Christmas Memory
When she caught up to her friends, who’d stopped a few feet away to wait for her, Memory’s heart was thundering in her chest louder than the drums in the song that was playing—which happened to be “Little Drummer Boy.”
“He’s cute!” Rebekkah said, a smile brightening her face. “What did he say?”
“Nothing. He just handed me my bag,” Memory insisted, walking briskly toward the exit.
“Girl, slow down,” Rebekkah called after her. “Did you get his name? His number?”
“No! I just got my bag.”
“For someone named Memory, you sure leave things behind a lot,” Kathryn mumbled. Memory turned and looked at her sharply. “Sorry, sorry. He was cute, though. If he lives here in Carmel, that’s not too far from
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