locals, on the other hand, fell somewhere in between, neither rushing nor dawdling, yet obviously focused on going home or getting to work. Typically, Cole fell into this group, especially after a long, busy day dealing with the ins and outs of managing the sporting goods store his family owned. Today, however, he wasn’t going home.
He stopped and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, breathed in a deep lungful of fresh, cold December air and took a moment to gather his bearings. Thick, fat snowflakes dropped lazily from the sky, enhancing the appearance of the perfect Christmas village. It was, he admitted, a beautiful night.
The weight didn’t lift from his shoulders, though. Nor did the anxious adrenaline pummeling through his blood abate. Hell, this year, he had more in common with the Grinch than he did with jolly ole St. Nick—and he had no one to blame but himself.
He’d waited too long to act on his feelings, and while there were reasons for his slow-footed approach—valid reasons, dammit—too long was, at the end of the day, still too long. And now, Rachel Merriday might have gone and fallen in love with someone else.
So yup, the merry had been sucked clean out of Cole’s Christmas.
Ironic, really, at the timing. For months, he’d thought about Rachel’s visit, about how he was finally going to broach the “taboo” topic and put their past behind them. So maybe, just maybe, they could return to what they were beginning to share before the accident that had changed everything.
Four years ago—had it really been that long?—his entire future looked bright. His career in downhill skiing was speeding along, his relationship with Rachel was starting to turn the corner from the friendship they’d always had to something more—something deeper. One fall—one disastrous fall—had ended not only his career, but the aftereffects had sent Rachel running.
Shouldn’t have been a surprise. Rachel’s first instinct when anything skewed off-balance was to get the hell out of Dodge. Hadn’t he seen her bolt time and time again throughout the years? Yep, he sure as hell had. Just not with him. So when she had, that bit in hard. Real hard.
Unfair, perhaps. He still didn’t know exactly why Rachel hadn’t stayed, hadn’t stuck with him when his world shredded apart. Oh, she’d called. Sent care packages and notes of encouragement, but she hadn’t been physically present throughout his year of rehab, or for the time it took to get his head screwed on straight again.
In fact, she hadn’t returned to Steamboat Springs until last Christmas, when they’d somehow managed to breach the gap and reestablish their friendship in person. It had been too soon to dredge up the past—their one and only kiss and the words they’d each said the night before the accident—so he’d waited until this year. Until this Christmas.
Except, a little over a week ago, Rachel had called to inform him that she wasn’t coming to Steamboat Springs alone for the holidays. Nope. She was bringing a man with her. A man she deemed might be “the one.” Just that fast, all of Cole’s plans had disintegrated into dust.
He inhaled another breath and walked on, nodding at and greeting those on his path to the coffee shop. When he arrived at the Beanery, he paused again and glanced inside the windows, in search of a woman with long blond hair and bright blue eyes.
Nope. She wasn’t here yet.
Cole pushed open the door and was hit by a blast of heat, the scent of fresh brewed coffee, cinnamon rolls—the Beanery’s specialty—and the sound of voices mixed with more freaking Christmas music. What he wouldn’t give to hear Mick belting out “Satisfaction” or “Start Me Up,” instead of yet another rendition of “Jingle Bells.”
A few of the regulars called out to him as he took his place in line. Again, he responded to each with a nod and a smile but didn’t initiate further conversation. Rachel would be here soon, and Cole needed every minute between now and then to prepare himself.
The line moved slowly, as Lola—the owner of the Beanery—chatted with each and every customer as if they were her best friend. Beyond the cinnamon rolls, the warmth and camaraderie Lola offered was a large reason why the Beanery was always chock-full of people, even during the few months of the year the town wasn’t overrun by tourists.
Usually, Cole enjoyed talking with Lola as much as he enjoyed her cinnamon rolls, but today all he wanted was to get his coffee and escape to an empty table. Preferably one with an unobstructed view of Lincoln Avenue, where he could wait in relative peace for Rachel and “the one,” and catch a quick glimpse of them before they saw him.
Body language often told the truth about the state of a couple’s relationship. Cole was hoping to see a mile-wide distance that would negate the possibility that “the one”—otherwise known as Andrew Redgrave—might be raring up to propose.
Frankly, the thought made Cole sick to his stomach. Yeah, he’d waited too long to speak his peace, and now—well, now he might lose Rachel before he—they—ever really had a chance.
“What will it be today, Cole? Your normal black coffee and a cinnamon roll?” Lola’s chipper, somewhat twangy voice interrupted his thoughts. “Or are you in the mood for something fancier for once? Maybe a peppermint mocha or an eggnog latte?”
“Coffee is supposed to taste like coffee, not peppermint or eggnog,” he pointed out, taking in the snowmen dangling from her earlobes, the oversize Santa hat pinned to her bottled-red hair and the blinking, multi-colored necklace of lights she wore. He grinned. Lola was a character, no doubt about it. “Just the coffee today, I think. Had a late lunch.”
Squinting in surprise, Lola grabbed one of the Beanery’s bright orange mugs. “Never known you to say no to one of my cinnamon rolls, late lunch or not. You feeling okay?”
“Yup, just not hungry,” Cole said quickly. “You know how it is this time of year.”
Curiosity lit Lola’s gaze, but she nodded and poured his coffee. Cole bit his lip to stop himself from over-explaining. Lola was one of his mother’s best friends, and if she suspected anything was amiss, she’d be on the phone to Margaret Foster in the blink of an eye. In another blink, his mother, father, brothers and sister would descend—each determined to discover what the problem was so they could go about rectifying it. Whether Cole wanted their help or not.
“Here you go.” Lola slid his coffee across the counter, along with a wrapped-to-go cinnamon roll. “For later, when you’re hungry again. My treat.”
“Thanks.” Arguing, Cole knew, would be pointless. He handed her a few bills to cover the cost of the coffee. “I’ll save it for breakfast.”
“Your mom was in earlier today,” Lola said as she rang up the purchase. “She’s ordered several dozen of these for Christmas Eve. I hear you have family coming in for the holidays?”
“Yup. The entire Oregon side of the family, babies included.” All three of his Foster cousins were now settled down and, from what his mother had said, blissfully happy. Good for them. “Thanks again, Lola.”
After dropping a handful of change into the tip jar, Cole made his way—finally—to a table. Ten minutes, more or less, until he saw Rachel. And Andrew, of course. He couldn’t forget about Andrew, though he’d tried his damnedest to do just that.
Rachel had sent him a text when her plane had landed. That had been a little after noon, so she and Andrew had been in Steamboat Springs for about six hours. Her parents weren’t in town at the moment, which meant that Rachel and “the
