Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Nicole

The smell of fresh-baked croissants was the best thing in this world, and nobody could convince me otherwise.

The bakery was warm with low lighting, the massive stone oven at the far end casting out enough heat I didn’t need a dime in heating bills, and it smelled like sourdough bread and croissants and dark, sweet coffee all the time. And of course, now that we were into December, Brooke Carston’s album Silent Night Dreams was streaming softly over the speakers, filling the old wood-paneled space as Mrs. Wilbury craned her neck looking through the pastry case.

“Personally,” I called across to her, “I think this morning is a good one for blueberry scones.”

“Oh, sounds like someone made extra she’s trying to unload,” she laughed, but she grabbed a little paper bag and a tissue paper and opened one cabinet door to take out two blueberry scones. Mrs. Wilbury was a short woman who I knew dyed her hair brown—she was sixty-six and absolutely should have been gray, but she swore up and down she just hadn’t gotten a single gray hair yet, and it was a sign she’d live to a hundred.

“I’m a woman of noble intentions, dear Mrs. Wilbury,” I said, ringing her up for the two of them and her regular small coffee.

“Oh, you say that now, don’t you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten when you and Brooke Carston dug up all my and Peter’s flowers and replanted them in different places so I thought I’d gone senile.”

I batted my eyelashes at her. “Why, Mrs. Wilbury. I would never have done such a thing. You must have replanted them yourself.”

She chuckled, handing over the cash for the payment. “Still just as bad, you little rascal. Speaking of, I hear she got back into town yesterday, that Brooke.”

“She did. I was running something up that way for Mr. Graham yesterday evening, and I ran into her myself. I hadn’t seen her since I was nineteen…”

And I’d been entirely unprepared for how beautiful she was. One look at her standing there in the firelight of her study, long brown waves falling past her shoulders, eyes dark and full and round as doe’s eyes—deceptively innocent. They’d always helped us get out of trouble as kids, and they hadn’t changed a bit. She had a bit of an uneven smile, like her right side smiled harder than her left, and it had been so charmingly endearing I’d just wanted to stand there with her and make her smile again and again when I’d been there last night.

“Is that right?” Mrs. Wilbury said. “Well, not to suggest anything, but she’s bisexual, isn’t she?”

I hung my head. “Mrs. Wilbury, just because we’re two queer girls in the same small town—she’s not even staying, she’s only visiting.”

“I’ll bet you can convince her to stay,” Mrs. Wilbury laughed, taking the bag of scones and her coffee and heading for the door. “Pretty lady like you, and I know you two get on well—little rascals, both of you. I’m just saying, Nicole!”

“Have fun at the shop today!” I called after her, and I braced myself against the icy wind as she pulled open the door and stepped back outside. Even here along Main Street, the mornings were frigid this time of year, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world—that sunrise that was peeking up over the horizon even now, outside the thick-paned windows at the back of the store, it made any amount of cold worth it.

I was lost in thought watching out the windows when the doorbell jingled again, and I turned back already knowing who it was. My brother Daniel would have looked like a carbon copy of me, except he didn’t get the cat eyes—he took after our mom with his almond-shaped green eyes, ash-blond hair kept just barely on the long side. He sported the same corduroy jacket as always, his laptop under one arm, and he tugged his newsboy cap off as he came up to the counter, money already in hand.

“Morning, Nicole,” he said. “You saw Brooke Carston yesterday, didn’t you?”

“That’s all anyone’s talking about, huh?” I said, ringing him up for his usual order—sprouted grain toast with butter and strawberry jam and a tall coffee. “Mrs. Wilbury was yammering on about it five seconds ago.”

“Girl’s a celebrity,” he said, grinning. “And your celebrity, at that.”

I sighed, turning back to the drip machine to pull his coffee. “Don’t tell me you’re going down the same road as Mrs. Wilbury.”

“Dyeing my hair after it grays, denying it, and listening to Pink Floyd because I think that’s what the kids like?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, given it’s you,” I said, handing him his coffee. “How’s the book coming along?”

“Oh, it’s coming along. And by that, I mean—well, you know—it isn’t.”

