Page 24 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

SHAY

When I wake up on the anniversary of my sister’s death, the sky is crying. Thick raindrops pound against the windows, and I curse Mother Nature for making my life just a little more difficult on the day of the year that’s already the hardest.

I force myself through the motions of being a human: brushing my teeth, washing my face, pulling on crumpled jeans from the “they’re clean enough” pile in my closet.

It takes all of ten steps to get from my front door to my car, but I’m soaked through by the time I’m safely inside my little Toyota Camry.

Driving up the mountain isn’t my favorite thing to do in the best of conditions, and this visibility is far from the best. Why the fuck did my brother have to move up here? Surely he could have hidden from the world at a more reasonable altitude.

The drive could take ten minutes or ten hours for all I know; I all but black out every time I have to drive up here.

Nico is waiting for me when I finally pull up outside his cabin, sitting on his covered porch with two giant piles of fluff that are more like wolves than dogs, and two thermoses.

I didn’t tell him I was coming, but I didn’t have to.

Not because of the weird triplet connection we have, but because I show up every year.

This day holds a lot of good memories, but every one of them died the second Georgie’s heart stopped.

I steel myself before climbing out of the car.

“Happy birthday,” I call, turning away to close my door so we don’t have to look at each other when we say it.

“Happy birthday, Shay.”

We’re both quiet for a second, leaving space for a third birthday greeting that we still can’t bring ourselves to say, all these years later.

Georgie was the best of us: the brightest, the prettiest, the smartest, the most liked.

I don’t say it to be self-deprecating—it’s a fact.

She grew into herself a little earlier than Nico and I did.

It’s like she woke up at sixteen and had it all figured out, while we were still in the awkward teenage phase of our lives.

I’ve heard that some triplets and twins resent each other when they grow at different paces, but we never did.

We looked at Georgie with pride, and we knew we had plenty of time to figure our shit out.

Maybe, deep down, Georgie knew she didn’t have as much time as we did.

Or maybe the world is just fundamentally unfair. I guess we’ll never know for sure.

“How was the drive?” Nico asks as I hurry up the porch steps and take a seat across from him. The dogs lift their heads, glaring at me in unison. Like my brother, they’re not much for people. They barely tolerate me, but they love him.

Nico hands me a thermos, and I take a long drag of warm coffee before answering.

“Shit. It’s always shit.”

“You need a better car.”

I raise a brow at him. “You need a better address.”

“Better than this?” Nico gestures to the surrounding trees. Mountains tower over the horizon, and there’s a bird of prey calling somewhere in the distance. He has a point.

“How have you been?” I ask, changing the subject, because his choice to live up here is a dead horse at this point.

Nico shrugs, and I can see him clam up a little.

“You know. Same old, same old.” His voice is scratchy, like it’s been a while since he spoke out loud.

It probably has been. Our conversations are mostly texts, and he has exactly one friend, whom I know he barely talks to.

He occasionally drives down the mountain for work or to stock up on supplies in Jackson, and he calls our parents every couple of weeks, but he’s not exactly chatty.

“How are things with you?” he asks.

“Pretty much the same. The movie’s going well.

I think it is, anyway. We don’t have a lot to do with it beyond handing over whatever they’ve asked us to make, but everyone seems happy.

And the town’s super busy, so that’s been good, customer-wise.

Actually, I got an order last week for a birthday cake…

” I continue to talk about everything and nothing, and Nico nods and grunts, absentmindedly stroking the dogs, and playing at paying attention.

It’s the same song and dance every time I come here.

It’s not that he doesn’t care what I have to say; it’s just that whatever I’m talking about isn’t his main focus.

He’d never admit it, but I know it’s hard for Nico to look at me and see anything but Georgie.

We weren’t identical, but we were close.

Her hair was a little lighter, her eyes a little darker, her nose a little sharper.

She was objectively prettier, but that had everything to do with how she presented herself.

It’s hard to imagine how she would be now, but I like to think we’d still look as alike at forty-seven as we did at twenty-five.

Forty-seven. God.

My parents struggle to look at me, too. It’s one of the reasons I finally gave up on California and moved out here.

Nico moved to Wintermore a year after Georgie died.

She had two obsessions: France and cheesy holiday movies.

When A Christmas Wish in the Mountains released, she watched it on repeat for months.

We were going to surprise her with a trip to Wintermore as a birthday gift, but we were on our way to our birthday dinner when the accident happened.

Georgie never did find out about the plane tickets tucked inside her birthday card.

I liked Wintermore the first time I flew out to visit Nico, but I didn’t make the move until my divorce.

When the payment came through from my half of the house, at the same time as the café on Main Street went on the market, it seemed like fate.

Georgie and I always talked about opening a patisserie when we lived in Paris, and suddenly I could make her dream come true in her favorite town. How could I not make it happen?

I naively thought it would bring Nico and me closer in more than proximity, but our relationship remains largely “how have you been?” and “anything new with you?” It’s like we’re scared to open up about anything of substance in case it brings up ghosts from the past. Everything always comes back to Georgie.

And every time I do try to talk, he shuts me down. There used to be nothing we didn’t talk about, and I miss it. I miss having someone to talk to, and Nico probably does, too. It can’t be good for either of us to keep things so surface-level.

I finish my coffee and clear my throat. “You know how I was kind of into women before Philippe and I got married?”

