Page 22 of A Love Like Christmas Time
“You so did,” Bobby says, but I choose to ignore them. “There was pure horror in your eyes.”
“Right? We should do that again.” Kieran chuckles and digs into his apple crumble roll, as the bell above my door announces a new customer.
“Welcome,” I say on autopilot, the same way I always do when someone comes in. Usually, I get some kind of reply, though.
I turn my head to see who came in and blink.
It’s a young woman. I’d estimate her to be in her early twenties. Her eyes still have that hope in the world that tends to disappear once you’re in the workforce and working forty-hour weeks. She has brown hair that reaches down to the first button of her tailored, deep red coat, disheveled from the wind outside.
I’ve never seen her before.
Fuck, I hope she’s not another vengeful ex trying to hurt anyone from Wayward Hollow.
If it were two weeks from now, I wouldn’t be surprised to see strangers in town. It’s when the Christmas season here starts. Locals have been coming here to enjoy our town’s Christmas decorations for decades already. Then, a few years back, a video about it blew up on some social media platform, and ever since then, Wayward Hollow has its yearly week of fame. Usually, it starts around the time they build the Christmas market booths.
Since last year, Harry has had them set up early for the sole purpose of letting tourists who only come here to take pictures pose with them. It's the first good idea I’ve known him to have. At least that way they don’t clutter the Christmas market when it’s open.
But she doesn’t seem like an influencer. She’s not dressed to the nines, doesn’t have perfect make-up and has no cloud of pretentiousness surrounding her. Usually, at least one of these is the telltale sign.
She freezes in the doorframe, blue eyes wide open, staring at me with more fear than a deer in headlights, mouth agape.
Bobby and Kieran continue their banter, oblivious to the stare-down happening.
Confused, I tilt my head. She seems familiar. But I can’t put my finger on where I could know her from.
Not in a ‘I might have seen her in a movie before’kind of way, but in an uncanny valley way. As if I should recognize her.
Suddenly she appears to shake off her freeze, turns around without a word and storms back out, the door falling shut loudly behind her.
“What was that?” Kieran asks, turning around. But she’s long gone.
I shake my head. “I have no fucking idea.”
Chapter 8
Caleb
“Earth to Caleb.” Henry waves his hand in front of my face, a confused frown on his face. “What’s going on? I mean, it’s not as if you overflow with words and enthusiasm on the daily, but usually, you manage to at least greet Jensen.”
My eyes jump to him. He’s worried.
Not because I’m messing up his coffee. I’ve got that down to a T, no matter how distracted I might be. Every movement, from prepping the espresso to frothing milk, is ingrained in my mind. I can do that on autopilot, even when my thoughts are miles away.
“Sorry,” I answer gruffly and put his to-go cup down in front of him.
“What’s going on?” he asks, and leans his elbows on the counter. The café is empty aside from him and Jensen. As it is almost every morning, when he pops in to get his wake-up coffee and to catch up with me while I’m preparing for the day.
I could barely sleep. Whenever I drifted off, I heard Lauren’s voice in my head again.
I’m leaving at the end of next week.
It’s laughable, really. I have no claim on her. Hell, I’m not even sure if she likes me. I think she might. But maybe if it’s wishful thinking. Now, all of a sudden, it doesn’t matter anymore.
People leave. I knew that. So why do I still have an aching pain in my chest?
I reach under my counter, taking a treat for Jensen out of a bag. His ears immediately perk up. He turns around himself, tail wagging and announcing his excitement with a swift ‘Awooho’. I round the counter, and Henry drops the leash. Jensen immediately darts my way, jumping at me with a force that makes me stumble backwards and almost fall on my butt.
I make him do a few tricks before throwing the treat his way, then crouch down for a proper ‘hello,’ which includes getting my face licked with his beef-breath tongue. It buys me some time to think of an excuse, because I’m not giving Henry the satisfaction of admitting that Lauren has me all up in my head. No way in hell.
