by Alicia Best
Chapter 5
Hannah
I make my way down the streets of Shady Piers, watching kids giggle as they romp in a park, snow clinging to their jackets and hats. Their parents look on with smiling faces, the small playground lit with bright lights that make the frost glisten. Even though I have my deadline looming and Jackson is waiting for me to get back to him, I can’t hurry. I want to soak up every second that I have while I’m here.
It’s so gorgeous and idyllic in these snow-covered streets. I can’t wrap my head around what it must be like to experience this year after year. I’m doing my best to trap every twinkle of a Christmas light or waft of a festive fragrance deep in my memory. When I go back home to the heat and the beach of California, I want to be able to close my eyes and pretend that I’m right back here again. I wonder if these people even know how lucky they are to have white Christmases, though maybe they think I’m just as fortunate to be able to wear flipflops year-round. Even the cold here has begun to grow on me. Well, kinda!
My questions about the situation between Jackson and his ex are never-ending. I’d wanted to ask him much more so that I could get all the details possible, but even the brief conversation we’d had seemed to take a toll on him. I figured my best bet would just be to strike out on my own and make the best of it that I could.
But what would make Gail want to cut Jackson out of their son’s life right at this moment?
I’d almost understand if Jackson had been crude or cruel, but from what I’d gathered while talking to him, he seems to be a decent man. It’s clear just from the way he’d spoken about Jamie that he loves his son deeply. There was something about the way that he lit up when talking about him that just made my heart melt. A mix of pride and warmth that is all too rare these days. For Gail to cut Jamie off from that was cruel. Even though Jackson could be ‘prickly’ as Trevor had described him, underneath that thick and guarded layer is a man whom I’m positive is both kind and tender.
I was able to catch a few glimpses of Jackson’s true heart while we spoke about his boy, and I can’t shake the feeling that there is still so much more for me to learn about him. I find myself curious about him, not just in the way that I would be while interviewing someone for the magazine, but in a more profound way. I want to know what makes him tick, what’s made him so guarded, and how to peel back those stubborn layers to expose what’s beneath.
What better time of year to do that than Christmas?
I can’t put my finger on what makes me feel this way, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’d expected to be upset with him for refusing to give the large tree to the festival committee, but instead I found myself wrapped up in his story and wondering just how I could help.
I don’t know whether it’s the romance of his involvement with bringing Christmas joy to so many—well, most years that is—but I also rather like this temporarily troubled man.
Sure, the article is important for my future career, but I also want to understand Jackson more. It hurts me to see a man in such a gorgeous wintery land not able to enjoy Christmas as much as I am right now.
Unless there is some very large piece of this puzzle that I am missing, Gail is being selfish—and ruining Christmas for the entire town too.
Maybe it isn’t Jackson who is the Grinch of Shady Piers after all.
Shivering, I find the place I’m looking for. The restaurant is beachside, and since the wind blowing in from the sea is cold over the outdoor tables, there are so many people crammed into the small space within that it’s nice and toasty. In fact, it’s almost a little too toasty. After a few minutes, I unzip my parka, eager to let out some heat.
When I realize that getting a seat at any of the tables was not going to happen anytime soon, I ask the server near the entrance for a hot chocolate to go.
She welcomes me with a smile, leaning up onto her tiptoes to peer over the crowd. “If you just follow me, we have a dessert counter where you can get some cocoa. Are you visiting us for the Christmas festival?”
“I am!”
It seems word has yet to spread about the crotchety tree farmer refusing to provide a tree for the ceremony. I wonder how long we have until people find out what’s going on. I’d heard a few people chatting excitedly about their plans for the day of the tree lighting. So many people were looking forward to it.
Would Maddie and Calla have to let everyone down? I’d called Calla while driving back into town to discuss Jackson’s circumstances. While understanding of his situation, she was still frustrated. She and Maddie were working hard trying to come up with some substitution for the lighting, but it’s such an integral part of the festival that nothing else seemed to compare.
The server interrupts my thoughts as she shows me the way. “Well, we’re so happy that you’re here visiting! It’s always a delight to have so many guests from so many places. My name is Charlotte, let me know if you need anything else, alright?”
I'm delighted to feel welcomed in so many places. “Sure, thanks.” I smile again, and marveling at her shock of red hair, I follow Charlotte’s directions and weave my way through the people to get to the dessert counter.
Past the tables, there’s much more room to move around, and it's still lovely and warm, thanks to the nearby kitchen. While I can’t see inside the swinging doors, I can hear pots and pans clanking about and timers beeping.
“All you have to do is take the muffins and warm them up in the oven when someone orders one,” a young woman groans from the other side of the doorway. “I did the actual baking, so all you guys have to do is heat it up here.”
Hearing my approach, she rushes through the doors to the counter and offers a rather flustered smile. “It will be a few minutes for dessert; the treats keep ending up burnt. I don’t know these ovens very well; they’re older and more finicky than my own.”
“Oh, I’m just looking for some hot chocolate.”
“That we can do!” she beams, turning to a machine behind her.
