All she regretted now was not slapping his face.
Paige packed up her things and told her parents she needed to leave first thing in the morning. After she'd turned off her light and gone to bed, her mother came into her room and switched on the bedside lamp.
Paige sat up. "What is it, Mamma?"
Her mother sat down on the bed. "I have something for you. I didn't want to give it to you at Christmas, because I didn't want to make Sofie feel bad that I don’t have one for her.”
She handed Paige a small jewelry case. “Farmor gave it to me. Even though she's my mother-in-law, I love her as my own mother. And she told me that when I passed it on, I should give it to you, that Bestemor Frantzen would have wanted you to have it."
Paige took it and rubbed the red velvet, then carefully opened the case. Inside was a small gold locket. Oval, with delicate filigree around the edges, worn nearly smooth. It was familiar somehow.
"Open it," her mother said.
Paige opened the delicate clasp to see two pictures staring up at her. Her great-grandmother had one corner of her mouth turned up slightly, as if she were about to smile. Her great-grandfather had a twinkle in his eye. Even though the photos were very old, they'd been well preserved inside the locket.
"Why haven't I seen you wear this?" Paige asked.
"I never could bring myself to put it on. I was always worried something might happen to it, and I wanted to make sure it would be in good condition for you. Farmor said from the moment you were born that you looked a lot like her mother. Same hair, eyes, same set to your chin. Bestefar gave this to Bestemor not too long after they married. She treasured it all her life before giving it to Farmor."
Paige hardly remembered her great-grandmother, as Paige had been about five years old when she’d passed, and she’d never known her great-grandfather—he had died several years before that.
She took out the locket and held it carefully. It felt heavier than she'd thought it would, as if lifetimes of stories gave it the weight of importance. Out of the gifts she'd been given—a sweater, red hat and gloves, two cookbooks she'd been coveting, and a nice chef's knife—this gift meant the most.
Paige put the locket on. As it settled on her neck, she reached up and rubbed it, and was instantly transported to a memory from when she was a small child, sitting on Bestemor's frail lap, rubbing the necklace. "Thanks, Mamma," she whispered, and gave her a hug.
When they let go, Mamma put a hand on Paige’s shoulder and asked, "My dear girl. Are you happy?"
"I think so. Why do you ask?"
"Because you are here with us, but not fully here. And now you are going back early. What’s wrong? You have me concerned." She sat back and waited for Paige to speak.
Paige figured her family must have picked up on her mood, even though she’d tried to hide it. "I'm not sure what to tell you. I guess life doesn't have as much meaning as it used to. I had the goal of going to culinary school. I've done that. My job is good, but it doesn't really fulfill me. I thought coming here would revive me a lot, and of course, I was excited to see Michael."
Her mother started shaking her head, but Paige continued. "No, Mamma. It's not because of Michael. I thought Christmas would settle my spirits and bring me back to the joy I used to have. But something else has been missing. In fact, the only time I felt more alive, more useful, was when I was stuck in Higgins helping to put together the Christmas dinner."
"So, honey, what are you going to do?" She patted Paige’s hand, her words soft and encouraging.
Paige sighed. "I don't know, Mamma. But I'm going to figure it out."
After some more talking and hugs, her mother left the room. Paige did something she hadn't done in a very, very long time—she prayed. She didn't know for sure if anyone was listening, but it was worth a shot, right?
After pouring out her heart, she laid her head on her pillow and fell asleep almost instantly.
Chapter Seventeen
Saturday, December 26th
The next morning, as Paige folded her pajamas and put them in her suitcase, she picked up the small, woven heart basket she'd saved for Tristan. Christmas at home had been nice, but other than seeing her family, she hadn't felt the joy in their traditions that she usually did. She wanted what she'd seen in Tristan's eyes. Maybe she could get Rachel to go with her to Tristan's house so she could deliver the little package of wrapped candies and a cookie to him personally.
Paige closed and zipped up the suitcase with purpose. She smelled coffee—her father must be home. She'd hardly seen him at all. With students gone for the holiday, he’d been catching up on other work at the college. Life as a music professor was a lot busier than people thought.
She went downstairs to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was Pappa, reading the paper and drinking his usual—black coffee with one sugar. "Hi, pumpkin," he said, folding the newspaper.
"Anything interesting?" she asked the same way she had every morning they were both home for as long as she could remember.
"Not much. Look at this. Someone rescued a dog that fell into Brooks' pond. Made the front page." He turned the paper to show her the picture of a sad-looking puppy wrapped in blankets.
"I'm glad they saved him.”
She made some toast and jam, and Pappa handed her half the newspaper. They sat in companionable silence, Paige soaking in the routine. She'd missed this. She and her father had never needed many words between them.
Finally, they folded their papers, and he took a swallow of his coffee before settling his gaze on Paige. "So, Mamma said you're ready to head back?" When Pappa was concerned, there was always a line in his forehead that gave him away.
"Pappa, I'll be fine. I just need to figure some things out, that's all."