“Funny how that works.”

“Strange how no amount of idly fretting seems to write a book.” He shrugged. “But don’t change the subject. If I’m not mistaken, Brooke Carston is playing over the speakers right now.”

“She’s our Mountain Crossing celebrity. We all play her Christmas album.”

He grinned. “And what did you think? Running into her again.”

“She’s sweet,” I said, putting his bread in the toaster, keeping my back to him. He didn’t need to see my expression as I remembered that twinkle in her eyes. “Still just as fun to talk to. It’s nice she’s back.”

“Oh, I’ll bet it is,” he laughed.

“Daniel,” I sighed.

“What? You’re the last sibling to get married.”

“You’re my only sibling, Daniel.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” he laughed. “And Brooke is bisexual, you know.”

“Trust me. If I hadn’t already known, I would have known from everybody in Mountain Crossing lining up to inform me another gay girl is here.”

“You could do much worse than famous musician Brooke Carston, you know, Nicole,” he said, sipping his coffee.

“Mrs. Wilbury was just trying to convince me of the same thing. I don’t need that.” I pulled his toast from the toaster, set it on a plate, and handed it over with his condiments. “She’s visiting. I don’t need to go through everything with Sabrina again.”

He shrugged. “Sabrina was different. She wasn’t from around here. That’s a risky proposition. Brooke’s got a family here, a life here. I think you could convince her to stay.”

“Just take your bread and go to your corner and write that damn book, you boor,” I laughed, pushing the plate towards him. “I’m happy to see Brooke again, and I don’t need that messed up with everyone in Mountain Crossing wanting me and her to—”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence, because life had a way of interrupting you with comedic timing. The doorbell jingled, and I turned with a big smile and then a big flop in my stomach when I saw the woman in question coming inside, Brooke Carston in a long down jacket, shooting me a playful smile.

“Looks like I’ve been kidnapped again,” she said. “Maybe willingly this time. Sort of a Stockholm Syndrome.”

Her voice. I knew she had a beautiful voice—she literally made a living from it—but did it have to be that pretty? It was like melted chocolate, smooth and rich and warm and delicious. Was that a weird thing to think about your childhood friend’s voice, delicious? Well—I’d always been weird.

“Making my kidnapping job easy,” I said. “Good morning, Brooke. Didn’t think you’d follow up the invitation that quickly. City life made you punctual?”

Brooke rolled her eyes, stamping the snow off her boots. “My mom made me punctual. Told me it would be amazing to have a tray of Smoky Mountain cinnamon rolls for breakfast this morning, and how I should be the one to go because I might be able to charm you into a discount.”

“Well, with a straightforward approach like that,” I said, but that was when Brooke’s gaze drifted over and she lit up at the sight of Daniel.

“No way,” she laughed, heading towards him. “Daniel Livingston? Whole family’s here, huh?”

“Long time no see, Brooke,” Daniel said, spreading his arms wide for a hug, but then he caught himself and crossed them. “If we can trust you now, Brooke Carston. Gone and become a city girl on our watch. I’ll bet you don’t even remember the secret handshake.”

Brooke snorted, shaking her head. “You’re on, Daniel Livingston,” she said, holding out her hand, and like an espresso shot pulled of concentrated nostalgia, I watched Brooke give Daniel the secret handshake the three of us used half my life ago. “Ah,” Brooke laughed after. “I’m thinking you’re a little slow.”

“My fingers are cold, that’s all,” he said. “You wait until I’ve properly warmed up.”

Brooke gave him a hug, glancing over at me. “Didn’t tell me the big oaf stayed around, too,” she said.

“Like I can’t hear you?” Daniel said.

“The big oaf left town too,” I laughed. “He came back with a girl, though. He and his wife Georgia wanted to settle down somewhere, and he figured his parents’ basement would be a safe choice.”

“Our parents own a lodge,” Daniel said. “It’s got room. And more importantly, they wouldn’t stop hounding me to come back home.”

“You’re married?” Brooke shook her head. “Can’t believe I missed it. What happened to ride-or-die, big guy?”

