by Teri Wilson
Which is a good thing because, weirdly enough, I think I might miss him if he suddenly disappeared.
An hour later, the same cab driver who took me home last night drops me off at the train station. Back home, the front yard is a frozen tundra, the angle of the grade making it far more treacherous than the back yard. I couldn’t possibly ask my dad to brave the sheet of ice covering our driveway to get me here. But that’s okay, because here I am, even though the taxi driver drove at a turtle’s pace the entire way due to the icy roads and the whirl of snow that’s starting up again.
The parking lot of the station looks practically empty, but I can see plenty of people milling about inside. I exhale a sigh of relief. Surely the trains are up and running, and my dad was just being overly cautious. It happens…a lot. It’s a firefighter thing—safety first! I’ve always been rather fond of Dad’s protective streak.
Speaking of firefighters, when I reach the platform, Owl Lake’s bravest are all over the place. At first glance, it appears that every single person in my line of vision is dressed in bulky cargo pants and a dark quilted jacket boasting the OLFD crest. A few are even wearing full turnout gear, helmets and all.
“Excuse me, miss. You can’t be here,” someone behind me says.
“But I’m here to catch the…um…” I start to say, but any attempt at speech becomes impossible as I turn around and get a glimpse of the firefighter who seems to be in charge of whatever is going on.
It’s Aidan.
Again.
But why is he here, and why, oh why, is he wearing an Owl Lake FD helmet with his last name emblazoned on it?
I blink as hard as I possibly can. Is there an ex-boyfriend firefighter charm on Betty’s bracelet that I somehow failed to notice? This can’t possibly be real.
Then he scowls at me, and I know that I’m really standing face-to-face with Aidan in full hero mode. Because there’s nothing at all imaginary about his cranky expression.
Nice to see you too, Firefighter Grumpy Pants.
Ugh, why does he have to be a firefighter? He looks like he’s on his way to pose for one of those fireman bachelor calendars. So strong. So heroic.
“Ashley.” He clears his throat.
There’s a slight tremor of surprise to his voice, and the fact that he seems as shocked as I am makes me feel a tiny bit better—the smallest possible amount. He’s clearly more rattled to see me here in Owl Lake than he was back in Rockefeller Plaza.
“Aidan,” I manage to say, and wow, why on earth do I sound so…so….breathless?
He arches a brow, and I wish I could melt away and vanish like Frosty the Snowman. “You’ve come home.”
Finally. The word floats between us, unspoken but very much there.
He’s judging me—for all the Christmases I’ve missed in Owl Lake, for leaving the way I did all those years ago, for so many things. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe I’m judging myself.
I lift my chin to fully meet his gaze. When did he get so tall? He seems even bigger than he had just a few days ago. “Yes, but what are you doing here? You told me you worked in the city.”
“No, I didn’t,” he counters.
Didn’t he?
His frown deepens. “I said I was working. I was there to collect a donation for the Firefighters’ Toy Parade.”
So he really, truly is a fireman—right here in Owl Lake at the station where my dad used to be the chief. I can’t believe Dad failed to mention this significant fact. We’re definitely having a chat about that when I get back from the city.
Right…the city…where I’m supposed to be heading right now instead of shivering on the platform in Owl Lake, thinking about how handsome my high school sweetheart looks in his OLFD uniform, glowering expression and all.
“Okay, well.” I swallow hard. There’s an annoying lump in my throat all of a sudden, for reasons I don’t even want to begin to contemplate. “It was nice seeing you again. I have a train to catch.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize there’s not another traveler in sight. While I was right about there being plenty of people in the station, I’m the only person in the vicinity who’s not wearing either fire-retardant clothing or some sort of railway uniform, and the train itself is nowhere to be seen.
“No, you don’t.” Aidan shakes his head. “The storm shut down the station. The tracks are iced over, and we’re out here supervising the de-icing efforts. Everything should be back up and running in forty-eight hours.”
“Forty-eight hours?” My jaw drops.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” A muscle in Aidan’s jaw flexes. Still, his expression is a blank slate. He’s as stiff and unyielding as a robot.
He didn’t used to be this way. I don’t like it. I’d almost prefer more glowering.
“But I can’t wait that long,” I say. “I need to get back to Manhattan right away.”
He narrows his gaze at me. His eyes are the same striking shade of blue they’ve always been. Forget-me-not blue. The lump in my throat grows threefold. I could never, ever forget Aidan Flynn, not if I tried.
Nor would I want to. I just wish he would smile at me again, for old times’ sake. Aidan always had the best smile. It never failed to make me weak in the knees.
“I just saw you two days ago in the city. You have to have just gotten here,” he says stonily.
“I got in late last night.” Not that it’s any of his business.
“So you’ve been home all of twelve hours, and you’re already itching to go back.” He shakes his head and looks about as thrilled as a kid who just found a lump of coal in his stocking on Christmas morning. “Sounds about right.”
