The Cozy isn’t open yet, but I attempt a casual glance as we pass. It’s dark inside, but I can still see that it lives up to its name. The walls are lined with shelves and I can see some overstuffed chairs placed in duos around the store.

“We’ll come back,” Gabe says.

He takes me to a coffee shop that flips its sign to OPEN just as we walk up.

“Morning, Violet,” Gabe says.

“Hi, honey,” the woman behind the counter says. “Your usual?”

“Can you add an extra croissant to my order?” he asks. “And whatever drink Chani wants.”

Violet waits patiently while I look at the menu.

“Earl Grey tea, please,” I say.

“Earl Grey, hot,” Gabe says.

He can still do a British accent.

I smile down at my hands.

We take our drinks and our croissants and continue our walk. The pastry is buttery and I let Teddy lick my fingers when I’m done. Her tongue is wide and flat like a cow’s.

We pass a hardware store with bright Christmas lights decorating the doorway. The tea warms my throat and coats the inside of my chest. There’s a toy store next to a jewelry store. They’re both decked out for the holidays. Well. One holiday.

“Any Jews in Cooper?” I ask.

“I think you’re the only one at the moment,” Gabe says.

All the lights I see are red and green, poinsettia garlands and mistletoe hanging in windows. Lots of baby Jesuses in their mangers.

“Hmm,” I say.

“There’s a synagogue in Myrna,” Gabe says. “About thirty minutes from here.”

“Hmm,” I say.

“I love this town.”

He says it like it’s the start of something more, so I turn toward him.

“I love this town,” he says again. “But I bought the house in L.A. because I don’t want to live here all the time. Especially when the smallness of the place is too much, in too many ways.”

He’s telling me something without actually saying it.

I’m not in any rush.

There’s an enormous Christmas tree at the end of the block, where the road is closed off to cars and the pavement turns to cobblestones. It’s very beautiful. We stand in front of it for a while. Teddy sniffs the branches that extend outward.

“Does she live here all the time?” I ask, thinking of how his Laurel Canyon house didn’t have any dog supplies.

“Naw,” Gabe says.

He’s kneeling and scratching her impressive neck ruff.

“I usually drive to L.A. or vice versa,” he says. “Load her in the car and we just cruise down the Fifteen. She likes to stick her head out of the window. Even in the winter.”

Teddy sits on my foot.

“I divide my time pretty evenly between here and L.A.,” Gabe says. “I do miss seasons.”

“It does seem like Montana delivers on that end.”

“It does. Makes up for other things.” He gestures. “A lack of synagogues and the like.”