Heartland (True North #7) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,87

and Keith. Nobody to come over to smoke pot or have sex on my couch…”

“Aren’t you going home for Christmas?” I ask. “I thought you were from Hardwick.” That’s a Vermont town not too far from Tuxbury.

“I’ll probably stop by the parents’ place for Christmas dinner,” he says. “I’ll bring wine and make polite conversation for as long as I can stand it. My parents and I aren’t close.”

Dylan kicks a foot up onto the coffee table, nudging Rickie’s knee with his toe. “Why don’t you come to Christmas Eve at our place? It’s a big party, but casual. The food is awesome. And you can watch Chastity try to ignore me from across the room.”

I laugh because all of that is true. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through Christmas break pretending Dylan and I are just friends. It’s going to be awkward.

“That does sound like fun,” Rickie says. “Will your sister be there?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Of course she will. Although that’s not really a selling point.”

“Says you.”

“Please. If Festivus was a real holiday, it would be Daphne’s favorite. The airing of grievances is right up her alley.”

Rickie grins. “She and I have a lot in common, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Dylan agrees. “Although I enjoy your brand of cynicism more than hers. You throw better parties and you rarely pinch me.”

Rickie sips his coffee. “I might take you up on Christmas Eve.”

“Stay over,” Dylan says. “It’s closer to Hardwick, anyway.”

“I’m not an easy guest,” Rickie says slowly. “You guys might not have room.”

“Sure we do,” Dylan argues. “I’ve got you covered.” They exchange a glance that has more layers of meaning.

But I don’t ask, because it’s none of my business. I respect secrets, because I’ve had plenty.

“All right, then,” Rickie says. “I’ll bring the wine. And I’ll even help you guys box up caramels if you need me to.”

“No need,” Dylan says, passing me the giant cappuccino again. “We’ll be retired candymakers by then. In fact, we’re going to run out of goat’s milk this weekend. After one more set of deliveries, we’ll close up shop.”

None of this is news to me, but my heart gives an unhappy squeeze anyway. There’s no getting around it. Jacquie and Jill are out of commission until they have their kids in the springtime.

On the positive side, the vendors’ payments are piling up in Leah’s bank account. I’ll have enough money to buy my books and a cheap computer, too. Nannygoat’s Candies was a resounding success, even if I’ll never be ready to give it up.

Or Dylan, either. But I doubt I’ll have a choice.

That evening I’m in my room, writing my very last composition essay. The professor loves my stuff these days. On the last one he wrote: This is so raw and beautiful. Great expression! It stuns me to receive praise for all the scary ideas in my head.

The class doesn’t have a final exam, either, which means my only tests will be in Spanish, my small-business econ class, and algebra.

Totally doable. My first round of finals is still scary, but I feel like I can make it through my first semester of college without failing anything.

When I get up to get a drink of water, I find Kaitlyn standing in our bathroom, using the mirror to touch up her lipstick.

“Oops, sorry,” I murmur, even though I have every right to be here.

She glances at me, but I don’t get the scowl I’m so accustomed to. “You can have the bathroom. I’m just going.” She drops the lipstick into her purse. She also grabs her toothbrush and a contact lens case and drops those in, too. Then she glances at me. “I’m out of here for the night. So I guess you don’t have to make yourself scarce.”

“New boyfriend?” I ask a little too hopefully.

“Something like that,” she says. “He’s a hockey player. Hands off, okay?”

“Jeez, Kaitlyn.” I let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not—Dylan and I were friends for a long time before, you know?” I can’t stop talking, because I feel strangely guilty about Kaitlyn these days.

“Actually, I was kidding.” She gives me a smirk. “Dylan always had a weak spot for you. And lord knows you’re a goner for him.”

I swallow hard.

“But when he moves on, you’ll have to go looking for your own hockey player, you know? I don’t envy you. It’s hard being the person who’s more in love.” She snaps her bag closed and shoulders the strap. “I prefer things the