“Bit of a slapdash wedding,” Daniel laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“Daniel can’t do event planning to save his life,” I said. “Scratch that. Daniel can’t do events to save his life. He just wants to sit in corners and write his book—or not write it, more accurately. He told me a wedding would be too scary.”

“They’re a lot,” Brooke said with a shrug. “Congratulations, though. I’m sure I’ll meet your wife soon enough. It’s really nice to see you again.”

“Anything else aside from your cinnamon rolls?” I said, and Brooke turned to me, leaning over the counter. Her eyes met mine, and once again, there was that spark like we were fourteen again and the world was our playground, and I was sneaking out to meet her on the town again, pilfered coins in our pockets to pay for little indulgences that meant the world to us.

“Let’s do another one of those café au lait,” she said.

“Oh, you’ve already got a regular,” I said. “You’re right at home here.”

“You can take the girl out of Mountain Crossing, but…”

She was cute, but I did not need her saying that in front of Daniel. I could already see the gleam in his eyes. “You got it. Anything else?”

“Maybe… whatever my favorite kidnapper recommends?”

I grinned. “Well, as my hostage, you have no choice but to accept a cheese Danish I am going to give you for free, because you’re my friend.”

Brooke laughed. “Nicole. I can’t steal a pastry. Even if you’re stealing me.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. Ugh, the work that would take to explain. “Then I’m charging you one penny for it,” I said. “And no further arguments are allowed. I want you to try it. That one’s my favorite.”

“You ought to come join us for dinner, too,” Daniel said, and I was about ready to knee the guy. “The Livingston lodge can always use an extra mouth to feed. And you know our parents will be over the moon seeing you home again.”

Brooke glanced back at him. “Dinner at your place? Tonight?”

“Ignore him,” I said. “The man only thinks in terms of his next meal.”

Daniel put his nose up. “Untrue. I also think in terms of my current meal.”

“I’d hate to be an imposition,” Brooke said.

“No, you’d be saving my life,” Daniel said. “If my parents found out you were here and I hadn’t invited you, they’d have me scrubbing the laundry room floor to think about what I’d done.”

Brooke winced. “Well, we can’t have that,” she said. “Sure. What time?”

Once Daniel scheduled a dinner that absolutely no one had been anticipating, I handed Brooke her tray of cinnamon rolls, and I watched as she took the Danish with delight written all over her face.

“Oh my god. It smells divine. I’ve died and someone accidentally let me into heaven.”

“Disappointing,” I said. “We’d all had a party planned in hell. Now I’ll have to be virtuous if I want to see you again.”

“No worries. I’ll have them realize their mistake soon enough.” She closed her eyes as she took a bite of the pastry, and the moan she let out was… interesting. “Oh. Wow. Okay. You can kidnap me anytime,” she said.

I shouldn’t have taken that bait with Daniel right there, but I couldn’t help it. I never did listen to my better judgment. “Will absolutely take you up on that,” I said.

A couple minutes later, Brooke and I waved to one another as she headed back out the door, and it barely shut behind her before Daniel turned back to me, a massive grin over his face.

“Shut up,” I said.

“I hear wedding bells.”

“That’s just the ringing of the pan I’m going to clock you with,” I said. “What are you doing, just up and inviting her to a family dinner without asking anyone else first?”

“Would anyone say no?”

I sighed, slumping over the counter. “Touché, Daniel. They’ll probably all be as excited about a queer girl at the table with me as you are.”

“This isn’t just a matter of another queer girl in Mountain Crossing,” he said. “You and Brooke were always two halves of a whole. And turns out, you two bounce off each other just the same way.”

“I’ll bounce a rock off your skull if you don’t sit down and write that damn book. I’m starting to see why it’s taking so long.”

He put a hand up. “You can’t rush perfection.”

“I’m not rushing perfection. I’m rushing you.”

He grinned. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you two together at dinner tonight.”

“You little rat,” I sighed, but not without a smile, shaking my head as an oven timer went off. “All right, Daniel. Good luck writing. I’m getting back to work.”

But no amount of work was going to distract me from the memory of Brooke Carston’s smile.

Or that moan she made. Good lord, that sound was unfair.