Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Brooke

“Oh, close that thing,” Mom said when she came back into the kitchen in a wool tartan robe, looking at where I had my laptop open on the counter. “It’s your vacation. No working allowed.”

“I can’t just turn off inspiration, Mom,” I said, but I closed the laptop, standing upright. “Nor would I want to. I’m just putting down some ideas for lyrics.”

“On an internet-enabled device where those labeling creeps will email you five times a day.”

I didn’t want to tell her five would be a concerningly slow day. “There’s coffee in the pot, and those cinnamon rolls are warming up in the oven.”

That got a smile. “Thank you, sweetie. You should try just old-fashioned pen and paper writing. I bet that’ll really get the creativity flowing.”

I scratched my head. “Sorry, Mom. I’m a bit of a millennial. I like my laptop. I won’t be home for dinner tonight, by the way,” I said, hoping I could say it offhandedly enough she wouldn’t ask questions, which was like going out in the rain offhandedly enough to not get wet.

“Where are you going? Who are you going to be with?”

“I ran into Daniel Livingston in Smoky Mountain this morning, and he invited me over for dinner at the Livingston lodge—”

“Oh, honey, that’s just perfect.” She lit up like a Christmas tree plugged into an industrial transformer. “Nicole is going to be there, too, isn’t she?”

I sighed, hanging my head as clattering and a few voices rose from behind her, plodding towards the kitchen. “Mom, I’m not here to pick up girls.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what else you’re not here to do, and it’s to commit a social faux pas just showing up like that. You should grab them a gift. Especially since Nicole gave you something yesterday, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. I didn’t open it yet, though. The wrapping is too pretty.”

She laughed, pouring herself a mug of coffee in her Every Day’s a Monday for Mom mug, setting down the pot and taking a long sip. “From old Dennis Graham, right? The old man’s a sentimental one, despite what he’ll tell you. Either way, you’ve got to get something for them. Just a tiny thing will do. One for Daniel and one for Nicole. They’re your old best friends, it’ll be a sweet way to see them again anyway.”

Plain as day this was just her wanting me to interact with Nicole again, but she wasn’t wrong, either. Daniel had been every bit a part of the troublemaker gang as me and Nicole—even if we third-wheeled him on occasion, both because he couldn’t lie to save his life and because kids are cruel—and Mountain Crossing was full of memories of the three of us talking our way out of situations with stern-eyed adults. I probably owed my co-conspirators some hush money gifts. “What do they like?”

“Nicole collects Christmas ornaments. You should get her one. Something simple but sturdy, because she likes to paint them.” She put a finger to her chin as my inordinately tall sister Abigail came into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee pot with barely a hi, Brooke. She was quiet, and I always liked that about her. “Daniel’s gotten really into his writing lately, so maybe a nice little book or something.”

“I don’t know if books are all interchangeable like that, but I see what you mean.” I picked my bag up off the floor, sliding my laptop into it. “I’ll head down to Picture Perfect for gifts, then. Anything you want me to grab you while I’m in town?”

“No, just say hi to Mrs. Cosgrove for me, would you? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

And I did, once I got there later in the day—said hi to Min Seo Cosgrove, a middle-aged Korean woman who my mom always told me snagged the hottest bachelor in Mountain Crossing, Thomas Cosgrove. Personally, I couldn’t see the appeal of the man, even never minding the fact he was twenty years my senior, but she was happy with him and she was happy helping him run the gift shop and photography studio Picture Perfect. She was a wispy thing with big glasses, and when I pushed through the door, she looked over the counter at me like I’d hung the moon.

“Brooke Carston!” she said, with a short laugh just to herself. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Thomas didn’t tell me you were back in town!”

“But what Thomas apparently did do was rub off on you with that ridiculous saying,” I said, looking around the shop. They’d redecorated a bit since I’d last been in—Mrs. Cosgrove considered herself an interior designer, from the sounds of things—but it still had the same warm, dark colors crowded with knickknacks and that smell like holly and toasted marshmallows. Old wooden floorboards creaked under each step as Mrs. Cosgrove came around the counter, and sure enough, she gave me a hug. I squeezed her back.

“He’s a charmer, with his ridiculous sayings,” she said. “Ah—you’ve got to tell me. How’s work? How long are you staying here? Have you seen your old best friend Nicole Livingston—you know she bought a house here, herself!”

I was not escaping Nicole as long as I was in Mountain Crossing. “Trust me, I’ve heard. I’m on my way to the Livingston lodge tonight, and I’m grabbing gifts for Nicole and Daniel.”

