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Benjamin nodded. “Smart. No sense in big dreams if you can’t pull your little dreams off first.”

Exactly. That had to mean I’d done the right thing on giving in to Lorna on the festival. Like he said, saving the café and the town had to come before getting absolutely everything about the festival right.

I wasn’t going to say that to him, though. I’d just assume.

“What are your big dreams?” Bev asked. “Say the sky’s the limit. Would you want to be a Starbucks one day? With franchises all over the world?”

I blinked and stuffed a bite of bagel into my mouth so I’d have a moment to think. I’d entertained thoughts of becoming a big CEO one day, sure. Hasn’t everyone? Flying on the private jet, shuttling from beachside estate to mountain estate to city penthouse, sitting at the end of a big shiny wooden table surrounded by people looking at me with respect. The trappings sounded fun. The other aspects of the job—a grinding work schedule, constant travel, schmoozing all the time—less so.

I swallowed the bagel lump. “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “I mean, if some big investor came to me and was like, let me help you spread your brand all over the country, I imagine it would be hard to turn down. And it could be cool to have a few locations where I could try out experimental things or cater to different crowds. But I’m pretty happy where I am.”

Cold fear clutched my chest at the thought of losing it. I hurried on to fill the space. “I like being my own boss and I like the town and I like getting to do my own thing when it comes to the menu. It would be nice to have a few employees so I don’t have to be there all the time.” And maybe live in a house or nice apartment instead of the shitty rental above the shop, because I liked the smell of coffee but didn’t love marinating in it twenty-four seven. And not have to stress about going under all the time, but I’d already told them enough. I didn’t have to share my greatest worry. “But otherwise it’s all pretty good. I think I could be happy there for a while.”

“That’s really lovely,” Bev said. “Of course, I would have preferred it if you said, ‘I want to open a café on the Upper West Side and move back here soon,’ but I’m glad you’re happy.”

Behind her, Seth rolled his eyes at me. I bit back a smile. “Maybe one day. Rent is very expensive around here.” If rent wasn’t so expensive? I don’t know, I could almost see it. They’d been so good to me, it didn’t sound all that bad to have Bev show up at the café every morning for a free coffee she protested against but never actually paid for, bullying all her friends and neighbors to make it their regular spot, Seth’s friends showing up for open-mic nights and poetry readings and whatever else happened at artsy coffee shops in New York City. Me brewing up increasingly ridiculous and colorful sweet coffees for Seth to try. Unicorn lattes with sprinkles and peaked whipped cream horns. Chocolate-chocolate-chip mochas with lumps of half-melted Hershey’s bars floating in them.

There I was, thinking of this as a real relationship again. My smile disappeared. A headache tingled at my temples. This wasn’t real, and it was important for me to remember that.

With such small, trite topics as our hopes and dreams for the future dispatched, the conversation turned toward last night. “What did you think of Seth’s friends?” Bev asked. “I’ve always thought Dan needs to shave. Much like Seth here, but I won’t say anything about that.”

“You kind of did just say something about that,” said Seth.

“I like Seth’s beard,” I said, and now that I’d done my supportive fake girlfriend job, why not poke at him a little? “At least, as long as he keeps it groomed. Sometimes his mustache grows over his lips and it feels like kissing a Christmas tree.”

“An oddly specific description,” Seth said, meeting my eyes. I flushed, my own eyes dropping to my lap, because I could tell exactly what he was thinking. How much time have you put into thinking about what it would feel like to kiss me?

Quick, Abby, change the subject. “Anyway, what were we talking about? Seth’s friends?” I swallowed hard, raising my head, and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead as if I didn’t still feel Seth’s eyes hot on my cheek. “I liked them. Everyone was really welcoming.” For a moment I was back there in the glow of last night, everybody laughing around the table as they stumbled through the Hanukkah blessings, the lightbulbs of the cheap menorah shimmering in my vision until they looked almost like real flames. “And even the non-Jewish ones were excited about lighting the Hanukkah candles. It made me realize how much I’ve…”

I trailed off, because the end of that sentence would have exposed a soft part inside of me I wasn’t sure I wanted to put out there. It made me realize how much I’ve missed this. “This” being a stand-in for a whole bunch of different things. The community. The lights. The feelings.

“I have an idea for later,” Seth said abruptly.

“Oh, for all of us?” said Bev.

“No, just for me and Abby,” he replied. She didn’t even look deflated, as if that was the answer she’d wanted.

My turn to ask a question. “What is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you or else you’ll probably refuse to go.”

“Well, that’s one way of selling it,” I said.

“Just trust me,” Seth said, and god help me, I did.

13

I realized that trust in Seth was entirely misplaced when he told me we were going to a stand-up comedy night. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell me until we were outside the building, which made it a lot harder for me to run away. “No way, no, no, hell no,” I told him, having to raise my voice to be heard above the music thrumming all down this street of restaurants and clubs and the chatter of the crowds spilling through their doors. “Stand-up comedy is the worst. Nobody is funny, but you feel like you have to laugh or they look at you with those big sad eyes and it’s so awkward.”

“How much experience do you have with stand-up comics?” Seth asked, then his eyes widened. “Let me guess: you’re a former stand-up comic. Performing to night after night of snarky crowds is what embittered you on life.”

I snorted. “I couldn’t think of anything less appealing than getting up in front of a crowd and trying to make them laugh.”

That hadn’t been the case for Connor, though. Before moving up to Vermont, he’d tried his hand at multiple comedy clubs. As his girlfriend, I was always expected to sit up front and laugh heartily every time he paused, which, honestly, should have been the first sign that we weren’t compatible. I’d never been good at faking laughter. One time he told me it looked like I was being electrocuted, and I’d never been able to get that out of my head, so I’d just stopped trying.

“This one will be different,” Seth said, opening the door and gesturing me inside with a bow that was almost courtly. I eyed the dark entryway with unease. “And if I’m wrong and you hate it after fifteen minutes, we’ll leave.”

“You promise?”