“Pot roast with potatoes and carrots, your favorite!” she sing-songs.
I can’t remember the last time I ate that. “You remembered.”
“Of course, silly. You only requested it once a week since you were eight.”
Once we say grace, we dive in, and they fill me in on what I’ve missed since we last chatted. It feels good to be with my parents again. I’ve missed them more than I realized.
“I saw Cole’s mother at the market today,” Mom casually says halfway through dinner. “I told her you were flying home, and her whole face just lit up. You should stop in and say hello. She misses you too.”
Though I know she means well, the disappointment in her tone isn’t lost on me. Cole and I were inseparable, which meant our families bonded as well. I know Mrs. Massen was devastated when we broke up.
“Yeah, I’ll have to pop in and visit at some point,” I say softly. Not that it wouldn’t be weird or anything, no…not at all.
After we finish eating, I help clear the table and rinse the dishes. Afterward, Mom catches me up on some of the town gossip, and I give Golden belly rubs. I wish I could have a dog at my apartment or hell, even the time to take care of one.
At eight thirty, my parents say good night and kiss me on the cheek. They’re early risers and are in bed before the nine o’clock news.
“I’m going to take Golden for a walk,” I tell them. “Grab a hot chocolate from the cafe. I’ve been craving one all day.”
“Okay, sweetie. Be careful. It’s icy,” Mom warns.
“I will.” I layer on my coat, hat, and scarf before grabbing the dog leash.
Golden and I walk a few blocks to the town square, and I immediately smile at the memories that flood my mind. Christmas music plays, lights sparkle, and couples stroll hand in hand down the sidewalks.
Fred & Wilma’s café, where I’m headed, has been around since I was a teen. One of the many perks of a small town means they allow dogs inside. Once I’m through the door, I feel as though I’ve walked into the past. Most of the wall décor remains the same, the familiar aroma of cinnamon and vanilla floats in the air, and the same friendly smile greets me at the counter.
“Sarah Rose, is that you, honey?” Wilma rushes around and engulfs me in a hug.
“It’s so good to see you.” I give her a grin. I’m surprised she’s working this late since she and Fred typically work the early morning rushes, or at least they used to. “You’re here late.”
We break apart, and she straightens her apron, then pets Golden’s head. “One of the kiddos is sick, so I covered their shift. No biggie, though. Means I got to see you.” She acts like it’s perfectly fine, but I see the exhaustion in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re back.”
She moves behind the counter, and I frown. “I’m not back. Just visiting for the holidays.”
“Well, I’m sure your parents are delighted to have you. Do you want your usual?”
I tilt my head in amusement. “You seriously remember?”
“Peppermint hot cocoa with extra whipped cream. How could I forget?” She smirks.
We chat the few minutes it takes for her to make it and ring me up. It feels so comfortable and familiar; it’s like I never even left.
“Now don’t be a stranger while you’re here,” she says.
“Oh, I definitely won’t. You have the best drinks and snickerdoodles in town, Wilma. I wouldn’t go anywhere else.” I flash her a wink.
“You’re too kind.”
“C’mon, girl,” I tell Golden as she begs Wilma for a treat. “You have some at home.”
“Oh, she knows the drill.” Wilma hands me a little piece of a cookie.
I chuckle, then give it to her. “Thank you. See you later.”
Spinning around, I nearly twist my ankle when I run into a hard body. Firm hands grip my elbows, keeping me upright to allow me to pull my cup away from my body just in time.
“Whoa,” a deep voice echoes. The smooth baritone is one I haven’t heard in almost six years. “You okay?”
Looking up, I meet intense green eyes, and neither of us blinks for what feels like an eternity. It’s not until Golden barks that we break apart.
“Sarah,” he finally speaks. “You’re—”
“Visiting,” I confirm. “Yes, for Christmas.”
Cole Massen looks almost the same as he did the day I last saw him, but