The Holiday Swap(8)

Needles of worry jabbed at the edges of her mind as she put on her parka and boots, locking the bakery’s door behind her. I’m on my way she texted Brett, her resolve lengthening her stride as she headed toward his place. She had suggested they meet there because meeting at a restaurant in town, as Brett had suggested, would mean prying eyes. It needed to be a private moment, and it was only fair to Brett to give him time to process. Cass wasn’t ready to talk about this yet with anyone except her sister; even her parents still thought things were going along with Brett just fine.

Her phone notification pinged almost immediately.

I’m running a bit late at this open house, just cleaning up. Meet me here? 24 Ridge Street. See you soon! xo

Cass ignored the sick feeling his upbeat tone and the “xo” at the end of his text ignited in her stomach. That was just Brett. He signed all of his messages with “xo’s.” He was friendly and effusive, which worked well for his real estate business—and had attracted her as a teenager, when most of the other guys she knew were speaking in monosyllables.

Cass and Brett had become good friends in high school, when they discovered during a school trip to a nearby ski resort that they both had an affinity for snowboarding. They got to chatting on the ski lift that afternoon about how the female sports teams at their school didn’t get even a quarter as much attention and funding as the male teams did. Brett had later helped her fundraise for the girls’ high school basketball team jerseys. They had kept it platonic for a while, and then drifted into becoming a couple when all their friends started pairing off. She could barely recall when they’d made it official.

Now, more than a decade on, being with Brett had become the easy, safe option—which for a time had suited Cass just fine. They had maintained a long-distance relationship when she went away to college and he stayed close to home and got his Realtor’s certificate. He had suggested moving in together once she graduated, but she had wanted time to save up for a house and focus on her goal of one day running her family’s bakery. Then he had started talking marriage—and Cass had waited to feel what she knew you were supposed to at the prospect of spending a lifetime with someone: excited, in love. Instead, she realized she had fallen out of love with him at some point along the way. When Brett proposed, she should have said she couldn’t marry him—even if every single person in town expected it.

But she hadn’t. She had stalled, asking him for time to think. And her time was up.

As she marched toward the open-house address, Cass tried to tell herself that Brett would feel as certain as she did that marriage was not the right path for them. That they had outgrown each other. This would simply be a fast ripping off of the bandage.

Cass had reached the house, a Victorian set back from the street, its butter yellow–painted brick facade luminous in the dark thanks to the twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around the porch’s railing and lining the eaves. There was a small but beautifully decorated pine tree on the front porch, no doubt a Brett addition for the open house.

She climbed the steps, but when she knocked on the door she found it slightly open. Inside, what struck Cass first was that she didn’t smell Brett’s signature chocolate chip cookies—which were from a slice-and-bake package even though he told people he made them “from scratch”—that accompanied every one of his open houses.

But she did smell something: simmering garlic, roasting tomatoes, and fresh basil. What was he doing making his marinara sauce? It was Brett’s one reliable dinner, and he had made it for Cass for every special occasion in their relationship.

“Hello?” she called out.

“Hey, hon, I’m in the kitchen. Come on through. Don’t forget to take off your shoes.”

“Already did,” she replied. The way he called her “hon” made her stomach wiggle in an unpleasant way. This was going to be harder than she thought. He had been in her life a long time, and they had helped each other through a lot—including the loss of her beloved grandparents, both from illness in the same year. She had to get this right.

The anxious feeling only increased as she passed through the hallway into the kitchen. The table was set with already-lit candles, and the lights had been dimmed to what Brett would call a “romantic level.” There were wineglasses and an open wine bottle in the middle of the table. Her favorite red, a Barolo. There was also a fresh bouquet of peonies, which Brett knew she loved and were difficult to procure in Starlight Peak in winter, draped over one of the plates. Oh no.

“Quite the open house,” Cass managed, steadying herself with one hand on the large island countertop.

Brett grinned. “Isn’t it perfect? I knew you’d love the soapstone countertops. Look around you. This is your dream kitchen. Isn’t it?”

Cass took in the Viking stove and double oven, the vast pantry shelves and innumerable built-in cabinets. “It’s beautiful. Whoever buys it will be lucky.”

“It’s already sold,” Brett said, walking over to the table. He poured two glasses, handing one to Cass.

“Oh really? Who bought it? Anyone I know?”

“Yes. Someone you know very well.” Brett clinked his glass to hers, then said, “Me. I bought it for us.”

“Sorry?”

Brett laughed at her surprise, then jogged back to the Viking stove to give his sauce one last stir while she took a fortifying swallow of her wine. She clutched the stem of her wineglass. “This is our house. We can start over here and put all the confusion of this past month behind us.” Brett came back to where she stood and picked up his glass. “I’ve had quite a day, Cass,” he said, as if everything was now sorted. There was a time she had adored his certainty about everything, because it made it so much easier for her not to have to make tough decisions. “I had a meeting with a huge developer. They want to buy three storefronts in town and turn it into a food hall, really world class. This is going to bring Starlight Peak to the next level. They even mentioned a Makewell’s Bakery wanting to move in—”