“Jesus. I can’t believe we both dated him,” Ayisha said with rueful dismay.

Feeling bad about bagging on Brody, I offered, “He does smell nice.”

“It’s Old Spice.”

That truly shocked me. “I thought he had some super-expensive aftershave from New York.”

“Nah. He pours Old Spice into an old bottle of Tom Ford that he stole from his dad’s trash can. I was there when he did it.”

“Huh.”

She set her red cup on the flat top of the low-rise brick fence that marked the outer perimeter of the Tuck yard. “I’m heading home now. I have a big day tomorrow at your grandmother’s Christmas Eve party and I don’t want to be tired.” She looked at me then tilted her head in the direction of her car. “You want a ride?” When I pointed at my chest, she shook her head. “You’re gonna be annoying, I can tell.”

I laughed.

Then I gave one last glance back at the Tuck front yard, where many of my old peers were gathered—from the front porch, Mia shouted at Brody to get back in before he caught pneumonia; Kimmy Bunting’s little sister was puking in some shrubs; two drunk boys I didn’t know were in the middle of shoving each other, chests puffed, soon to start fighting—and I realized I didn’t belong there.

Not anymore.

My heart ached with a kind of melancholy as I realized this, but at the same time I felt strangely at peace.

“Yeah,” I said, as I joined Ayisha. “Thanks.”

And together we left the party, right as it started to snow.

Twenty-Six

By the time Ayisha dropped me off at the inn, there was at least a half inch of white on the ground. We didn’t chat much. The snow was already too intense, which made for tricky driving and I didn’t want to distract her. Besides, we knew we’d see each other tomorrow for the party.

When I slipped in through the inn’s back door, I paused to kick the snow off my sneakers and it occurred to me in a flash that the reindeer must be thrilled with this weather development.

Naturally the thought of reindeer made me think about Arthur. Which both made me smile, because it was a dorky association, and feel a slice of sadness that he wasn’t here.

I sighed. All I wanted at that moment was a cup of peppermint tea, which was kept in the kitchen, so I headed that way. But as I got closer, I heard voices—very familiar voices—and I stopped, out of sight.

“What are you doing?” It was my mother.

“Making a sandwich.” That was my father. He sounded mildly perturbed.

“Pimento cheese, Skip? Really?” I had to side with Mom on this one.

“It’s delicious.”

“It’s made of mayonnaise.”

“Not entirely. There’s cheese. And pimentos.”