Nico’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flash of confusion in his eyes—gray, but darker than mine and Georgie’s. “Kind of into women?” he asks slowly. “What the hell are you talking about ‘kind of’? Shay, you exclusively dated women from the ages of sixteen to twenty-five.”

“Right. But it’s been a while, obviously. I haven’t thought about who I’m interested in since I was married for so long, and it’s not like I’ve dated since the divorce.”

Surprise lights Nico’s face. “At all?”

I shake my head, drumming my nails on the thermos. “I tried. I downloaded the apps, even spoke to a couple of people, but no one clicked.”

“And I assume, since you’re talking about it now, that you’ve met someone?”

“Kind of. Yeah.” I sigh, and Nico gestures for me to go on. “It’s complicated.”

“Because she’s a woman? You can’t seriously still be worried about upsetting Mom and Dad. I think enough time has passed since…” Nico trails off, shadows gathering in his eyes.

“It’s not that,” I hurry to say.

“Is she married?”

“No. She’s… thirty.”

Nico’s so stoic that even I can’t always discern what the micro-changes in his expression mean, but the eyebrow he raises is pretty damn clear.

At least it distracts him from almost talking about Georgie.

“Well, shit. I mean, thirty is young, but I guess it’s not that young. Just feels like a lifetime ago.”

“That it does,” I say dryly.

“Hey, no judgment,” Nico says, holding his hands up. “Personally, I could never be with someone seventeen years younger than me, but if you’re into her, and she’s into you—wait, is she into you?”

“It’s just over sixteen years,” I correct, because it makes so much difference.

“That’s also complicated.” I groan, rubbing my face.

“I’m pretty sure she’s into me. She used to hate me, but we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and she’s warmed up to me.

I told her I wanted to be friends, and she didn’t balk. ”

“Why the hell did you tell her you wanted to be friends if you want more than that?”

That is the million-dollar question. “She mentioned a few weeks ago that she’s too busy to date and she was just looking for something casual,” I grumble.

Casual. That word is fucking haunting me.

I keep saying it, trying to drill it into my brain, hoping I might actually start believing that’s what I want, too, eventually.

“She mentioned it in passing, or she specifically said that’s what she wanted with you?” Nico asks.

Technically, she mentioned it when she still hated me, but that’s not the point.

In the three weeks since our first meeting with Mayor Blackwood, I’ve witnessed Noelle working her ass off, day in and day out.

I see how much people ask of her, but moreover, I see how much she asks of herself.

I’m not going to be another person asking her to give more of herself than she’s got.

“In passing, then,” Nico surmises from my silence. “Shay. Just talk to the woman.”

“It’s—”

“If you say complicated again, I’m going to be pissed,” Nico interrupts, and I close my mouth, because that’s exactly what I was going to say.

I’m old enough to know how to communicate like a goddamn adult.

But there’s something about Noelle that just…

scares the shit out of me. I know I need to talk to her, but I’m terrified to tell her I want more and potentially lose what we do have.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so lonely.

“Look, are you interested in her? Like really interested?”

“I think so?” He looks unimpressed by my answering a question with a question. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, I am, but I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, and Noelle just seems to have everything figured out.”

Nico narrows his eyes. “Noelle Whitten? That’s who you’re talking about?”

“Yeah. Have you met her?”

“Briefly,” he answers with a shrug. “You know her sister owns the other cabin up here?”

I nod, not bothering to correct him that Noelle and Rora’s relationship is far more complicated than sisters.

“Well, I know Rora fairly well, and I’ve met her partner. He’s around our age, if not older, so I don’t think you have to be worried about the age gap scandalizing Noelle or her family.”

“I think I’m more bothered about it than she is,” I admit.

Nico snorts. “Look, I’m not the best person to offer relationship advice, but what do you have to lose? Like you said, she used to hate you. There’s no guarantee you’d be friends after the movie is over anyway.”

He’s nothing if not blunt, but he’s not wrong.

“That’s true. But Noelle seems so sure of herself—if she was interested, I’m sure she’d make it known.”

I worry my lower lip until Nico sighs. “There’s no harm in just having fun with her while you’re working together and having a bigger conversation when filming’s almost over.

And even if Noelle’s not interested, it wouldn’t hurt to try and meet people.

You don’t need to look for anything serious, but you deserve to have a little fun, Shay.

Seriously, when was the last time you did? ”

“When was the last time you did anything fun?” I volley back, because it’s easier to focus on Nico than myself.

“Have you agreed to meet up with Bryan yet?” Bryan has been Nico’s best friend since we were all in kindergarten together, and he’s the only person who stuck around after Georgie died and Nico shut everyone else out.

Not that he hasn’t tried to shut Bryan out—Nico hasn’t seen him since he moved to Wintermore.

He didn’t go to Bryan’s wedding, or the ceremony where he adopted his new husband’s daughters, or any of the important life events Bryan still, to this day, invites our family to.

Bryan was never my best friend, but I think I speak to him more than Nico does, thanks to Facebook. I know he’s asked Nico to come visit, and offered to come here, and I know Nico has declined every invitation.

I watch as my question sinks into my brother, watch as his walls shoot right back up. He stands, grabbing both of our coffee cups and heading toward the cabin door. “We’re not talking about me. Refill?”

He’s inside, shutting me down, before I can even answer.