After dinner and dessert — earlier today I had snagged a box of Christmas cookies from my kitchen while Brooks brought in my little tree —Brooks walks me to my car. Snow is falling, creating a wonderland around us. It’s only a few days until Christmas and there is something in the air.

It’s undeniable.

“My parents love you,” he tells me.

I smile. “Well, they did kinda give me the third degree. What was that about?”

They had asked all sorts of questions over the chili.

How long have you lived here? My whole life.

Where do you work? At the bakery with no plans on leaving.

Do you like children? If they are as adorable as Scout is, sure.

That last one got giggles from Brook’s ringleted four-year-old daughter.

“They were only curious because… well, you know.”

I shake my head. “No, why?”

Brooks lowers his face, our eyes meeting. There is a streetlamp on, casting a perfect glow over us. “Because they realize I have a crush on you.”

I swallow, scared of getting what I want. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

He cups my face with both his hands. “What would you call it?”

“Something about Christmas wishes. About miracles. About—”

He cuts me off with a kiss. A real, deep kiss. The kind of kiss that makes me swoon, weak in the knees. A kiss filled with visions of a white wedding dress trimmed in fur and a flower girl wearing a red cape. A little specific, sure, but I’ve had weddings on my mind for weeks and when Brooks’ mouth opens, when his tongue finds mine— I’m a snowflake that’s melted. I’m a snowman who has seen better days.

In his arms, I’m the best possible puddle.

“Oh, Brooks,” I say, panting as the kiss ends. I press the back of my hand to my mouth, the heat from his lips searing my skin.

“God, I like kissing you,” he says.

It’s simple and so true and it makes us laugh — the insanity of to all. Us. This. Now.

My phone begins to buzz, and my eyes widen when I see I’ve missed six calls and dozens of texts. I haven’t looked at my phone in hours.

“Shoot,” I say, scrolling through them. “The bachelorette party is starting in like an hour. I totally went MIA on everyone. Sophia is freaking out apparently.”

Brooks nods. “You’re a good friend.”

I roll my eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

We laugh again, and there is something in the words we say that is deeper than talking. It’s like he gets me.

And I get him.

“Maybe tomorrow, we can —”

“It’s the rehearsal dinner. The whole thing is going to be…”

“Exciting? Thrilling? Your best friend’s dream come true?”

“Right.” I smile tightly. “The groom’s family is coming over early tomorrow to get all the decorations from my house, and then we’re headed to the lodge to set up the wedding. It’s going to be a busy forty-eight hours.”

“Of course,” he says. “If you need a hand, call me. I’ll be there.”

“Thanks,” I say, meaning it. “I might just take you up on that. You know how we were talking about people being in our corner?”

He nods, his hand on the small of my back. “What about it?”

I drop my chin, knowing what I’m going say is the most vulnerable version of me. “Well, I want someone in mine.”

Brooks lifts my chin, his hands calloused and capable. “I want someone in mine, too.”

“Be my date to the wedding,” I say. Brooks frowns. Surprised. “Or not, I add. I mean — no pressure.”

“That’s not why I’m frowning.”

“Why then?” I ask, my belly filled with butterflies.

“Because I was thinking when we go to a wedding together, it ought to be ours.”

My eyes widen, but the words don’t shock me. “Brooks,” I say, blinking to avoid crying I front of this man I hardly know. This man I want to know everything about.

“No pressure,” he says with a chuckle. “Of course, I’ll be your date. To the rehearsal dinner, and the wedding.”

I nod as he opens my car door. “Are we really happening? Like is this…. a thing?”

“No,” he says firmly. “That’s not what this is called.”

“It isn’t?”

“Noelle, this isn’t any old thing. This is the thing.”

I bite my lip, shaking my head. “Yesterday you told me your life was in Seattle.”

“Maybe I was wrong. Scout loves it here. This is where her family is. And in the end, isn’t that all we have? And I love it here. Turns out, I love … everything about this place. Everything.”

His words catch me off guard … even though they are the exact ones I want to hear. “You’re insane.

“I think you’re right about that.” He grins, and it reaches his eyes. So bright and beautiful, seeing straight to my heart. “Be safe tonight, and if you need a ride, call me. Please.”

“I promise,” I tell him, hating that we’re saying goodbye. But my phone starts pinging again, and I know I’m pushing my luck.

“Soon,” he tells me. “I’ll see you soon.

