Page 33 of The Christmas Dash

I’ve been placed firmly in the friend zone. I should be happy about that. It’s closer to her than I thought I’d get.

A boyfriend wouldn’t be the worst.

Her offhanded comment plays on a loop in my brain, like a song lyric I can’t get out of my head. Was she stating a fact? Issuing an invitation? Making conversation with a friend? I can’t be sure.

I walk over to the tables where the s’mores fixings are set up in a delicious-looking display. Free-standing, aboveground firepits dot the town green. The flames in each are surrounded by crushed granite pebbles. The town must’ve spent a fortune on them.

I grab a roasting stick and assess my options for marshmallow toppings.

“Ten outta ten would recommend the peanut butter cups.”

I turn to find Wallace standing to my left.

He points to a glass jar, and I see the little table tent in front of it noting the contents of the container.

“Alright. I’ll give it a try.” I scoop a couple cups out. “Thanks.”

Wallace waits for me to be done with the scoop before adding some to his own plate. “You here with Beth tonight?”

“Not intentionally. I ran into her on the walk over.” I add some white chocolate–covered pretzels to my plate. “Why?”

“Just keeping tabs on town happenings.”

“Ah.” I keep one eye on Wallace as he adds licorice to his plate. “For the paper? Thanks, by the way, for shutting down that weird autograph comment.”

After meeting Wallace at the café this morning, I went home and followed the Dasher Daily Download in time to see Wallace’s update on the Dash—and the comment section.

“Oh, for sure, man. I run a high-class establishment. The paper is the picture of integrity. You can trust me.”

It’s hard for me to know if this is Wallace’s schtick or if he’s being sincere. He’s goofy, but there’s an underlying earnestness to him that has me smiling and nodding.

“Appreciate that, Wallace.”

He goes back for several graham crackers, taking pairs of honey grahams and cinnamon grahams in equal measure.

“So you and Beth seem . . . close?” His voice raises in question.

“We’re friends, yeah.”

“Just friends?”

“Uh-huh,” I grumble.

“Interesting.” He’s silent for a beat and adds, “As her friend, any idea what a guy’s gotta do to get a date with a woman like her?”

I focus on retrieving my own graham crackers, just the honey grahams for me, and reach for a couple marshmallows as I consider my response.

“Why are you asking me?”

I try to hide my annoyance at the guy’s approach. If he wants to date Beth, he should be talking to her, not to me. Man up, Wallace. But then I catch myself. I’m no better. I’ve been burying my feelings for Beth for literal years. I’ve got a reason for it, sure, but still.

I sigh. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just not sure how I can help you.”

“If you’re her friend and you two go way back, you’ve got to have some insider info for me. What does she like? What will impress her? All I get out of her is work-related intel.”

We cross to an open firepit, and I’m at a loss. I have no clue if Beth is at all interested in Wallace. I didn’t get that vibe this morning, but I could be wrong. She did just tell me that a boyfriend for Christmas wouldn’t be the worst, so maybe he has more of a chance than I’m giving him credit for.

“She has been real busy lately.” I skewer a marshmallow with my roasting stick and settle it over the flame. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to tell you. Maybe give her until after Christmas and then just talk to her? Ask her out. She’ll be honest with you.”