Page 6 of A Love Like Christmas Time
Luckily, my neighbor is my best friend. I swear, if I don’t get some distance between me and the frustration-turned-furniture in my living room, I will either cry or scream. So, I pull on my shoes, throw on my coat, hide my face behind a way-too-big scarf, and grab my keys, storming out of my house. Time to pay my bestie a visit and cuddle her cats until I feel better.
The chilly November air greets me like an old friend, bringing heat into my cheeks and turning my breath white in front of my face. Tonight’s sky is covered with deep gray clouds, turning a dark purple as night approaches. The air smells faintly of rain and pine, and the slightest breeze blows over the lake, swaying bare branches from side to side.
I tug my jacket tighter around me and exhale a deep sigh. The boards creak beneath my boots as I hurry down the three steps to my porch, replaced by the rustling of brown leaves when I reach the ground.
This is perfect. A perfectly gloomy fall evening. A worthy end to the season.
I’m more than ready for snow. It’s been years since I’ve had snow, even more years since I got to enjoy it. But God, do I adore it. Watching snowflakes dance as they fall, or trying to catch them. The way it forces the whole world to slow and buries every sound under an icy blanket of silence.
I’ve checked the long-term weather forecasts for Wayward Hollow repeatedly. Hell, I checked them before I put my signature under the contract for my new home. While every forecast predicted something slightly different, there was one thing, arguably the most important, that they all had in common: There will be snow this winter.
If I’m lucky, we’re even going to get a white Christmas. And I reckon the last time I had one of those, I was only five years old, high on sugar from hot chocolate, and Santa still took my requests.
I sigh a cold air cloud into the sky and kick a knee-high pile of leaves, watching as they flutter before returning to the ground.
Oh, how I miss those times when I didn’t worry about not being enough, when unconditional love was still a thing, and nobody had any expectations quite yet.
Those were the times.
I come to a stop when I pass the space where we buried Nic’s first, albeit short-lived cat only a few months ago. It used to be a stick cross, just two thin branches, haphazardly tied together with painter’s tape to mark the spot. Now there’s a small headstone, as dark as her fur was, that has her name and a cat silhouette engraved.
My lips tug into a soft smile as I kneel in front of it, memories of that day rushing through my head.
It was Nic’s second time meeting Henry and our first time meeting Caleb and Kieran. Even then, Henry had already looked at Nic as if she was his world.
I remember Kieran’s bickering. Caleb’s stoic calmness.
Dare I say the five of us make the perfect friend group? And this little kitten brought us together.
We dug her grave together, mourned her loss, and while I never got to meet her alive, I feel like she’s an important member of our friend group. If she’s really haunting Nic’s place, I know she’s got quite the diva personality.
“You were quite a welcome to Wayward Hollow,” I whisper, and gently pat the little gravestone, the surface smooth and cold under my fingertips.
Then I get up again and trudge the last few steps to Nic’s place.
Just after moving here, she gave me a key. She also has one of mine, just in case I ever lock myself out. However, since she got together with Henry, they’ve been spending quite a lot of time together at her house. And there are some things I never want to accidentally run into by barging in unannounced.
So, a polite doorbell ringing it is.
“One moment!” I hear her shout from inside, followed by clutter, a loud thud, and then a string of curses.
“Is everything okay?” I shout, but then I already see her silhouette through the side panels of her door, before she opens it.
“I’m alive, I’m alive,” she assures me, clearly flustered. Her golden-blonde hair is sticking out in all directions, her cheeks red and breath coming in huffs, as she cages a wriggly, small orange cat in her arms.
“Come on, get in quickly. Pumpkin has been trying to escape all day.” I step inside quickly and close the door behind me, a grin tugging at my lips.
“Has she turned into a prison breaker?” I lean forward and stroke my fingertip over her tiny head. For a moment she stops wriggling and closes her eyes - she probably forgot all about her escape plans within two seconds.
“She acts like it’s such a terrible place here.” Nic rolls her eyes when the little creature in her arms suddenly remembers her escape artist career and voices her displeasure about being confined in a cuddle quite loudly. “Yes, yes, stop screaming.”
She sets the little cat down and glares at me when she notices my amused expression as I take off my coat.
“Are you not feeding her? Or torturing her with your presence?” I chuckle and hang it up, then shuck off my shoes.
“I think she simply enjoys causing trouble with that fraction of a brain cell she has inside her tiny little head,” Nic jokes, and waves for me to come with her to the kitchen.
“Do you want coffee?”