I lean down, inspecting some of the delicious treats ready to tempt even the most reluctant customers. They all look mouthwatering. There are chocolate cupcakes with little peppermint candies sprinkled over their icing and strawberries frosted to look like Santa hats. Each tray is tied with a little ribbon that says Mad Batter Bakery.
“I make these fresh at my bakery every morning,” she explains, turning back to me with a steaming paper cup of cocoa before adding a thick dollop of whipped cream. “For the festival, the restaurant and I decided to partner up, but it’s going a little rougher than we thought.”
That’s not all that’s rough with the festival, I almost say, choosing instead to smile as I pay and take my cocoa. I can smell the rich chocolate and sweet whipped cream already.
“Thanks, it smells delicious.”
She beams at me and then pauses, sniffing the air. I follow suit, the scent of something burning wafting towards us from the kitchen.
“Logan, if you’ve burned another batch of my cookies...I don’t know what I will do with you!” she calls, rushing away towards the kitchen.
I shake my head and laugh, sipping at my drink once more. It's sweet and creamy with just a hint of peppermint in its chocolaty smoothness. It’s the perfect Christmas drink. I savor the taste for a long moment, looking around me at the people gathered. If I find nothing on Jackson’s family, I’ll just have to go back to my hotel, though I already know I will not sleep well. I'll be up all night wondering just how to convince Jackson to provide that tree. It won’t be long before word spreads, and when it does, I can kiss my article and my job at the SoCal Press goodbye.
“Mommy!” calls a little voice from behind me. “Look! They’ve got cupcakes!”
A child rushes towards the glass, pressing his whole body against it. His eyes are big and wide, taking in the array of sweet treats.
“You have to wait in line,” his mother says as she walks up to him, trying to prise him from the glass. “Let the
lady go first.”
“I’ve already ordered,” I say, lifting my cup and stepping sideways to let them over to the cashier. “I’m just not ready to head out yet.”
“I know, right?” the woman laughs. “It’s freezing out there! That’s why we came in too.”
Like me, she is all bundled up in a thick jacket. A man stands just beyond her, stroking his chin while checking out the menu written in neat print on a chalkboard up on the wall. His other arm is wrapped around her shoulders, warming her arms. He doesn’t seem to notice me, wrapped up in the desserts and the commotion in the kitchen.
“Are you all visiting for the festival?” I ask.
“No!” the boy answers with a laugh. “My mom is just always cold. My dad is never cold though.”
“Well, opposites attract, I guess,” I grin, winking at the woman.
The man glances over, brow furrowing in the middle. The woman’s face turns as red as her chilled nose. “Actually, my son’s father and I are divorced. I’m Gail, this is James.”
“Call me Jamie,” the child tells me with quite some confidence. He sticks out his hand, wiggling expectant fingers. I’ve found them. Now all I need is to work out how to link everything together.
“Jamie,” I echo, shaking his hand. His grip is firm for such a little guy.
He gives my hand a single, solid shake, grinning up at me. “Dad taught me how to do that. But didn't your dad teach you how to do it right?”
“Jamie!” Gail gasps, nudging him. “That’s rude.”
He looks up at her and frowns. “She didn't say her name is all. That’s the most important part of a handshake and a greeting.”
“My dad didn't teach me; I guess he should have!” I sputter, trying to collect myself. “My name is Hannah. I’m in town for a few days.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Hannah,” Gail offers, ruffling her son’s tousled hair and wiping a smudge of what looks like pasta from his cheek.
He giggles and turns back to me. “Do you ice skate?”
"I've never been! In California, we don't have many places where we can do that."
“You came all the way from California?” he gasps. “That’s like a hundred miles!”
“It’s a little more than that, Jamie,” the man behind Gail chuckles.
I wonder if he’s Donny, but I can’t bring myself to ask.
Jamie whirls back to his mother, draping his arms around her legs. Like Jackson, he’s tall. I can see the resemblance between the two now. Both have soft, dark hair, sharp noses, and almond eyes. I’m surprised I didn't notice right off the bat.
“Mom, can Hannah come and learn ice skating on Christmas Eve with us, after the tree lighting?
“Please?”
I look back to Gail, noticing the color draining from her cheeks. She and Donny exchange a quick glance.
“Jamie…” she mumbles, biting her lip.
The boy doesn’t notice her hesitance and looks back at me with a huge grin.
“Me and Mom and Dad always ice skate together before I go to Dad’s for Christmas. It’s so much fun. Will you come? I’ll teach you how to skate myself. I’m really good, Dad says so.”
His chest puffs out, delight shining in his face. I can all but hear Jackson cheering Jamie on while they skate together. My heart twists in my chest, knowing that Jamie won't be skating with his dad this year unless I can figure out some way to reunite their family in peace.
“Jamie, we should be going. We can get dessert later,” Gail interjects, shooting me an apologetic smile.
“But Mom—”
“Listen to your mother,” Donny says, voice firm but not unpleasant. His fingers touch Gail’s hip, and she looks at him again with deep fondness. “Come on, we’ve still got that gingerbread house to make, right? Why buy dessert when we can make one together?”
