Reagan sat on her grandpa’s deck, at the other end. Mason took off his mask and smiled over at her. She’d been a little hard on his chin before—it was present. He had a square face. Narrow eyes. Lips that didn’t quite close over his smile. He looked like a chipmunk. She definitely would have pointed that out in high school; he was right to steer clear of her.

He was already taking a bite. “That’s the stuff,” he said.

Reagan took off her mask. She always had room for Jell-O salad.

“Is that pineapple?” he asked.

“Yeah. Pineapple, pecans and cream cheese.”

“And marshmallows.”

“You’ve got quite a palate over there,” she said.

“My grandma used to make this.”

“Mine, too.”

“God.” He was grinning at the bowl. “This stuff is like a time machine.”

Reagan was smiling at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

“She used to make the other one, too. With the um . . .” He squinted and snapped his fingers. “Pretzels.”

“With raspberry Jell-O.”

He pointed at her. “Yes!”

Reagan shook her head like he was being stupid, but she was laughing.

“I love that one,” Mason said, taking another bite. “My mom never makes anything like this. She says my grandma cooked everything with packets of Jell-O and cans of soup.”

“We used to give my grandma such a hard time,” Reagan said. “It cracked us up that she called this a salad. ‘You kids want some more salad?’”

Mason laughed.

“I couldn’t imagine Christmas without it,” she said.

He looked up at her, still smiling. He tipped his head a little.

Reagan looked away. “So do you still have friends around here?”

“Oh . . . ,” he said, “you know.”

“Not really.”

“Some of the people from high school are still here. But I see them more on Facebook than anywhere else. I’m not exactly hanging out at the Co-op.”

“I guess not,” Reagan said.

“What about you? You still have friends in Arnold?”

“I’m not sure I ever had friends in Arnold.”

He waved his hand, dismissing her. “You can’t lie to me about that—I remember you and your friends. I always thought you were going to marry Levi Stewart.”

Reagan curled her top lip. “Why’d you think that?”

“Everyone thought that.”

“Not me.”

He pulled his head back. “That’s harsh.”

“Pfft. Levi’s fine. He’s got a wife and three kids and fifty bison.” She still talked to Levi once a week, even though they broke up in college. (Reagan didn’t let many people into her life—but once she’d gone to the effort, she didn’t like to let go of them.)

“Bison, huh? That sounds interesting.”

“You should friend him on Facebook, he’ll tell you all about it.”

Mason was finished with his Jell-O already. He was putting his mask back on. Reagan was sorry to see his smile go.