The bar is packed — everyone is apparently home for the holidays and avoiding their families. Tillie, Kensie and I — her Linesworth crew — are surrounded by a pack of Sophia’s sorority sisters and I’m only on a first name basis with them, we don’t have anything in common except Sophia.

When Sophia left for college, I stayed here and went to a culinary school a few towns away, working my way through school. Sophia on the other hand, moved to Seattle the first chance she got, and every time I see her, she has a new promotion and a fancier pair of heels. Her college friends seemed to have followed suit. Me? I’m a small-town girl, through and through. I like living somewhere where everyone knows my name. Where the owners of the bakery where I work have taken me under their wing. I don’t have any family, but I do have Linesworth.

Tillie carries a tray of shots to table with a massive grin, and the other bridesmaids whoop and holler in excitement.

“What are you smiling about, Tillie?” I ask, adjusting my black mini dress as I teeter on a stool. I’m trying to be present, engaged, but my mind is on Brooks and Scout. I love Sophia, but I the only place I feel like I belong, is with the two of them.

“Oh, I’m just excited to see Sophia drink this Buttery Nipple.” She hands one to Sophia, who is decked out in a little white veil and a sash that reads BRIDE TO BE.

“I don’t do shots,” she groans.

“Until now!” Kensie adds with a laugh. “Do it, do it, do it!”

We all crack up, taking our own shots from the tray and pour them back. “Oh god, sugar rush,” I say with a snort. “Though, that’s not half bad.”

“Okay, I’m getting the next round,” Kensie says, standing. Sophia asks for champagne but Kensie waves her off. “Nope, I’m getting us Snowshoe Shots.”

“This was a bad idea. I don’t do well with hard alcohol,” Sophia moans until the next round of shots arrives. Then she takes them like nobody’s business. After five, I cut her off. “Slow down, sweetheart. Don’t want you totally wrecked for tomorrow.”

She smiles wryly, then slurring she says, “Not sure I care.”

Her words bother me, but she is in no place to talk, and besides, she is already finding her way to the dance floor. The group of us follows her, laughing until she starts dancing with some guy none of us know.

“Should she be…” I say to Kensie.

Kensie shrugs. “It’s her night, isn’t it? This is better than strippers.”

“Yeah,” Tillie says. “But you can’t kiss strippers — and, um…” We turn toward Sophia and the stranger. “She is.”

They’re kissing and groping and about twelve seconds away from a dance floor dry hump nobody wants to see.

“Crap.” I move toward my oldest friend. “Sophia,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulder, not wanting her to regret anything tomorrow. “Maybe we can go get some fresh air?”

“I don’t want fresh air,” she hisses. “I want this, right here.” She turns back to the man who is twice her age and not exactly a hunk of burning love. Maybe shots were a terrible idea. No, I take that back. Since Sophia is back to kissing this guy, I am certain it was a bad idea. Nothing good can come from a night like this.

“James isn’t going to—”

Sophia pulls away from the guy, wobbling in her stilettos. “Don’t tell me about James,” she warbles. “He doesn’t care what I do, or who I do. He doesn’t even love me, Noelle.”

“That isn’t true,” I say, leading her outside, not letting go of her wrist.

“Yes, it is,” she whines. “You don’t know what he’s really like.” She crumbles against the brick wall of the building. “What I’m really like.”

I set my hands on her shoulders, needing her to focus. “That isn’t true. I know you, Soph. I know you love James.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she slurs. “I love that man in there. He was a good kisser.”

“Let’s go home. Take a shower, get some rest.”

She scowls. “No, I want to get drunk.”

“Mission accomplished,” I say, my humor long gone.

“Don’t be like that, Noelle.”

“Like what?”

“A drag.”

I’m in a tiny black dress in the freezing cold with a friend whose words feel like a slap across my cheek. “Don’t, Sophia.”

“What?” she asks, leveling herself on her heels. “Be honest?”

“You can be honest, but don’t be cruel.”

Tears fill her eyes. “You’re too good for me, Noelle. Always have been.”

The door to the bar opens and the man from the dance floor comes out. “There you are,” he says, taking her hand. “Wondered where you went off to.”

She flashes me a smile. “See? You are way better than me. Always will be too.”

The guy leads her inside and I’m left in the cold.

It’s snowing and freezing, and I feel really alone. I don’t want to go back to the party, but I don’t want to go home by myself either.

Instead, I pull out my phone. Brooks said to call if I need a ride, and right now that is exactly what I need.

But not just a ride.

I need Brooks to help get me in bed.