Page 2 of The Snuggle Is Real

My Malcolm in the he’s-been-my-best-friend-for-fifteen-years-and-I-would-cut-anyone-who-hurts-him kind of way.

The reason I’m here. That friendship and a promise we made to each other eons ago.

I smile and wave, leaning against my open car door. “You didn’t tell me Wanted is actually just a movie set. Or maybe designed to film a TV series.”

I expect him to get my sense of humor immediately. Instead, he pauses on the sidewalk and looks around, as if to see the town through my eyes. Like it’s never occurred to him the town where his bourbon distillery makes its home is bursting with charm.

But then he says, “Is the show rom com, family saga, or horror?”

“Definitely horror,” I say with a smile. “Perfect fall evening in a town where everyone knows their neighbors and leaves their doors unlocked. Teenagers are hanging out on park benches.”

As if on cue, a group of cheerleaders bounces by in red uniforms, waving their pom poms as they run across the street to the town square.

I see the high school marching band is gathering.

“To welcome you to town,” Malcolm says dryly as they shakily begin playing a rendition of what sounds like Nirvana but might be “More Than a Feeling” by Boston if I close my eyes.

Either way, they’re giving it their all, squeaks and bleats included.

“How thoughtful. What’s scene two in this film?” I ask, loving how easy it is to just fall right back in with Malcolm, no matter how much time has passed.

He approaches me with a coffee cup in his hand. “A dog senses evil and takes off running.”

Just then, a dog goes bounding by.

My jaw drops. “You set that up!”

Malcolm laughs. “I swear, I didn’t. How would I set that up? I had no idea you were going to drive into Wanted and do a bit about it being a film set.”

“That’s fair. You know I love a bit. And a schtick.”

A woman flies by us, chasing after the dog. She waves. “Hi Malcolm! See you tonight!” Then she screams, “Barrel, get back here!”

Malcolm gestures the woman’s way. “My brother Ian’s girlfriend, Winnie. And their poorly trained rescue dog, Barrel. Probably not a portent of evil, so rest easy. You haven’t been lured to your gruesome death.” He holds the coffee in his hand out for me.

I accept the coffee cup and sniff it. My nose wrinkles. “This is regular coffee. In October. I might die after all from the blandness of this coffee.”

“I refuse to be a part of the pumpkin spice madness. You know that.”

I push out my bottom lip. “But I love pumpkin spice.”

Malcolm grins. “That right there”— he taps my bottom lip— ”is the real horror story. Pouting doesn’t look good on you.”

He’s right. I’ve never been able to pull off either cutesy or pouty. I laugh. “You know me too well.”

Taking a sip of the coffee to hide my expression, I eye Malcolm over the lid.

He looks good. Really good.

I haven’t seen him since spring because wedding season sucks the life out of me. I’ve missed him.

God, he’s aging like the bourbon he and his brothers produce. Getting better every day, more layered, more complex.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, frowning.

I’ve been caught. Friendship rules require that I not eyeball him like I find him attractive, which I do, but normally I’m better at hiding it.

“Because you look terrible,” I say, cheerfully. “Tired. Possibly jaundice.”