“I’m fine.”
“Mhm.” She hung up her coat, shook snow from her hat and hair, and slid onto a stool by the counter. “Your look says otherwise.”
I frowned. “What does that even mean?”
“You’re stiff and weird and keep staring at me.”
“I do not.”
She just stared at me in that way she had, amused, patient, completely unconvinced.
I busied myself with stacking plates. “How’s your day off going?”
“Oh, you know. Quiet trip to the supermarket, bit of Christmas shopping, overheard my entire future lined up for me by the town council.”
I paused. “The what now?”
She leaned in, eyes bright. “You’ll never guess what I heard in the cereal aisle.”
“I don’t want to know,” I muttered, which of course meant she was absolutely going to tell me.
“So there I am, minding my business, deciding between bran and something that actually tastes like food, and who do I hear but the over-sixties committee.”
I groaned softly. “Not the knitting group.”
“Oh, the knitting group,” she said, clearly delighted. “And apparently, they had front-row seats at Winter Wonderland last night.”
My stomach did a small, traitorous flip. “And?”
“And…” she said, lowering her voice dramatically, “according to them, there was ‘that city boy’ and ‘our Brianna Hart’ looking very cosy on the ice.”
My jaw dropped. “We were not–I nearly fell!”
“Uh-huh,” Ivy said, resting her chin on her hand. “Apparently, he caught you. Very romantically. In his arms. Under the lights. With the snow. Honestly, I’m offended that I missed it.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “They’re exaggerating.”
“Probably,” she allowed. “But then Mrs. MacLeary chimed in and said she saw you two walking back through the square. And then—” She paused for effect. “One of the ladies from the post office said she spotted him in McFarlane’s Clothing this morning.”
That made me blink. “McFarlane’s?”
“The place with the overpriced jumpers and thermal socks,” Ivy said. “Apparently, he was buying a stack of new clothes. And…” she added, lifting a finger, “a bigger duffle bag.”
A bigger duffle bag.
My first thought was ridiculous and immediate: He’s leaving.
The next thought came just as quickly, knocking the wind out of that one: No. He wouldn’t needmoreclothes if he were leaving sooner.
“He bought more clothes?” I asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
“According to Mrs. MacLeary, yes. Jumpers, shirts, socks, the works. It looked like he was planning to be here for a while.” She tilted her head. “And yet… he didn’t stop in for lunch.”
I swallowed. “Maybe he was busy.”
“Maybe,” she agreed easily. “Or maybe someone’s been acting a little weird since last night and he picked up on it.”
“I was not acting weird,” I protested.