The Mills & Boon Christmas Wishes Collection. Maisey Yates

bar was quiet, with only some soft notes drifting from the jukebox. I could easily have been a teenager again, just by swapping the bar scene for the diner down the road. It felt good to be back with my friends, knowing they hadn’t changed. They were still the same big-hearted people… but I missed New York and I missed my old life. Part of me thought that would all become a distant memory as Evergreen swallowed me up. And I’d be all right with that, wouldn’t I? Like Micah said, I wasn’t taking a step back coming home, was I?

      “Yep, our names are still carved on the trunk of the chestnut tree near the lake. First crushes, the stuff of legend.”

      “First love, don’t you mean?” he said, his eyes twinkling. He was giving me the green light – I could read him like a book, but coming home didn’t mean repeating the same old patterns. Not in this, anyway.

      “It was a first, for sure,” I said, remembering he had married Melanie practically five minutes after I left town. Melanie of all people! Had he broken up with me for her? Had he lied, all those years ago? I supposed it didn’t matter now. But in some deep recess of my heart it stung a little, still. “We were so young.”

      Micah shot me a look, one I recognized so well – do you need to be rescued? He always had my back, and could read my nervous tics that no one else even noticed. I shook my head almost imperceptibly.

      “Sherri, how’s the writing going? Should I be stocking up the library room at Cedarwood with your novels?”

      She flashed me a grin. “Well, at the moment I’m busy wallpapering my bathroom with rejection letters, but as soon as I get The Call I’ll let you know, and you can stockpile my novels for your guests.”

      I laughed. A wall full of rejection letters: a nice, healthy, passive-aggressive way of dealing with the failure of something she’d obviously been working so hard for. “Are you still writing fantasy novels?”

      She shook her head. “Nope, I’m writing romance. Bennie seems to think I base every hero on him, and wants to know if we should ‘practice’…” She made air quotes. “…For a scene. The poor fool he is. My heroes would never let their wives do the midnight feed…”

      We all laughed, and Bennie said, “What? I’m being a supportive husband!”

      “Yeah, sure you are,” she laughed. I’ve just had a revise and resubmit, so fingers crossed my latest heaving bosoms bonkbuster gets a yes. Isn’t that what you call my novels, Bennie?”

      “I can’t win,” he grinned.

      Later that night, with sore cheeks from laughter, we said our goodbyes with promises to catch up the following week. I was buzzing from the night and tipsy enough to know I’d sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow – with or without midnight yoga.

      Inside Micah’s car, with the heat blasting, I tried to make sense of my roiling emotions. Being home and seeing my old friends was like slotting back into a cozy pair of jeans. A comfy fit, tried and true. But that feeling of failure still haunted me. It was like part of me thought I had given up without a fight in New York, and that I’d regret it for ever. All those years of hard work, to end up back where I started.

      “Timothy couldn’t take his eyes off you,” Micah said.

      “I know, I felt it like a laser beam.” Sure, my heart had skipped a beat seeing him and my pulse had jangled, but was it because of Timothy or because I was back with people I hadn’t seen in so long, who made me feel good about myself?

      “It was so good to see them. I’d never have guessed Ben and Sherri would have married!” I laughed, happy to be in the warmth of the car with my best friend.

      “I wrote you about it. But you mustn’t have got the letter. You were invited to their wedding.” The words hung in the air.

      Shame colored me scarlet. I remembered getting letters from Micah and putting them aside to read later, but later had never come; there had always been somewhere to be, someplace to get ready for. “I’m sorry, Micah. I should have made more time. I don’t know what happened to me when I left. It was like I had blinkers on.”

      “Happens to the best of us,” he shrugged. “You can’t live in two worlds at the same time. We understood.”

      “I wish I’d been at their wedding.” How could I have switched off friendships that meant a lot to me? In the early days they’d made efforts to stay in contact but I’d snubbed them, always excusing my behavior as a side effect of my job.

      Stars twinkled overhead as we drove back to the lodge. The closer we got, the more I felt I was returning home, not in the literal sense – obviously the lodge was my actual home – but more in the sense that I was returning to where I was always meant to be. The thought was a comfort.

      “It was a small wedding held at her parents’ farm,” Micah recalled. “They’d been strapped for cash because of his knee surgeries, but Ben insisted on getting married then and there despite their lack of funds. I did wonder at the time if Sherri was happy with such rushed nuptials. Doesn’t every bride want all the bells and whistles?”

      “Not always. I bet it was perfect. Hey, why didn’t you invite Isla tonight?”

      He tutted. “I was going to but then I thought about her sitting to one side not getting the jokes, or the references to our high-school days, and thought I’d rather save her from that.”

      “Yeah, good point.”

      “But she was a little standoffish, so I really don’t know. I’m just going to keep my distance and see…”

      Micah was such a gentle soul he’d never push a point with someone, but surely he could approach her and ask? “Why don’t you talk to her about it?” I wanted to shake them both. I thought after the fire they’d jumped down the rabbit hole together and it would all fall into place.

      He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

      “But it is! You adore her.”

      With a long sigh he said, “Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

       Chapter Twelve

      With just over a week until the party, things were looking grim at Cedarwood. Autumnal rains had made work slower, especially in the garden. Everyone had worked double time, pulling together, and they were bone-weary. The ballroom ceiling was still bare, replacement chandeliers hadn’t arrived – they were lost in transit – and the overall feeling was of hopelessness. We’d got to the point of sheer exhaustion, despite our very best efforts. Instead, I worked on plan B, which was hosting the party in the lobby. It wouldn’t have the grand exit to the deck, which we’d planned to string up with fairy lights, but it was still a beautiful space, and I could decorate it enough to pass muster.

      Gripping my coffee mug tight, I went outside, hoping the view of the mountains would cheer me up, so I could try and rally the troops, and spur them on when they arrived.

      My cellphone buzzed. Amory.

      “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked. Amory would be walking to work, sipping takeaway coffee from Starbucks, newspapers bundled under her arm.

      “Clio, darling. Now don’t be alarmed.”

      “Oh, this sounds ominous.”

      “There’s an article in today’s paper saying Flirty McFlirtison is considering suing you. I’m sure it’s just an attempt to scare you into hiding further in the middle of nowhere to keep you quiet, but I thought you should know.”

      “What? They can’t sue me? What for?” My heart raced so fast I thought my chest would explode. Could she sue me? Take Cedarwood?

      “For damages. For the cost of the wedding and all the accoutrements.”

      “What?