by Susan Hatler
“Oh, Adam . . .” I pressed my lips to his cheek, touched that he’d opened up to me. I took his hand and brought him to the tree. The ornaments hung by other people glinted in the sunlight, and small gold bells tinkled in the chilly breeze. “You need to talk to him.”
A line formed between his eyebrows. “How? He’s gone.”
“I’ll show you.” I hung my little choir girl on an empty branch and closed my eyes. “Thank you, Ms. King. For teaching me to sing, for being there for me through middle school and high school and for introducing me to Mr. Kline. Even though I miss you, I know you’re where you’re supposed to be. Merry Christmas.”
An ache rolled through me but then a strong hand rubbed my back in small, slow circles, soothing me. The ache passed, replaced by a wave of comfort thanks to Adam.
“Your turn,” I said, blinking away the tears as I opened my eyes. I gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ll give you some space to talk to him, to tell him all of the things you wish you’d said while he was alive. He’ll hear you, I promise,” I said, standing on tiptoe and kissing him lightly, before walking back to the bench and sitting down.
Adam sighed, his breath heating the air in front of him and forming a small cloud that soon dissipated. He turned the ornament over in his hands several times before he reached up and placed his book ornament on a higher branch. He put his hands in his coat pocket and took a step back, shaking his head.
“Dad, I’m sorry I’ve stayed away from Christmas Mountain for so long.” He glanced over at me and I smiled encouragingly before looking away to give him some space. “I left because New York sounded exciting, but that’s no excuse for not coming back.”
A young teenage couple came up the steps, glanced at us as they walked by and then stopped over at the railing on the far end. Adam watched them staring at The Falls, big smiles on their faces, and then he turned back to The Sharing Tree.
“When you came to visit me in New York, I had become part of Manhattan life, always rushing around. When you arrived, all calm and easy going, it didn’t seem to fit with me. You actually chose to travel on the subway, or walk places, instead of jumping in a cab. You’d say ‘It’s good for the soul, son’ and now, finally, I’m starting to get what you mean.”
My eyes burned.
“Sometimes I wanted to come back, but then I got my job and there was always more work to do, you know?” His voice quivered and he glanced at his shoes. “I regret not visiting you here after I left. I regret not seeing this business you created while you were alive. Christmas was never the same once we moved away. Mom tried in her own way, but you were the one who made it magical for me, the same way you made Christmas special for so many people. I hope you can forgive me for selling the business.”
I looked up and saw a lone tear fall down his cheek before he swiped it away.
“Faith said you would forgive me for not coming back while you were alive, but I’m not sure I believe her,” he said, swiping his nose. “This might sound crazy, but . . . if you could send me, I don’t know, a sign . . . something to let me know that I have your blessing, and that you forgive me.” His voice broke and he shook his head. “I know that’s impossible. But I am sorry. I love you, Dad. Always have, and always will.”
He touched the ornament one last time, closing his eyes as he did so, before coming over to the bench and sitting down next to me.
“You know he heard you, right?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I hope so. Thanks for bringing me up here, Faith.”
I put my arms around him and hugged him hard. As we sat embracing with only the sound of The Falls behind us, a deep, throaty hoot-hoot rang through the air. Hoot-hoot!
“My dad loved owls,” he said, his voice barely a whisper in my ear.
I opened my eyes, looking over his shoulder and then sat back. “Look, Adam.”
A beautiful snowy owl sat on a nearby post, watching us with its big amber colored eyes. Black spotted markings graced his pure white feathers. When he flapped his wings, preparing to take flight, I noticed something and gasped.
“Oh, Adam,” I said, pointing to its backside and remembering our conversation in his office while I’d been decorating for Christmas. I also remembered what he showed me.
“I see it.” Adam’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded. There, right in the middle of the owl’s back was an unusual bald patch filled in with gold. “He looks like the ornament I damaged and repaired when I was a kid.”
The owl glanced back at us once and then he flew off. I leaned my head against Adam’s shoulder. “That was your sign, Adam. Your dad has forgiven you and you have his blessing to sell Silver Bells,” I said, and then hesitated. “And . . . you have mine, too.”
“Faith . . .” He gazed at me and my stomach warmed. We’d connected on a deeper level than I’d ever known possible and the look on his face told me he felt it, too. With his fingers under my chin, he leaned down and kissed me so tenderly, I knew I couldn’t fight him anymore.
He had my full heart and if he needed to sell Silver Bells, then I was behind him all the way.
Chapter Seventeen
“When I said I was up for anything, I didn’t expect this.” Adam looked around at the elves as they busied themselves in Santa’s Grotto. “There’s no way I’m putting this outfit on.”
The elf suit consisted of green and red striped leggings, a green velvet jacket, pixie boots, and a jaunty little hat. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.
“I’ve got to wear one, too. Come on, Adam. They’re so short-handed today and the local schools are coming up to see Santa. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them this close to Christmas, would you?” I asked.
