Perfect Snow (Seasons #1)

Chapter 10: Mr. Left Feet

Neither of us texts or calls in the two days leading up to the party. I pick up my phone a couple of times, but my pride gets the better of me. I can't be friends with her, not anymore. That ship sailed, got hijacked by pirates, blasted by the Royal Navy and sank to the bottom of the sea.

Both Preston and Felicity make me promise I will show up at the party. "It's for charity, so you should come," Preston had said. Felicity had been much more directive. "Unless you are in the ER or dead, I expect to see you there."

I reluctantly put on the only nice dress shirt I have brought to Peregrine Hollow and pull my nicest navy sweater over it. I even wear cologne. There, I've made an effort.

I'm not in a fun mood when I arrive at the lodge an hour into the party. Pop versions of Christmas songs are booming over antiquated speakers, and people of all ages are mingling in the cleared out space. There's a buffet off to one side, and the massive fireplace crackles with heat on the other. A stage is set up for the band later. It's all come nicely together, I reckon. I make my way to the bar where Preston is sitting.

"Hey! You made it!" he smiles when he sees me. "You look like you need some eggnog," he says, handing me a glass of the gooey stuff.

"Thanks," I grimace at it.

"It's spiked already. You're welcome," he says with a wink and clinks his glass to mine. His cheeks are ruddy and eyes a little glassy. Looks like I've got catching up to do. My eyes roam over the crowd briefly, and when I meet Preston's gaze again, he smirks.

"She's around," he says.

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to."

"Where's Felicity?" I say, diverting the conversation before we sail into Bermuda's triangle.

"Running around, making sure everything is perfect, preparing for the raffle," he says with a hand flourish. I catch a glimpse of her in a red dress, red lips, and hair pinned up in a chignon. Preston looks at her fondly.

"So, are you two official already?"

"I don't know. It sure feels like it, but we haven't had 'the talk' yet," he emphasizes with air quotes. "What happened to you the other day? You just ran out of here. Felicity thinks you upset Melanie," he eyes me curiously, "but something tells me it's the other way around."

I look down at my near-empty glass. I've already reached the bottom before I've even realized it. I snort, thinking how apt the metaphor is for this whole chaos with Mel.

"What happened, Rhys?"

"She wants to be friends," I say, deflated.

"Ouch," he says. "Let me get you something stronger." He pats me on the back and disappears into the storage room.

I look at all the happy, carefree faces. I really don't want to be here, and I really don't know how I'm supposed to face—

Melanie.

She emerges from the hall in a grapevine-green gown that sweeps the floor like a bell. Her red hair is curled and tumbling freely around her slender neck. Her bodice glitters, and her skin reflects the soft light of the fire like porcelain. She sees me and squares her shoulders. I quickly spin around, staring forward as if the antlers over the bar are the most fascinating thing I've ever seen. I track her movement out of the corner of my eye, watch as she checks on the buffet, makes sure guests have gotten their raffle tickets and are having a good time. She glances over several times, but I avoid meeting her gaze. If she wants to talk, she should come to me. Moments pass and I feel a delicate tap on my shoulder.