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He didn’t have to spell it out for me to understand what he meant.

That if we did have sex, I’d still be able to feel the aftereffects of him being inside me even hours later.

There’s a traitorous part of me that would love nothing more than to know what that would be like.

Which is precisely why avoiding him is the smartest thing to do.

The aroma of coffee and sugar surrounds me as I look out the front window of Bean & Bloom, admiring all the people walking through historic downtown Sycamore Falls on a Tuesday morning. After being gone for so long, I’d forgotten just how charming this place can be during Christmas. Who knows? Maybe that Christmas magic can help me figure out a plan for my future. Figure out who I am outside of Wyatt Patterson’s wife.

I bring my coffee to my lips and take a sip just as my phone buzzes on the table. I glance at the screen, smiling when I see Hilde’s name.

I hit the answer button but don’t have a chance to say a single word in greeting before she starts talking.

“Whenever you talked about where you grew up, it sounded cute, but I didn’t realize how stinking adorable it really is. My God. It’s like I stepped into a Christmas card.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sycamore Falls. It’s so charming I almost want to puke.”

“Wait. You’re…here?” I sit up straighter, glancing back out the window. All I see is a sea of dark winter jackets and festive scarves.

“I am. As long as the Sycamore Falls you grew up in looks like Santa ejaculated Christmas cheer all over the place.”

I burst out laughing. Only Hilde could find a way to use the words Santa and ejaculated in the same sentence.

“Where are you?” I jump to my feet and sling my purse over my shoulder, almost knocking over a display of gingerbread cookies as I hurry out of the coffee shop.

“Main Street.”

I scan the crowded sidewalk, not immediately spotting her. “Where on Main Street?”

“There’s a bakery with a woman wearing an elf hat behind the counter.”

“That’s not helpful. There are a few bakeries. And I can guarantee they all have someone in an elf or Santa hat behind the counter.”

I move through the people milling about on the sidewalk, searching for my friend. Then I spot her.

It’s not hard.

Hilde stands out even in Manhattan.

But in Sycamore Falls, she looks like one of the Real Housewives wandered onto the set of a Hallmark movie by mistake.

Especially when she’s wearing skintight jeans, a low-cut black top, a long camel-colored coat, and four-inch heels most people wouldn’t dare to walk in on these cobblestone sidewalks.

Her auburn hair is blown out to perfection, a pair of designer sunglasses perched on top of her head. And her cleavage is on full display, courtesy of the boobs she bought herself as a divorce present.

“Hilde!” I wave at her from across the street.

“There’s my hot piece of ass!” She darts across Main Street, not bothering to check for traffic first.

She doesn’t have to. Traffic always stops for Hilde.

And it does today, too, everyone watching her run in heels.

But Hilde doesn’t notice. Or, more accurately, she doesn’t give a shit. Not much bothers her. What I wouldn’t give to have her confidence.

“It’s so stinking good to see you,” she says when she reaches me, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.