“Nicole’s single, you know—”

“Mrs. Cosgrove, trust me, I am aware,” I sighed, hanging my head.

“I’m just saying. If you wanted to marry back into your home here, you could do worse than young Miss Livingston.”

I was also not escaping the idea of marrying Nicole as long as I was here, either. “Well, I’ll, uh, see if we go renting a courtroom this month,” I said. “I’m just here for December. Do you know anything Daniel would like?”

She did—apparently Daniel had not only taken up those writing dreams he’d had and was plugging away at a novel, but he’d also taken up a keen interest in birdwatching. When Mrs. Cosgrove unveiled a Christmas ornament of a little bird with reading glasses sitting reading a book, she seemed so proud of procuring it, it was like she’d just created the world’s next great work, and I couldn’t tamp her enthusiasm.

It worked out well, anyway. Once I pulled up to the snowy courtyard in front of the old Livingston lodge—a massive log-cabin style building positively bursting with Christmas cheer, picturesque smoke rising from the chimney against the crisp baby-blue mountain sky—it was Daniel Livingston who rushed out to meet me in his corduroy jacket and thick, wooly socks, tiptoeing to keep them dry. I barely stepped out of the car before I handed him the little gift bag, and I said, “This one’s for you.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” he said. “You know me, Brooke. I’m just going to lose it, break it, or both, whatever is in this bag.”

I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Then enjoy it while it lasts, Daniel. Let’s get inside before your socks are soaked through.”

“No, I want to see this thing I’m going to break.”

“It was entirely Mrs. Cosgrove’s idea, so don’t blame me.”

But he loved the thing, looking at it like it was his new favorite thing in the universe. Daniel wore his heart on his sleeve so hard, it was like long gorilla sleeves dragging along the ground behind him, everything right there on display. It was the main reason Nicole and I had been primarily in charge of pranks.

“Come on,” he said, after gushing over the ornament for a solid two minutes. “Let’s go hang it on the tree.”

The entry was still the same as ever, the wood porch with swing chairs all caked with snow right now, creaking under our feet until we stepped into the open space of the entrance. The three biggest things in the room caught my eye, like they always did when I was little and came into the place: the massive Christmas tree back against the stairs, reaching up two stories and decorated with tinsel and countless ornaments, the enormous fireplace with its mantle stocked with knickknacks, sofa and armchairs arranged around it, and Nicole’s smile from where she was carrying an armful of paper bags to the next room, stopping at the sight of me.

“Well, well,” she said. “Thought the weather was nice, but looks like the storm rolled in after all.”

“I’m on my best behavior today,” I said. “I mean, for right now, at least.”

“Well, if you change your mind about that, let me know,” she said, shooting me a wink before she walked on to the next room. I watched her go, her long hair down over her shoulder blades in loose waves, a cream-colored sweater loose enough on her that it hung partway down one shoulder.

With everyone trying to convince me to hook up with Nicole, it really didn’t help that she’d grown up to be so obnoxiously attractive. And gay.

To make matters worse, Daniel leaned in close to me and whispered, “I’m not suggesting anything, but you know she’s a lesbian, right?”

“You are one hundred percent suggesting something,” I said, and he put his hands up.

“I’m not,” he said, and he faltered. “Er… just saying you two have something to talk about. You know—women.”

I rolled my eyes, feeling a smile coming on anyway. “Daniel Livingston, you are a terrible liar. Let’s go hang up the bird and get to dinner already. It’s been forever since I saw your parents.”

The dining room was so much like I remembered, it felt like stepping back in time. The archway at one end looked straight out at the massive fireplace in the entry, so firelight danced across the long oak table stocked with old lanterns. Small square windows overlooked the sweeping mountain vista behind the property, and the snow caked in the windowpanes and the garland strung up around the room made it feel like I could open any of the heavy old wood doors and find myself in Santa’s workshop.

The room filled with chatter as I met with everyone one by one, Nicole’s mom Delilah and her father Jonas Livingston, Daniel’s wife Georgia, their aunt Lisa Livingston, and the guests who were staying in right now, a collection of people including Mr. Fairmont, a grouchy-looking old man who never talked much but always visited Mountain Crossing every December. Mr. Fairmont barely gave me so much as a nod, as if it was normal for me to just walk back in after more than ten years, and with the ringing that was already building in the back of my head at the noise, I appreciated the quiet gesture.

