Could it be true? Was faith enough?
Yes.
The word vibrated deep within her, and she knew what she had to do. “Mom, I have to go.” Joy kissed Mom’s cold cheek. “Please be here when I get back.”
“I’ll try, sweetie. I’ll try.”
Chapter 16
She wasn’t going to make it.
Joy pulled onto High Street then let loose a tiny screech as a car barreled toward her. She jerked the wheel of the rental toward the left side of the road, where she was supposed to be. At least it wasn’t snowing. The mist she’d encountered while driving from Cornwall Airport Newquay to Port Willis had been difficult enough.
Her heart beat wildly—and not just because of her near accident but because of what she was about to do.
Despite the late hour, Port Willis was more alive than usual tonight. The windows of a few popular pubs glowed as she drove past, loud music spilling from inside as patrons entered and exited. According to Sophia, Port Willis didn’t host an official fireworks display at midnight, though some residents set off sparklers and smaller fireworks from their homes to celebrate bringing in the new year.
Joy glanced at the clock on the car’s dashboard, which flashed 11:45 p.m. She hadn’t come this far—and endured two layovers and a long wait in Newquay for a rental car—to be late. The car growled as she accelerated as much as she dared.
Finally, she turned onto the quiet street where Oliver’s aunt lived. Cutting the engine, she climbed from the tiny Smart car, clutching a package in her hands. The biting chill—and the fact she’d forgotten to pack gloves—reminded her she wasn’t in Florida anymore. Joy pulled her knit cap down around her ears and stared at the two-story fisherman’s cottage with gray slate siding and custom hardwood windowsills.
Propelling herself forward, Joy pushed open a gate leading to an adorable courtyard. A lit Christmas tree peeked from behind thin curtains in the front window, and shadows moved in the same room.
Her tongue fastened itself to the roof of her mouth. What if he didn’t want to see her? What if she was blowing this all way out of proportion, making some grand gesture, and he was in there with someone else?
Joy nearly pivoted on her booted heel, but the words of her and Oliver’s favorite movie came back to her: “None of us can see the way forward in the fog. We simply must take the next step and trust that the light will lead us where we need to go.”
The light had led her here. It was up to her to trust.
She stood firm and knocked.
It took a few long, agonizing moments, but the door eventually opened, letting out the sound of conversation and guffaws.
A woman with a head full of white hair and a sunny smile gazed down at Joy. Her eyes twinkled in a way that reminded Joy of old vintage postcards of Santa Claus. “Hullo, dear.”
She’d met Oliver’s aunt only once before, when running errands the day before Sophia’s rehearsal. “Hi.”
Suddenly, the talking behind Mavis Lincoln ceased.
“Joy?”
Oliver.
He appeared at the door behind his aunt, eyes wide. “You’re here.”
“I am.”
“Who’s here?” A disembodied voice piped up behind Oliver and his aunt, and a sixty-something woman with shoulder-length blond hair and a clear sense of fashion snuck into the space next to Mavis.
“Uh, hi.” How awkward. Now even if Oliver didn’t want to see Joy, he would likely feel obligated to invite her in. She should have called or texted . . . but that never happened in movies.
Note to self—reality did not always line up with film.
“Mum, this is Joy Beckman. Joy, my mother, Tabby Lincoln.”
The woman tilted her head, studying her. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Ugh. It’s like she didn’t know any other words tonight.
“For goodness’s sake, let her in so she doesn’t freeze,” Oliver said.
Mavis chuckled. “Of course. Sorry, dear.”
The two women backed away from the door as Joy stepped through.
Instant warmth settled into her bones, and the scent of pine and cookies surrounded her. The tiny room was stuffed to the brim with furniture that had obviously been clustered together to make room for the giant tree Joy had spied through the window. Tinsel and ribbon dripped from its branches, and someone had painstakingly hung hundreds of mismatched ornaments, everything from homemade popsicle photo frames, to tiny red baubles, to what appeared to be chocolate coins.
Two men—one older, one younger, both of whom looked a whole lot like Oliver—lounged on the sofa, staring at her. A woman Joy recognized as Oliver’s sister-in-law hunkered over a dining table putting together a puzzle with her two young daughters.
On the coffee table sat several flutes and a bottle of unopened champagne. The family had clearly been preparing to celebrate the start of a new year together and Joy had interrupted. “I’m sorry if this is a bad time.”
Oliver’s entire family shifted their gazes to him, but he couldn’t possibly have noticed. Not with the way his gaze remained riveted on her, a hunger burning in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Joy’s cheeks flamed. “I came back. To talk to you.” Then she remembered the package in her hand. “And to give you this.”
A muscle in Oliver’s cheek flinched, and he seemed to mentally shake himself from a spell. “Come on then. Let’s go talk.”