“No, and I don’t want to disappoint you either,” he said, stealing a kiss behind the head elf’s back. “You already gave me that sad look of yours when I told you the potential buyers were coming back this weekend for another look.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing I needed to be more supportive. “I’ll work all weekend and do whatever it takes to help you. I know how important the sale is to you.”
“Thanks, Faith,” he said.
The head elf, Robin, was running around in a panic. Today was the busiest day of the year at Santa’s Grotto because it was the Friday before Christmas and the last day of school. Unfortunately, half of the elves were out sick with the flu. It was all hands on deck today and that included Adam’s hands, which were holding the offending costume out in front of him.
I took the outfit from him and held it up to his chest. “You’re about the same height as your dad, and he wore this costume every year. Pretty please?”
He took the outfit. “You know I can’t disappoint the kids.”
“Thank you,” I said. With so many out sick, I’d been up there all morning, helping out with baking mince pies and feeding the live reindeer we had on-site, but when another two had fallen ill, I had had to bring in costumed reinforcements in the shape of Adam and me.
A few minutes later, Adam emerged from the dressing room. For a moment, I was taken aback by how much he looked like a younger version of his dad in the same suit Mr. Kline had worn, both in the annual parade and on days like today.
Adam put his hands on his hips. “I feel ridiculous.”
“You look amazing. Hottest elf I’ve ever seen,” I said, with a wink. “Is that mistletoe still up in your office?”
Before Adam could answer, Cookie (the mince pie maker) came in, her nose redder than Rudolph’s.
“Don’t tell me you’re sick, too?” I asked sympathetically, watching her nod her head and then blow her nose. “Go home and get into bed. We’ll manage here. Get well soon.”
Adam turned to me. “So, mince pies it is then?”
I nodded. There were some jobs that could be overlooked at the Grotto, but mince pie making wasn’t one of them. As we trudged through the snow to Cookie’s kitchen, I pointed out various parts of the tiny village that Mr. Kline had built in the forest.
The workshop was where Tinker made wooden toys, and was built to resemble an old-fashioned train carriage. On the other side of the gingerbread house stood Scrib’s post office, which took on the appearance of a parcel wrapped up in brown paper.
“And there, in the middle, is Santa’s Grotto.”
Santa’s place was magical, and took my breath away every time I came up here. Bigger than the rest of the cabins, it was warm and inviting, with candlelight flickering in the windows, and a huge Christmas tree in the garden. Two rocking chairs—one red, and one green—sat on the front porch, and permanent reindeer prints had been pressed into the roof, which was sprayed daily with a soft, iridescent glitter so that it glinted and shone, whichever angle you looked at it from and no matter how much it snowed.
Children came from far and wide to experience the magic, and every cabin was a working one, meaning visitors could walk in and out, and even help out baking the pies or hammering a toy. Mr. Kline had spent years honing it, and the attention to detail was amazing.
“I can see why you love this place so much,” Adam said.
“What do you mean?” I turned around and looked at him, and then tried to keep a straight face. But seeing Adam standing in the snow dressed in a green velvet jacket and striped leggings was more than I could bear, and I started laughing. “I’ve got to take a selfie, come here.”
“You mean an elfie?” he quipped. My cell phone gave a click just as I made a face at his terrible joke, which made us both laugh even harder.
“Okay, we’re here,” I said, the smell of smoke wafting up my nose as I opened the door. Uh-oh, that wasn’t usual. Also, smoke billowed out from the oven.
“I’m not much for cooking, but—”
“Oh, no. Cookie left mince pies in the oven!” I threw open the windows and began fanning the air with a hand towel, while Adam grabbed the offending pies from the oven and threw them in a trashcan. I grinned at him. “Okay, elf, it’s time to get your hands dirty.”
I couldn’t remember ever having this much fun as Adam and I got elbow deep in flour, and made batch after batch of fresh mince pies. He was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen for being an amateur, and I told him so.
“I have many talents, young lady,” he murmured, stealing another kiss before the next group of excited children came in.
I looked above me. “There’s no mistletoe.”
“So?”
There was a knock on the door and Adam jumped up to answer it, ushering in the next group of children. Wide-eyed and innocent, they sat down as Adam told them stories, tales he made up on the spur of the moment, just like Mr. Kline had been known to do. As I poured hot chocolate into mugs, I watched him. He had started the day so far out of his comfort zone, but the way he had slipped into the role made me fall for him a little bit more.
He caught my eye over the children’s heads and smiled, melting my heart. I felt a little sad, thinking about how much both Mr. Kline and Adam had missed out on without performing like this together.
One of the children caught Adam looking at me. “Is that your sister?” he asked, looking from Adam to me and then back again.
Adam smiled again, and leaned in to the children. “No, that’s not my sister, that’s my girlfriend.” The children all giggled, and my stomach did a cartwheel from the declaration.
When I finally closed the door after the last child had left, I let out a sigh of relief. It had been great fun, but so tiring, and I was ready for a night in with a TV dinner and a glass of wine. Adam slipped his arms around my waist and turned me around to face him.
“So what do you think?” he asked in a low voice.
My eyebrows lifted. “What do I think about what?”