Gail’s tight smile eases, relaxing into a much more natural expression as Jamie claps his hands.
Is this really the woman trying to ruin Jackson’s Christmas? She seems so down to earth and mellow. Just what in the world has gone on between her and Jackson? Why is she resisting letting Jamie spend the holiday with his father?
I’d thought this would be simple, that there would be a bad parent and a good parent, but it’s turning out to be way more complicated than I ever would’ve guessed.
“Okay,” Jamie agrees, and then adds, “but I get to do the frosting!”
“That’s only because you sneak tastes,” Donny chuckles.
Jamie sticks out his tongue and waves to me, following Gail and Donny out. “Bye, Hannah!”
I lift my hand, wave and watch the trio head back out of the restaurant. Gail looks back one more time as they leave, shooting me another gentle smile.
Any illusion that I had of her as some wicked witch out to make Jackson miserable has just been shattered.
That makes this holiday festival even more difficult to salvage.
Chapter 6
Jackson
It’s nearly two hours later when Hannah’s car rolls back up the track. The sky is pitch black, painted like velvet over the snow-covered ground. Though the snow’s stopped falling for the night, everything is still coated in white powder. Jamie loves stomping in the snow, watching the glittering dust puff around his feet with every step. I can almost hear his laughter.
Even though I’m sure she’s freezing, judging by the thickness of her coat and her very visible shiver—even from here—Hannah takes her time getting out of her rental car and picks her way towards the door. When she knocks, her face is glum as she enters.
“Did you find them?” I ask, appraising her.
Although she’d been feisty earlier in the evening, that fire of hers seems to have been quelled, and I’m a little disappointed. I’d thought she’d had more gusto than that.
“I did,” she whispers.
I walk over to the heating unit of the small home and crank it up a few notches, though Hannah remains in her jacket. She digs her hands into her coat pockets, fidgeting.
“Well?” I ask. “How’d it go?”
“I went to the restaurant, and they were there at the same time.”
“And?”
She frowns at me. I can see her mind is buzzing, though she doesn’t share what’s whirling around between her ears.
“You’re not going to help me get my son back for Christmas, are you?” I ask in defeat, slouching into my chair. “You changed your mind?”
It’s so odd; just based off her confidence and gusto, I’d believed I actually had a chance of waking up Christmas morning to my son’s bright and cheery face. Why I ever let myself trust this woman that I don’t even know, I’ll never understand. Just what confidence did she inspire in me?
“I have not changed my mind, Jackson,” she answers, voice thick with sincerity. “I will still help you. It’s just not going to be as easy as I thought.”
“Because your article is on the line, right?”
She blinks as though she’s remembering something that she’d forgotten. She gives a faint nod.
“Yes, and I need to write my article.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just find some other Christmas festival and write up a report on them?”
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “It can only be focused on Shady Piers. It’s so beautiful and picturesque here. It’s like the perfect little town. The readers of the magazine will love it, and so will the editors.”
“Perfect?” The word comes out with such shock that it makes Hannah’s head tilt to the side. “You think Shady Piers is perfect?”
“Well…I just meant that it could be one of those stock photos in a frame or something. Everything about it is just lovely.”
“We are far from perfect. We have our own troubles just like any other place. It’s just that during this time of year when it’s snowing and everyone is filled with cheer, it’s easy to overlook everything else.”
Her lips purse, but she doesn't arg
ue. "I didn't mean to offend you."
“You didn't. But remember that we’re not just some flawless picture to be painted in your magazine. We’re people. We have pain, we have joy, we experience everything that you do, even if our town looks better on a postcard than yours might.”
Hannah’s gone silent now, her eyes focused down on her hands. Her pen is gone from behind her ear, her notepad still tucked away wherever. She hasn't taken a single note during this conversation, unlike the several she’d taken earlier.
“What does Christmas mean to you, Hannah?” The question left my mouth before I could think it through.
Her focus drifts back towards me, her mouth twisting one way and then the other.
“It’s a day of sharing and giving and family,” she answers, with a somewhat mechanical response, like she’s reading from a script.
She watches me, hoping that her answer appeased whatever point I was trying to get across. It didn't.
“If that’s what it means, then what are you sharing and what are you giving? Why aren’t you with your family?”
“People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Jackson. You could share too if you will give up that tree.”
“Didn't I just say nobody here is perfect?”
A faint smile appears on her lips, though I’m not sure if it’s just a trick of the fading light. I only have one light in the house that’s on at the moment. I’d turned the rest off after irritated customers came knocking on the door. I’d even caught a few trying to sneak trees off the property.
“You’re here to write up an article on the festival, that’s all. You might love Christmas, but all you’re doing is trying to save your own hide by fixing the festival. You aren’t doing it out of selfless generosity.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs thoughtfully, inspecting her shoes. I can’t tell if she’s hearing what I’m saying or if she’s mulling over the words.
“What’s this really about, Jackson?” she asks. Her brown eyes seem to reflect the dim light, gleaming softly on her face. “What does refusing to let the town have the tree for the festival do to help your own cause? How does that bring your son back to you?”