I’ve changed my mind about the glowering. I definitely prefer the robot treatment. But at least with this last comment, his standoffishness suddenly seems more understandable. To him, I’m just the girl who broke his heart and turned her back on her small town for a new life in the big city.
But that’s not who I am.
Is it?
My chest grows tight as I realize all available evidence supports his theory. Here I am—back for my first Christmas in Owl Lake in years—and all I can think about is finding a way to get back to Manhattan.
“It’s not what you think,” I say, blinking against a sudden whirlwind of snow flurries. “This is just a day trip. I’m coming right back.”
He goes silent for a beat. After a long, painfully awkward pause, his blue eyes soften—ever so slightly. He clears his throat. “Not today, you’re not. All trains have been cancelled.”
Oh yeah. He already mentioned that, didn’t he?
“That’s unfortunate.” I try my best not to sound like a snobbish big city princess, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m successful. What would Aidan think if he knew I was supposed to be in Paris right now? And why does his opinion still matter after all this time? “I guess I’ll call the cab to come back.”
Aidan gives me a slow nod, then squints against the snowfall and glances around at his fellow firemen.
“No need. I can take you home,” he finally says. He zips his jacket the remaining two inches until it’s snug against the base of his throat. His neck is thicker than it used to be—corded with muscle.
The Aidan I used to know was a boy; the person standing in front of me right now is very much a man.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say softly. For some reason, his kindness is more difficult for me to accept than his earlier crankiness.
He shrugs one shoulder. “I know.”
And then he strides toward a shiny red fire truck parked parallel to the railway tracks, leaving me no choice but to follow.
My high school sweetheart is giving me a ride home. In a fire truck.
Minutes later, I’m seated up front in the ladder truck, right beside Aidan as he navigat
es the rig over the ice-covered streets of Owl Lake toward my parents’ lake house. Everything about the experience is nostalgic, which does little to alleviate the ache in my chest. When I was a little girl and my dad was chief, he would prop me up in the front seat of the various fire trucks all the time. I felt like a princess, and my dad’s heavy chief’s helmet was my crown. Now, here I am again, in a fire truck in my hometown, only the man sitting beside me is Aidan. Never in a million years would I have predicted this turn of events, but it feels right somehow. Fated, if I’m really being honest.
Aidan’s own father died in a car accident when he was just a little boy. He and my dad have always been close. The fact that he’s followed in my father’s footsteps must mean the world to Dad.
Still, this trip down memory lane would be a lot nicer if it were a bit more quiet. Thanks to the siren, every head turns our way as we pass, from the good people of Owl Lake who are outside shoveling snow to the white-tailed deer prancing among the fir trees. Super. Just what I need for this awkward reunion—an audience.
“Is the siren really necessary?” I ask over the earsplitting wail of the fire engine.
“Sorry.” Aidan silences the siren, and I catch the telltale hint of a smirk on his lips. He’s enjoying this little rescue mission, probably because he can tell I find it wholly embarrassing.
I face forward and do my best to ignore his presence, but of course doing so is impossible. The air in the cab of the fire engine is thick with memories and the warm, masculine scent of woodsmoke and evergreen. Adult Aidan is as appealing as s’mores cooked over an open campfire on a cold winter night, all melty warmth and starlight. The miles between here and Paris seem longer than ever.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get back to the city?” Aidan asks without tearing his eyes off the road.
I tell myself he’s only being safety-conscious, not trying to avoid meeting my gaze, but his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel says otherwise.
“I found out this morning that a promotion has opened up at the jewelry store where I work, and I really want it—but they’re looking to fill it right away. If I wait until after the holidays to talk to my boss about it, it will be too late.”
Aidan nods.
“I truly was planning on coming right back,” I say.
He sneaks a sideways glance at me, and my heart gives a little squeeze. My stupid, stupid heart. “I believe you.”
I cannot be attracted to Aidan Flynn. I have far more important things to worry about at the moment, not least of which is the fact that I just broke up with the man who I foolishly believed was about to ask me to marry him. The butterflies zipping around my insides are just nerves, nothing more.
The ride to my parents’ lake house is quick, especially since we’re pretty much the only vehicle on the road. Dad wasn’t kidding when he insisted that the storm had shut down the entire town. Several of the local businesses seem to be open, but people are out walking from place to place instead of driving. The sledding hill behind the fire station appears to be the hottest spot in town.
“How’s your mom?” I ask. “And Susan?”
Aidan’s sister used to be one of my closest friends, and I suddenly miss her so much that her absence in my life feels like a physical ache, deep in my chest. Why is coming home always so hard?
“They’re both great,” he says without elaborating.
Okay, then. I was hoping he’d tell me about the twin nieces I’ve already seen in dozens of pictures (thank you, Facebook), but I guess we’re past the point of sharing personal details about our lives. The ache in my chest is beginning to feel more like a chasm.
We arrive home in a matter of minutes, and I quickly realize that Aidan may have turned off the siren, but he left the engine lights on. They sweep across the snowy front lawn in dancing rays of red and gold. The effect is oddly beautiful.
