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Holly must have noticed, because she started to sing.

Actually, she said, “Are you ready? Are you ready?” Which is what Melissa Etheridge said to k.d. lang when they dueted live on Melissa’s “You Can Sleep While I Drive.” Tara knew those words very well. How many times had she watched that video, wanting a girl to ask her to drive away into the night?

Holly motioned impatiently for Tara to join. Tara laughed and picked up the harmony. They sang at the top of their lungs, steaming up the windows of the Mercedes with their breath as the scenery flew past. Tara’s heart felt like it would float out of the car and be carried into the snowy sky by the swirling winds.

She felt like she could fly.

“Thank you. I needed that. Is there a reason we’re heading out of Pennsylvania like we’re being pursued?” she asked after she caught her breath.

Holly shrugged. “It seemed like I shouldn’t waste any time getting you to Cole. I know you’re not a big fan of Carrigan’s, but it is rumored to have magical healing powers.”

Not that she would ever admit it, but now that the molding wallpaper had been replaced, she was looking forward to being with her friends, even if it was in the unsettling chaos of Carrigan’s.

Hell, maybe she’d misjudged it. The last time she’d been there, she and Miriam had been in the middle of a breakup, and her heart and ego had been too bruised for her to appreciate its particular brand of kitschy charm. Now that she was close with Hannah and she and Miriam had mended their friendship, she thought she might be able to let herself have fun there. Mrs. Matthews, the cook at the inn and Hannah’s mother-in-law, gave hugs like a weighted blanket, to begin with, and Tara could use one. She could also probably use some fun.

“I’m sorry I took you into that,” she said, because it needed to be said.

“I agreed to go,” Holly pointed out. “Let’s not give Cricket Bailey any more of our day than we already have. We still don’t know enough about each other to convince anyone we’re dating. Let’s do a rapid-fire question round. You start.”

Tara tried to think of a good question, and then she remembered the game the Carrigan’s crew had played at Thanksgiving last year, learning each other’s personalities by their pop culture preferences.

“Favorite guilty pleasure TV show?” she asked.

“I’m never guilty about my pleasure,” Holly said immediately. “Except for how much Bravo I consume. I feel a little guilty about that. You?”

“Oh, uh…” Tara had been distracted by Holly’s mention of pleasure and hadn’t thought of her own answer. “I watch a lot of teen dramas in the background while I’m working. I have more feelings about Outer Banks than is probably healthy for me, an adult. Your turn.”

Holly was shaking her head over Tara’s answer, which was fair.

“Desert island Disney movie. Be honest. Don’t try to be cool and say Atlantis or Treasure Planet.”

Now it was Tara’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’ve ever done anything to seem cool in my life? I’m wearing vintage linen on a road trip, in the snow. Although those are both brilliant, underrated masterpieces, the answer is Frozen II.”

“Interesting. Even though they didn’t let Elsa be a lesbian?”

Tara scoffed. “Please. It’s not up to Disney to let Elsa be a lesbian or not. She is a lesbian. She’s ours.”

“Mine is Hercules.”

“Oh, now who’s trying to look cool by naming an underrated masterpiece?” She rolled her eyes.

“I really love Meg!” Holly protested.

“Do people call you Merida?” Tara asked. “And, follow-up, how do you feel about Brave as a film separate from that?”

They bounced questions back and forth all the way into New York, trading jokes and sour gummy worms and sideways smiles. Tara’s rage at Aunt Cricket and disappointment in herself slowly gave way to her anxiety about being back at Carrigan’s Christmasland.

It was going to be great. She and Holly would have fun, and everyone would see her head over heels for a beautiful redhead, totally chill about the whole situation.

Well, no one would ever describe Tara as “totally chill,” but maybe she could manage icily cool. It should be easy, because the more uncomfortable Tara got, the further she tended to disappear behind her armor of cold Southern politeness.

When they finally pulled through the wrought-iron filigree gates at the front of the Carrigan’s property, Tara did her best to take it in with an unbiased eye. The interlocking Cs were a pretty design, and the gate itself had obviously been recently cared for. She remembered it as rusted, hanging from its hinges, but it wasn’t at all run-down. Now that she knew more about Mr. Matthews, Levi’s dad, she knew he would never let the first glimpse of Carrigan’s be shoddy for guests.

Because it was the middle of the Christmas season, the front lawn was covered in decorated cut trees, while the acreage that stretched out behind the old Victorian inn was a sea of snow-covered growing evergreens. Carrigan’s hosted a Christmas festival starting the first of November that included, according to Cole, reindeer races, gingerbread house and snowman-building contests, a very intense cookie swap, and, somehow, military battles among nutcrackers named Steve.

Tara hadn’t known Carrigan’s existed while she and Miriam were together. In fact, until its previous owner, Cass Carrigan, had died and unexpectedly left part of the business to her nieces Hannah and Miriam, Tara’s ex hadn’t set foot there for a decade.

The day Cass died, Miriam had told Tara that she needed to go to the Adirondacks to sit shiva, and she’d never returned to Charleston. Instead, she’d fallen in love, saved the business, and found a big, wonderful family. Tara had always empathized with the uptight blond fiancée at the beginning of every Hallmark movie who was so obviously wrong for the main character, but she’d never thought she would become one.