”

I shrugged. “It’s, uh… quiet. Feels like the kind of place people get kidnapped. And here we are.”

She winked at me as she pushed off from the bookshelf. “Don’t worry, I’m a charitable kidnapper. I’ll let you go back to your family. If you ever need an out from the noise, though, feel free to just pretend I’m calling you. Your family’s been obsessed with me meeting you once you were back.”

I let out a long, slow breath. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll just tell them it’s my kidnapper. Have you been close with my family?”

“In recent months. I’ve just been the middleman,” she laughed, grabbing a handbag off the coffee table. “Mr. Graham comes by Smoky Mountain every day to grab bread for dinner, and every Sunday, he hands me a parcel to bring to your dad.”

“Oh, sounds suspicious. Drug trafficking?”

“See, I thought so,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes again. “And I’m never one to turn down something suspicious, so I went along with it. Only found out a month down the road that they’re newspaper clippings. Apparently your dad and Mr. Graham got into an argument one day about how there’s never anything happy in the news, so Mr. Graham clips out every happy story he finds and bundles them all up to brighten Paul’s day. He hurt his hip earlier this year, though, so he got someone young and sprightly to bring him the clippings instead. Now Paul and I are best of friends.”

I shook my head, feeling a smile coming on. “Nice to know Mr. Graham’s still alive, and still just as… kindly spiteful, to brighten someone’s day every week for who-knows-how-long just to win an argument. Do you work at Smoky Mountain?”

“Ah, you’d be looking at Nicole Livingston, proud owner and proprietor,” she said, puffing out her chest and putting her chin up. I cocked my head.

“Seriously? You took over? What happened to Mrs. Hazel?”

“Oh, she just got tired of baking. Thought the day would never come, but it happened. Nowadays she spends her days watching old movies at her cottage way out on the edges of town. I’d been working there five years, and she just up and sold me the place for a song. You’ve got to come visit,” she said, rifling through her bag. “Swing by sometime in the morning, and I’ll show you the finest flaky pastries you’ve ever tasted.”

“Will do. Nice seeing you, Nicole.”

“Think you’ll be seeing a lot more of me,” she said, pulling out a small gift-wrapped package and handing it to me. “This is from Mr. Graham too. Special delivery for one Brooke Carston.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” I said, taking the candy-cane red-and-white striped package with a bow on top. “I can’t tear this wrapping paper.”

“Isn’t it the worst? That’s why you can always count on me to make a hideous mess of every wrapping job,” she laughed. “Feel free to open it whenever. I don’t know what’s in it. I’ve got to head out before the snow gets worse, though. Nice seeing you.” She held out one arm, a questioning look on her face. “Do you still do hugs? Everyone in Mountain Crossing hugs like it’s a currency, but I won’t be offended if your city sensibilities are too refined for that.”

I laughed, stepping in for a hug. Nicole’s slender arm wrapped around me was firmer, more toned under the sweater than I expected—her back, too, where I squeezed lightly. I wondered what exactly she did to get like that, but I wasn’t about to start feeling her up and asking where she got such a tight body. “I’m not that refined. You know me, Nicole.”

“And it is a blessing to know you,” she laughed. “Catch you around. Welcome home.”

She’d barely left the room before my mom’s voice from right behind me made me jump. “Nice seeing you two get on as well as you always did,” she said, and I turned back to her with a hand to my chest.

“Want to give me some warning before the next heart attack you give me, Mom?”

She laughed lightly. “Well, not your mom’s fault you were so busy staring longingly at a woman…”

I scrunched up my face. “Very funny, Mom. Is that your latest angle to get me to stay in Mountain Crossing?”

She put her hands up. “It’s worth a try. Nicole’s single, you know.”

I squinted. “There’s something else important to consider besides just whether she’s single.”

Mom beamed. “Yes, she has her own house and everything. Makes good money, too.”

“That wasn’t it, Mom.”

“Yes, Brooke,” she laughed. “Nicole’s a lesbian. And I’m just saying, it must be awfully hard for a sweet woman like her to find another nice lady who likes other ladies in a place like this…”

“Can we have at least a second conversation before you start marrying us in your mind?”

She grinned. “Well, evidently, no. Just saying. I know you two always got on like a house on fire.”

“I never understood how that saying was supposed to be a good thing…”

She laughed, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Brooke. And properly this time. We haven’t had you back longer than a weekend in years. Do you want to check out your bedroom before dinner’s ready? I made a few stylistic adjustments to your room while you were away…”

“Ah… joy.” I shook my head, smiling just to myself. “I’d love to. I could really use a shower. Got too close to Dad’s ugly sweater and I need to rinse it off me.”