“When did your parents get a dog?” Aidan says as his mouth curves into a smile at long last.
Fruitcake is sitting by the front door in the same spot where I first found him last night. He cocks his head when he sees me, as if he’s been waiting there for me his entire life, tail wagging like a pendulum.
I shake my head. “They didn’t. He just sort of keeps…appearing.”
Aidan turns toward me and regards me with sudden interest, like he might not have me quite as figured out as he’d thought.
You have no idea, I almost say. There might be a magic bracelet stuck on my wrist.
I can’t tell him that, obviously. It sounds completely nuts. But despite the years stretching between us, he’s still the person I most want to confide in. I don’t know why. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, since the moment I woke up on the train in Owl Lake, nothing has.
“I found the dog right there on the porch last night, or maybe he found me. I’m not exactly sure which. I should probably try and figure out who he belongs to.” I really should get right on that, especially since I’m apparently stuck here for the time being. There’s got to be a logical explanation for his presence. Golden retrievers don’t just materialize out of thin air. “He doesn’t have a collar or ID tags, so I’ve been calling him Fruitcake.”
Aidan arches a brow. “Fruitcake?”
“Christmas and all,” I say by way of explanation, leaving out the part about my recently nutty life.
“Cute name.” Aidan smiles again until he seems to realize that he’s no longer scowling at me and his lips straighten into a flat line. “I should probably be getting back to the train station.”
“Right, of course. Thanks so much for the ride.” I start to climb down from my seat, but Aidan hops down and opens my door for me before I manage to do it myself.
The gesture is so reminiscent of the many times he brought me home after a date back in high school that my cheeks grow warm. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, but when I climb down to the snowy ground and look up to meet his gaze, his expression is still a complete blank.
“Thanks again,” I say, doing my best to ignore the disappointment I have no business feeling. Then I turn to go, anxious to get inside and put an end to this uncomfortable encounter.
“Hey,” Aidan says, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn around to face him, and his gaze shifts to Fruitcake for a second and then back to me.
“I can ask around about the dog, if that helps. One of the guys at the station is bound to have heard about a missing dog.” Aidan shrugs. “You know how small towns are.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that,” I say.
It’s been years since I’ve been home, but yes, I do know how small towns are. Much like those eyes of his, bluer than the bluest of Christmases, there are certain things a girl never forgets.
No matter how long she’s been away.
Chapter Seven
The house is thick with the smell of warm sugar and vanilla when I stomp the snow from my boots and let myself in. By my side, Fruitcake’s nose twitches. My stomach rumbles, and I pause in the entryway to take a deep inhale.
“Mom must be baking Christmas cookies,” I say, because I’m apparently becoming the sort of person who talks to strange dogs as if they’re human.
I can’t help it. He’s so sweet. So…devoted. A flicker of panic passes through me at the thought of Aidan actually tracking down Fruitcake’s real owner, which is absurd. This dog is not mine. He didn’t just magically appear on the porch with a big red bow on his neck just for me. He’s probably supposed to be a Christmas gift for someone else and somehow got lost, but he’s gazing up at me as if I’m the long-lost inventor of dog biscuits.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I say, and his ears prick forward. “Aidan is going to help me figure things out, so you can go home.”
“Ashley, is that you?” my mom calls from the kitchen. She sounds utterly delighted that I’ve only been gone
an hour instead of a full day.
When I round the corner, she’s wearing a full bib-style apron covered with little cartoon gingerbread men and pulling a tray of sugar cookies from the oven. There are at least two dozen of these, already decorated with colored icing and sprinkles, piled onto platters on the kitchen island next to a fresh batch of chocolate walnut cookies. The big electric mixer is poised, ready for another round of batter, and I know instantly what’s going on.
“Do you still make cookies every year for the firemen?” I take a closer look at a vanilla-iced snowman cookie and, sure enough, my mom has piped a cute little firefighter’s helmet onto his round head.
“Of course I do.” She peels the oven mitts from her hands and arches a brow at me. “It doesn’t look you made it very far.”
“I didn’t.” I shake my head. “Dad was right. The train station was closed.”
“I’d ask how you got home, but I saw the ladder truck’s flashing lights out front just now,” Dad says, strolling into the kitchen from the direction of his man cave down the hall, where he’s apparently been spying on me from the window overlooking the house’s snowy street.
I don’t need to ask if he knows who was behind the wheel of the ladder truck, because his amused expression says it all.
“About that.” I jam my hands on my hips. “How am I just finding out that Aidan is a firefighter?”
“You were in a terrible hurry to leave this morning, honey,” Mom says.
My dad shrugs. “If you’d stuck around longer, we might have had a chance to get you caught up on things around here.”
Touché. “Point taken, but seriously? We talk all the time and Mom texts me every day. How has this never come up in conversation?”
“Well. A while back you said you didn’t want to talk about Aidan, remember?” My mom flips through her recipe book—the same one she’s used since I was a little girl. The pages are soft and worn, with faded ink and dots from spilled vanilla.