Page 104 of Heartland

Dylan shakes his head. “No, I got this size because Chastity likes these but never orders them.” He offers me the bowl. “Here. Drink some.”

“Really?” I take it from him and sip from the edge. “Thank you.”

“I have a kink for feeding you,” he says, giving me a smile. “This is also for you.” He lifts a tiny plate off the tray and offers it to me. There’s a single cookie on it, but it’s a work of art. It’s two layers in the shape of a Christmas bell, with a gleaming pool of red jam showing through a cutout in the center.

“Oh. It’s so pretty!” I feel all warm and squishy inside as I trade the bowl for the little plate. The cookie is exactly the sort of exquisite thing that I would never buy myself. I’m too practical. The coffee shop offers a tray of day-old scones and muffins at half price, and they’re the only thing I’ve ever eaten here.

I take a bite, and after the first crunch, the buttery shortbread seems to melt against my tongue. The jam is tangy, too, like raspberries. “Wow,” I say, chewing. “Try this.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “I’ve had them. This one is all for you.” Then he leans in and kisses the side of my face. “It’s your reward for solving question number seventeen.”

“But I haven’t done that one yet.”

“When you do, I’ll just have to think upanotherreward.” His smile turns slightly wicked.

Across the way, Rickie waves his arm in the air, as if clearing invisible smoke. “Jesus. You guys are basically off-gassing cuteness. And everyone else in here is reeking of Christmas cheer. How do you expect me to keep up my surly facade under these conditions?” He picks up his own giant coffee bowl and takes a gulp.

“Why do you hate the holidays so much?” I have to ask.

“I don’t have anything against the holidays.” He shrugs. “Except Burlington will be a ghost town. No fiddle tunes from Dylan and Keith. Nobody to come over to smoke pot or have sex on my couch…”

“Aren’t you going home for Christmas?” I ask. “I thought you were from Hardwick.” That’s a Vermont town not too far from Tuxbury.

“I’ll probably stop by the parents’ place for Christmas dinner,” he says. “I’ll bring wine and make polite conversation for as long as I can stand it. My parents and I aren’t close.”

Dylan kicks a foot up onto the coffee table, nudging Rickie’s knee with his toe. “Why don’t you come to Christmas Eve at our place? It’s a big party, but casual. The food is awesome. And you can watch Chastity try to ignore me from across the room.”

I laugh because all of that is true. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through Christmas break pretending Dylan and I are just friends. It’s going to be awkward.

“That does sound like fun,” Rickie says. “Will your sister be there?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Of course she will. Although that’s not really a selling point.”

“Says you.”

“Please. If Festivus was a real holiday, it would be Daphne’s favorite. The airing of grievances is right up her alley.”

Rickie grins. “She and I have a lot in common, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Dylan agrees. “Although I enjoy your brand of cynicism more than hers. You throw better parties and you rarely pinch me.”

Rickie sips his coffee. “I might take you up on Christmas Eve.”

“Stay over,” Dylan says. “It’s closer to Hardwick, anyway.”

“I’m not an easy guest,” Rickie says slowly. “You guys might not have room.”

“Sure we do,” Dylan argues. “I’ve got you covered.” They exchange a glance that has more layers of meaning.

But I don’t ask, because it’s none of my business. I respect secrets, because I’ve had plenty.

“All right, then,” Rickie says. “I’ll bring the wine. And I’ll even help you guys box up caramels if you need me to.”

“No need,” Dylan says, passing me the giant cappuccino again. “We’ll be retired candymakers by then. In fact, we’re going to run out of goat’s milk this weekend. After one more set of deliveries, we’ll close up shop.”

None of this is news to me, but my heart gives an unhappy squeeze anyway. There’s no getting around it. Jacquie and Jill are out of commission until they have their kids in the springtime.

On the positive side, the vendors’ payments are piling up in Leah’s bank account. I’ll have enough money to buy my books and a cheap computer, too. Nannygoat’s Candies was a resounding success, even if I’ll never be ready to give it up.