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"Okay. So?" Nate says, sipping his beer. "Why do you look like Rudolph shit in your drink?"

I sigh and try to stop the image of Audrey with that man forming behind my eyes again. That and the image of a reindeer defecating in my drink. I honestly can't tell which one is more upsetting.

"I saw the woman I've been falling for standing at my family's farm while another man put a diamond ring in her hand."

Both of them go quiet.

"Ah. The fiancé returned," Aidan says, nodding. "Christmas, eh? Told you it sucks. So much drama for so little return."

"Okay, and that's enough out of Mr. Grinch over there. Plus, it's ex-fiancé," Nate corrects, then pauses. "Wait. Is he ex? What's the ring status? Did she put it back on?"

"I don't know." I shake my head. "I just saw her standing there with him and… And I just left."

"Miles," Aidan says calmly. "Did you at least stay long enough to talk to her?"

"No."

Nate blinks at me. "You just drove away? From your own farm. In her car."

I look at the whiskey. "It felt decisive at the time."

"It's technically grand theft auto with extra heartbreak," Nate says. "Very festive, but might get you on the naughty list."

Aidan leans one heavy forearm on the bar, that tattooed sleeve glowing in the light as Dylan strums through another soft song.

These guys don't get it. They've never been in love.

Then again, neither have I.

Until now.

Nate sets down his beer with the care of a man restraining himself. "Miles. I say this with love and as your teammate. If you don't snap out of this little tantrum you've got going on, I am going to smack your head on this bar."

"Nate—"

"You saw him hand her a ring. So what! You didn't see her say yes, did you? You didn't see anything except the exact worst three seconds of a conversation, and you decided that was enough to bail." He shakes his head. "You blocked a slap shot with your bare hand last week, but the moment a guy in a nice coat shows up and you fold like Baxter's gingerbread house?"

"That was our gingerbread house," I mutter.

"That's not the point and you know it."

Stanley appears in front of us and fills a glass filled with something dark red, steaming and garnished with rosemary, cranberries and enough crushed candy cane pieces to threaten several dental fillings. Whatever he poured into it smells like mulled wine decanted directly from a whiskey barrel.

"Funny thing," Stanley says to the glass he's filling. "I heard about this little confrontation at a certain tree farm this afternoon."

I look up. "It happened an hour ago, Stanley. How the hell would you know anything?"

Stanley looks offended. “Miles, my brother owns Frost Café.”

Nate glances between us. “Who’s his brother?”

“Harold Frost,” I explain. “Wild gray hair, and utterly incapable of serving coffee without explaining where the beans spent their childhood.”

Nate points at Stanley. “The weird old coffee guy? You’re related to that guy?!”

Stanley straightens his candy-cane bow tie. “Harold handles Chilmore before noon. I handle it after people realize coffee will no longer solve their problems.”

“And between you?”