“About being my girlfriend?” he asked. His expression became serious and he straightened the pointed hat on the top of my head. “I know this seems like an impossible situation, Faith, but . . . I’ve fallen for you.”
And there, in Cookie’s kitchen, the girl elf told the boy elf that she’d fallen for him, too. Then they shared a long, lingering kiss, the jingle bells on the tips of her pixie boots tinkling merrily as she rose up on her toes again to meet his lips.
Chapter Eighteen
Later that evening, I drove to my friend Emma’s little cabin outside of Pine Tree Lodge and rang her doorbell, ready to paint Christmas ornaments for The Christmas Extravaganza’s silent auction. The money raised would be donated to the community center in Ms. King’s honor, since it had been such a huge part of her life. A moment later, the front door opened and Emma stood there smiling, but the smile didn’t seem to reach her eyes.
“I’ve got hot chocolate, marshmallows, pizza, and wine,” Emma said, leaning over to give me a hug.
I laughed, squeezing her back. “You’ve covered all my favorite food groups.”
Her eyes shined. “Well, then, come on in.”
Joy burst into my chest. This was one of the reasons I’d returned home last year. For my best friends from the choir group and the closeness that came with having known someone forever. I hadn’t been able to see Emma too often throughout the year, but the bond between us couldn’t be separated by time apart. We always picked up right where we left off.
Emma’s living room was comfortable and perfect. She had already set up a tray and a steaming electric kettle that gave off the scent of heated milk, cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg, and chocolate. I breathed that smell in. “Ms. King’s super-secret recipe.”
She smiled. “Yes.”
My mouth dropped open. “No way.”
“Yes way. She gave it to me before she passed.”
I started to demand that she spill the secret of that hot chocolate. I could list every ingredient but no matter how I combined them it never came out right. But I didn’t ask for the recipe. Ms. King always had a reason for what she did and didn’t do.
Emma poured chocolate into two bright red mugs for us. I took a slow sip. The rich, sweet, and slightly spicy liquid coated my tongue.
I moaned. “Oh, this is so good.”
She smiled. “I know, right?”
I set the cup down and looked around. The Christmas tree glittered and sparkled. A fire glowed in the adorable electric fireplace. “I wish I were as organized and together as you are, Emma. I haven’t even put a tree up yet. I put one up at the store, of course, but not at home.”
Hurt swelled up in my chest at the mention of home. Christmas should be with family, but mine had split and spread to the far corners of the country. No presents under the tree for me. No happy family enjoying each other’s company. And soon Adam would be gone, forever. My Christmas was looking bleaker by the second.
I stepped over to the little table that Emma had set up with the little glass globes and the paints, the glitter and the trims. “These are going to be pretty.”
She nodded. “I hope so. I want them to be perfect for the auction.”
“I know.” We all did. The seven of us would be singing at The Christmas Extravaganza in the evening on Christmas Day, just like we’d done at Ms. King’s request last year.
I surveyed the clear glass globes. “It’s a shame Adam isn’t here. He’s a terrific painter.”
Emma’s eyebrows raised. “Adam? You mean Larry Kline’s son? I thought he was a stockbroker or something.”
“He works at a PR firm in New York. But he paints, too. Or, he used to, from the photos Mr. Kline used to keep all over his office. I wish . . .” A lump formed in my throat. I wished for way too much, and none of it could come true. “Never mind.”
Emma gasped. “You like Adam.”
“Is it that obvious?” I took in a shaky breath and grabbed a little
tube of paint. I squirted the bright aqua blue onto the little strip of paper and stirred it with a brush. Then I sighed. “He’s leaving town. So, what’s the point in all of these feelings?”
She squeezed some red paint out of a tube and carefully capped it and my tube, too. “Maybe you two could do some kind of long-distance thing? See if what you have is worth trying for? For some couples that might work.”
Would it be worth trying for? His kisses gave me goosebumps, lit up all my senses. His smile made my heart melt. We could hike together, fish together, and he understood me in a way nobody else ever had. But we were complete and total opposites.
I shook my head. “Even if we tried a long-distance relationship, it would never work out in the end. He would never move to Christmas Mountain. He’s a city-boy. I can’t move to New York. I’m an outdoorsy girl. We’re doomed.”
“I can relate to being an outdoorsy girl.” Emma carefully applied a thin layer of crimson to the bottom of her glass globe. “Ashley can relate, too, since she started the outdoor recreation company. But, come on, Faith. Good relationships are hard to find. There must be some kind of solution.”
I painted a blue zigzag pattern and then shrugged. “I’ve lived in a city before. The noise, the crowds, the exhaust . . . it’s not me. I need to breathe in the fresh scent of trees and clean air. I love Christmas Mountain. It’s my home. Adam feels the same way about New York.”
“Hold on.” She picked up my globe and took a cloth, dipped it in turpentine, and then carefully wiped off a blot of paint. Then she gave it back. “See? Just needed a little tweaking. Like a solution for you and Adam needs some tweaking. Come on, Faith. If you want something, you have to go after it. You taught me that back in high school when I wanted to break free of my mother’s control and become a chef and worried that I’d never get there.”