“No, dear, we’ll leave.” Mavis cast a knowing look around the room, and the rest of Oliver’s family shuffled out, directing a few hurried glances back at him. His youngest niece whined about wanting to finish the puzzle.
When they were alone, Oliver stepped closer. “What’s that?”
Joy swallowed. “I never got you a Christmas gift.”
“Yes, you did.” A tiny ghost of a smile haunted his lips.
Right, the kiss. “I got you something a bit more tangible.”
“That was plenty tangible.”
She couldn’t help the slight laugh. “You know what I mean. Here.” Shoving the package into his hands, she waited.
The thick brown paper barely crinkled as he opened it to reveal his gift. “The Fog Rolls In.”
“You said you didn’t own it.” On such short notice, she’d had to snag her own copy from her DVD collection. But even if all of this went badly, she liked the idea of him owning something that had once belonged to her.
“I don’t.”
“Well, you do now.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence fell between them. What was he thinking?
Joy turned to the tree and fiddled with a soft angel ornament.
“How’s your mum?”
“Okay, actually. I mean, the pneumonia was nothing to worry about. And my dad has decided to move them into a facility.”
Oliver sidled up next to her. “Is that a good thing or not?”
“I thought there was no way it could be a good thing, but I’m coming around to it.” Joy chanced a look up at him and found him already watching her. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this about me, but I can be a bit stubborn.”
“Not you.” The tease in Oliver’s voice brought a grin to her face.
She hip-bumped him. “I know. It’s one of my many charms.” Joy sobered. “But sometimes, it means I think I know what’s best. And I stick to that even when others—or even my own heart—tell me differently.”
“So just what are you trying to say, Joy Beckman?”
Her eyes wandered until she located a clock on the mantle. 11:57 p.m. Not much time if she wanted to do this right.
Here it went. Everything she’d been feeling the last several days spilled out of her heart and onto her lips. “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. And I don’t know where this is going, Oliver Lincoln, but I can’t stand the thought of walking away from you again. I . . . I want to take the next step, wherever it may lead us.”
His arms came
around her lightning fast, and a laugh bubbled from his throat. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” And he leaned down, clearly aiming to kiss her.
“Wait!” She wriggled from his grasp and looked frantically around the room before spotting a wooden chair. Joy stalked toward it and tugged it back toward a bewildered Oliver.
“What are you doing?”
“Hold on. It’ll make sense in a minute.” When she had the chair positioned where she’d been standing, she climbed on it and tugged the green sprig from her jacket pocket. It was slightly squished and tiny, but it was enough.
“Is that mistletoe?” Thanks to her increased height, he now glanced slightly upward.
“It just may be.” Joy placed one hand around Oliver’s shoulder and leaned toward him. Then she held the mistletoe above them. “And look. We’re standing under it.”
The adoration in his eyes nearly melted her, but she stood her ground.
Behind them, the clock chimed midnight.
“Happy New Year’s, Oliver.”
“Happy New Year’s, love.”
Then she swooped in for the kiss she’d been anticipating—and determined that, yes, reality did indeed beat the movies.
She may not know how the next scene would play out, but if she continued trusting, continued loving, continued risking, then this was not an ending after all.
It was, instead, the most beautiful beginning.
Want to read more about how Sophia and Ginny ended up in Port Willis and fell in love with their men? Check out my full-length novel, The Secrets of Paper and Ink.
Acknowledgments
My launch team — You all are such an amazing encouragement. Thanks for helping me to spread the word about my books and for loving the town of Port Willis as much as I do.
Rachel McMillan and Melissa Tagg — Thank you for walking me through the process of indie publishing. You never made me feel bad for asking my many, many questions.
Liz Johnson — The insights and feedback you gave on an early version of this book were invaluable. Thank you also for helping me to brainstorm the perfect ending scene!
Hillary Manton Lodge — Your cover design brought Port Willis to life! Thank you for being so awesome to work with.
Marisa Deshaies — Thanks for your eagle eye and for tightening up my sometimes verbose language. ;)
Rachelle Gardner — I love having you as an agent. Thanks for all of your advice and encouragement on my first real indie project!
My family — As always, you guys rock. You stand behind me 100% all the time, and I am blessed to have you in my corner.
And God — Thank you for the inspiration to keep writing. Even when I don’t know where this journey will take me next, I know you know . . . and ultimately, that’s enough for me.
About the Author
Lindsay Harrel is a lifelong book nerd who lives in Arizona with her young family and two golden retrievers in serious need of training. When she’s not writing or chasing after her children, Lindsay enjoys making a fool of herself at Zumba, curling up with anything by Jane Austen, and savoring sour candy one piece at a time. Sign up for her mailing list and receive her FREE subscriber-exclusive short story, After the Tide, at www.lindsayharrel.com/subscribe.
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