Nicole and I always had our usual spots, but she stopped just before sitting down and switched, gesturing me to what had always been her spot. It took me until I was sitting down to realize it was to keep me on the end, further away from the noise.

It took me aback all the little ways she considered it. I couldn’t even remember if I’d known about my sensory issues before I left Mountain Crossing, but I must have, because Nicole seemed to know them like the back of her hand.

“How are you feeling back in Mountain Crossing, Brooke?” Mrs. Livingston said, and I shrugged.

“Eerily familiar, I’d say. Everything looks like it’s right where I left it. Back in Charlotte, you leave for one year and you come back to a different city.”

“It’s something special, isn’t it?” Daniel said, sitting across from me, helping himself to the food that came out in delicious-smelling platters and trays. “A place like this—I think it’s good for the soul.”

“Well, it’s not for everyone,” I said. “But I think it’s nice to get away from everything for a while.”

Mrs. Livingston shot me a smile. “Your mom and I have been getting on well. She’s been so delighted having you back. I know you’ve got your big-name celebrity life to attend to, but… you know you’ve always got a home here.”

“And a fellow troublemaker,” Mr. Livingston said with a rough grin at Nicole. “Speaking of excited to hear about Brooke being back.”

“Dad,” Nicole sighed, giving me a what-can-you-do shrug. I wondered if her parents had been giving her the same treatment as mine—look, there’s a queer girl in town now, go marry her now. Given the people I knew at Mountain Crossing, it wouldn’t have been a surprise.

“Oh—I got a gift,” I said, reaching into my bag for a change of subject. “For Nicole. She gave me a free pastry this morning that was so good it changed my life, so I needed to repay her.”

“It was not free,” Nicole said. “I charged you an entire penny for that. Don’t insult my business acumen.”

“Right… forgot I was your hostage.” I pulled out the second gift bag, little pale yellow, Nicole’s favorite color. “Here. My mom and Mrs. Cosgrove said you’d love this.”

I watched her eyes light up as she took the bag, pulling out the tissue paper. I could have given her gifts forever, frankly, if I got to watch the way her eyes twinkled with excitement. They were seriously too pretty for this world—and worse, I had nobody around here I could complain to about that, or else they’d probably be telling me how many kids Nicole and I should have together.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Nicole laughed, pulling out the ornament—a simple one with an inverted teardrop shape, a blank cream color with a rough surface. “Well, there goes a good few hours of my time,” she said, eyes sparkling as she put it back in the bag, leaning over from her seat and giving me a quick hug.

“Sorry to burn your time like that,” I said. “Just figured maybe I’d distract my kidnapper for a while, see if I could escape.”

She winked at me, not pulling away far from the hug. We’d been close plenty of times before, held hands and shared a bed, practically been glued together when we were kids, but the atmosphere was a little different now when she was just closer than conversational to my face. “You don’t want to escape. I’m too charming.”

“Oh, Nicole, that’s a great idea,” Mrs. Livingston said, in response to—as far as I could tell—nobody proposing an idea. “You can show Brooke your little painter’s studio! I’m sure she’s been wondering how her old best friend is getting on out there way off in the mountains.”

Ah—and now I saw the logic. My mom to get me to buy an ornament for painting, Nicole’s to get her to bring me for it. Mrs. Carston and Mrs. Livingston really had been getting on well, if this was how well they tag-teamed.

Nicole raised an eyebrow at me. “I think she’d be a little bored,” she said. “Do you want to watch me paint an ornament?”

I shrugged. As much as I knew it was our moms’ setup, I could think of worse ways to pass the time. And there were a million and one things I was curious about over the years I was gone, and a space to do it with just me and her, far away from all the family insisting we get married already—I’d go along with it, this once. “You promised that was what happened if you kidnapped me, right? Painting ornaments together, Christmas movies, and peppermint hot chocolate.”

There was that unbelievably perfect smile again. Seriously, how was she doing that? I watched it like an old Christmas comfort film, the twinkle in her eyes, the corners of her lips turning up, and then the flash of pearly whites—she smiled that same slow, blossoming way she always used to. “You’re a very willing kidnapping victim,” she said.

“I’m going to be honest, the pastry won me over. Those cinnamon rolls were incredible, too.”

“Well, then taking over the bakery was worth it. Tomorrow?”

“Cordial of you to coordinate your kidnapping with the target,” I said. “Sounds good.”

She grinned wider. “Brooke Carston. I’ve always coordinated my heists with you, and you know it. But if my parents ask—I’ve never so much as dreamed of a heist.”