She says nothing for a moment. We just sway to the music, and I start to get nervous.

“You’re freaking me out,” I tell her, my voice low.

“Why?” She leans back, smiling up at me. “You want to know if I think you’re moving too fast? You do realize we’ve only just met.”

“We met a few days ago,” I point out.

“Barely.”

“We had a conversation.”

“For all of two minutes,” she retorts.

“I’ve been told when you know, you know,” I say.

“When you know what?” she asks, blinking up at me innocently.

She’s not innocent. There’s an amused gleam in her eyes.

“That you’ve met—the one.” My tone is solemn. My expression is serious. I mean it. I’ve never felt this attracted to a woman before.

Ever.

Her smile grows. I really like it when she does that. Her entire face brightens, and her eyes seem to almost glitter. Especially in the dim light we’re currently dancing in within this tent. “I always thought that ‘when you know, you know’ stuff was a pack of lies.”

“Love at first sight is kind of bullshit,” I say.

She laughs. Deep and full, and I savor the sound. “I agree.”

“Attraction at first sight, though…” I swing her around, making her eyes widen. “I definitely believe in it.”

I tug her closer, so her body is meshed with mine. We’re a perfect fit. “I suppose I do too…”

Deciding to go for it, I kiss her again. Right there on the dancefloor, in front of everyone. I can feel eyes on us. Curiosity rising. Questions on the tip of their tongues.

None of it matters. All I can focus on is this soft, beautiful woman in my arms.

And wonder how soon I can see her again.

Twelve

Amelia

I walk inside Sweet Dreams Bakery and Café on my lunch hour. It’s crowded with people. Mostly tourists—shoppers looking for Christmas gifts, taking a break and having a quick meal or coffee. Holiday music plays. Stella is behind the counter, mastering the ominous espresso machine that intimidates the crap out of me. She handles it like she was born to. As if it doesn’t scare her at all. I suppose it doesn’t.

We make eye contact and she waves me over to the pickup counter.

“I have our lunch order in,” she tells me, her voice rising above the din. “Kelsey and Sarah already grabbed a table for us.”

“What is this, a committee lunch?” I figured it was just Stella and I. We meet for lunch at least once a week here, since I work down the street from her family’s café.

“I might have mentioned our lunch date to the girls. Caroline can’t make it, Candice is on her honeymoon, and Eleanor is already back in Las Vegas,” Stella explains.

I’m both relieved and sad. I miss the ones who are gone. But all of my friends at one table can be—a lot. They have questions. Lots of them.