Cole's Christmas Wish. Tracy Madison

he sure as hell had. Just not with him. So when she had, that bit in hard. Real hard.

      Unfair, perhaps. He still didn’t know exactly why Rachel hadn’t stayed, hadn’t stuck with him when his world shredded apart. Oh, she’d called. Sent care packages and notes of encouragement, but she hadn’t been physically present throughout his year of rehab, or for the time it took to get his head screwed on straight again.

      In fact, she hadn’t returned to Steamboat Springs until last Christmas, when they’d somehow managed to breach the gap and reestablish their friendship in person. It had been too soon to dredge up the past—their one and only kiss and the words they’d each said the night before the accident—so he’d waited until this year. Until this Christmas.

      Except, a little over a week ago, Rachel had called to inform him that she wasn’t coming to Steamboat Springs alone for the holidays. Nope. She was bringing a man with her. A man she deemed might be “the one.” Just that fast, all of Cole’s plans had disintegrated into dust.

      He inhaled another breath and walked on, nodding at and greeting those on his path to the coffee shop. When he arrived at the Beanery, he paused again and glanced inside the windows, in search of a woman with long blond hair and bright blue eyes.

      Nope. She wasn’t here yet.

      Cole pushed open the door and was hit by a blast of heat, the scent of fresh brewed coffee, cinnamon rolls—the Beanery’s specialty—and the sound of voices mixed with more freaking Christmas music. What he wouldn’t give to hear Mick belting out “Satisfaction” or “Start Me Up,” instead of yet another rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

      A few of the regulars called out to him as he took his place in line. Again, he responded to each with a nod and a smile but didn’t initiate further conversation. Rachel would be here soon, and Cole needed every minute between now and then to prepare himself.

      The line moved slowly, as Lola—the owner of the Beanery—chatted with each and every customer as if they were her best friend. Beyond the cinnamon rolls, the warmth and camaraderie Lola offered was a large reason why the Beanery was always chock-full of people, even during the few months of the year the town wasn’t overrun by tourists.

      Usually, Cole enjoyed talking with Lola as much as he enjoyed her cinnamon rolls, but today all he wanted was to get his coffee and escape to an empty table. Preferably one with an unobstructed view of Lincoln Avenue, where he could wait in relative peace for Rachel and “the one,” and catch a quick glimpse of them before they saw him.

      Body language often told the truth about the state of a couple’s relationship. Cole was hoping to see a mile-wide distance that would negate the possibility that “the one”—otherwise known as Andrew Redgrave—might be raring up to propose.

      Frankly, the thought made Cole sick to his stomach. Yeah, he’d waited too long to speak his peace, and now—well, now he might lose Rachel before he—they—ever really had a chance.

      “What will it be today, Cole? Your normal black coffee and a cinnamon roll?” Lola’s chipper, somewhat twangy voice interrupted his thoughts. “Or are you in the mood for something fancier for once? Maybe a peppermint mocha or an eggnog latte?”

      “Coffee is supposed to taste like coffee, not peppermint or eggnog,” he pointed out, taking in the snowmen dangling from her earlobes, the oversize Santa hat pinned to her bottled-red hair and the blinking, multi-colored necklace of lights she wore. He grinned. Lola was a character, no doubt about it. “Just the coffee today, I think. Had a late lunch.”

      Squinting in surprise, Lola grabbed one of the Beanery’s bright orange mugs. “Never known you to say no to one of my cinnamon rolls, late lunch or not. You feeling okay?”

      “Yup, just not hungry,” Cole said quickly. “You know how it is this time of year.”

      Curiosity lit Lola’s gaze, but she nodded and poured his coffee. Cole bit his lip to stop himself from over-explaining. Lola was one of his mother’s best friends, and if she suspected anything was amiss, she’d be on the phone to Margaret Foster in the blink of an eye. In another blink, his mother, father, brothers and sister would descend—each determined to discover what the problem was so they could go about rectifying it. Whether Cole wanted their help or not.

      “Here you go.” Lola slid his coffee across the counter, along with a wrapped-to-go cinnamon roll. “For later, when you’re hungry again. My treat.”

      “Thanks.” Arguing, Cole knew, would be pointless. He handed her a few bills to cover the cost of the coffee. “I’ll save it for breakfast.”

      “Your mom was in earlier today,” Lola said as she rang up the purchase. “She’s ordered several dozen of these for Christmas Eve. I hear you have family coming in for the holidays?”

      “Yup. The entire Oregon side of the family, babies included.” All three of his Foster cousins were now settled down and, from what his mother had said, blissfully happy. Good for them. “Thanks again, Lola.”

      After dropping a handful of change into the tip jar, Cole made his way—finally—to a table. Ten minutes, more or less, until he saw Rachel. And Andrew, of course. He couldn’t forget about Andrew, though he’d tried his damnedest to do just that.

      Rachel had sent him a text when her plane had landed. That had been a little after noon, so she and Andrew had been in Steamboat Springs for about six hours. Her parents weren’t in town at the moment, which meant that Rachel and “the one” had spent an entire afternoon ensconced in her family’s vacation home. Probably cuddled together in front of a blazing fire with wine and...Cole rubbed his temple and tried to remove the forthcoming image.

      He swallowed a gulp of coffee, tuned out the blasted Christmas music and stared out the window. In the time it had taken him to get his coffee, the snow had grown heavier, the light sheen of fluff now covering the streets and sidewalks getting thicker by the minute.

      The sight combined with his melancholy state-of-mind took him back in time, to the day he’d first met Rachel. He was eleven, she was ten, and a bunch of the local kids were messing around over at the school playground. Cole and his two older brothers, Reid and Dylan, were involved in one of their massive snowball fights when the mother of all snowballs crashed into the back of Cole’s head, sending him sprawling face-first in the snow.

      His brothers stood there like statues, their mouths hanging open in shock. Cole pulled himself up with a snowball ready to go, pivoted and saw...her. Pink cheeks, huge sky-blue eyes and short, wispy blond hair that stuck out around her face like a newborn chick’s feathers.

      A rich kid, based on the fancy boots, coat and car parked behind her. Scowling, Cole lowered his snowball. His family owned businesses that catered to the tourists. Ticking off this girl’s parents wouldn’t please his folks, and he’d learned that rich-kid tourists didn’t take well to being one-upped by the local kids.

      It irked him that he couldn’t retaliate. Being laid out by a girl wasn’t cool, and Reid and Dylan would be merciless in their teasing later. Their sister, Haley, upon hearing the story, would go on and on about how much better girls were than boys, and wow—wouldn’t that suck?

      Still, he followed his common sense and shrugged it off, as if the dumb girl and her snowball meant less than nothing. His eyes had locked with hers, and she’d given him this spunky, I-win sort of grin that made him even madder, so he turned his back to her.

      Seconds later, Cole was kissing the snow again. This time, his brothers broke into laughter. That alone was enough to force Cole into action. Sputtering, he flew to his feet and let his snowball fly. She staggered backward when it smacked her on the chin, but stayed upright. He expected her to stomp her feet and throw a hissy feet, to run to the safety of her car and burst into tears to whomever sat inside.

      But she didn’t. She smiled broadly, and in almost slow motion, pulled another snowball from behind her back and whipped it through the air, hitting not him, but his brother Dylan square on the chest. That had been the start of their friendship.

      For