He cleared his throat. "Well, I've been waiting for the right time, and this feels like it. When Bestefar and Bestemor made their wills, they'd left a little for you and Sofie, since you were the only great-grandchildren then. There wasn't a lot, but we invested it and didn't touch a dime. So there's some money in there to use if you want to start a business. If you begin really small and budget, you could do it. Sofie used hers to help start her photography business, and now you can decide what to do with yours.”
Paige didn't know what to think. She was completely surprised at her father's words. She also wondered why he hadn't told her about this when she'd gone to culinary school. "I've been paying back these loans for the last two years. This is blowing me away, and I am so grateful, but I'm wondering why you didn't tell me about it sooner."
"Well, they made us promise that you'd learn to work hard before we gave it to you. That way, we'd ensure you'd have the best chance of succeeding. There’s only ten thousand dollars now, but it's enough to make a difference."
Ten thousand dollars? She could finish paying off school right away. Heck, she could take another course, if she decided to. A world of choices had just opened up. She wanted to make the very best use of the money, because once it was gone, it was gone. "How about we pay off my school now, and leave the rest in the bank so I can figure out what to do?"
Her father took another sip of his coffee, put the mug down, and smiled. "That's my girl. Always had a head on your shoulders. Your oldeforeldre would be proud." He hugged her, then carried her luggage to the car for her before heading back to the college.
After kissing and hugging her mother, and accepting some leftovers to take back with her, Paige was off. The light glistened, bouncing off the snow, and the sky shone a brilliant blue. Paige's spirits were bright, her future full of possibilities. She didn't even know where to begin, but she didn't want to make any major decisions just yet. She'd let her thoughts marinate for a while.
Paige made pretty good time. She pulled into the Stay Inn around twelve thirty and refilled her gas tank, then went inside the Hole to get something to drink, excited to see Rachel. But when she got to the counter, a scruffy, older man stood behind the counter, refilling the salt shakers.
"Naw. She's visitin' her family in Gallatin. Won't be home till tomorrow."
"Oh." Paige couldn't hide her disappointment. "Well, thanks anyway. Wait—do you know a family who lives here with a little boy named Tristan? He's about five years old or so—"
"Never heard of him. 'Course, I might know his parents, but I don't keep track of the kids 'round here." He polished the napkin holder on the counter with a worn rag.
"I don't know who his parents are. But thank you."
Paige paid for her drink and left, completely discouraged. Sitting in the car, waiting for the heater to warm up, she realized just how much she'd wanted to see Tristan again. Not only that, but something about this town had really touched her, and she wanted to get some of that feeling back. Too bad Wes hadn't been at the inn. If her memory served correctly, he'd called the boy by name. That meant he knew who Tristan was!
But could she get up the courage to find Wes? She did have his phone number, since he'd texted her the menu last week. Paige pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned it over a few times, thinking. She’d passed the courthouse on the way in, and she hadn’t seen his truck. Maybe she should drive by again—he could have come on shift while she’d been getting gas.
Would Wes think she was hitting on him if she showed up again? Or worse, would it be horribly awkward? She hadn't left him on the best of terms, but they'd ironed things out. And she’d been kind of rude, bringing his lack of cheer up in the first place.
There was still only one vehicle in front of the courthouse—an old brown car. Wes’s truck was nowhere in sight. She could always go inside to ask about Tristan, but she had to admit to being a little gun-shy at going back when she'd just paid off her community service. Now what should she do?
Enough with the thinking already. She got back in the car and on the highway.
Chapter Eighteen
Paige kicked the tire in frustration. Good thing she'd worn her sturdy boots, or she might have added a broken toe to the list of things that had gone wrong. It had snowed a good deal since she'd last been here, but the roads were perfectly clear. When she'd turned onto the lane that led to Wes's house, she also remembered why they'd taken his truck when they’d gone to get the cream. There were large tire tracks in the snow, so Paige had figured if she followed them, she should be fine. She didn't think she could back out onto the road, since it was slightly uphill. The best thing to do had been to keep going—until she braked for a rabbit, slid, and ended up inches from a tree.
"Argh!" She kicked the tire again. Who ever thought gravel was the perfect substitute for asphalt?
Well, unless she got help really soon, she wouldn't make it back to the city in time to help with the pre-party prep. Gretchen would be disappointed, but Paige wouldn’t worry about that until she knew what she was facing.
Thankfully, she’d ended up near the bend in the lane that led to Wes's house. She smelled wood smoke, so she hoped he was home. No use calling him—she'd keep the element of surprise. And what a surprise that would be.
Wes checked on the beef chunks cooking on the range. Satisfied they were nearly ready, he checked on his woodstove. After poking the coals, he added another log. He'd fine-tuned the process, gotten to know the exact method he'd need to coax the most heat out of the stove. Still, he'd had to turn on the furnace. It was bitter cold out there today.
He went to his pantry and pulled out some jars of home-canned vegetables. He could almost taste the stew already, the only one he knew how to make, thanks to Rachel. Otherwise, he ate pretty simply. Maybe he should take up cooking as a hobby sometime.
He'd just begun slicing potatoes into small chunks when someone knocked on the door. Newton growled from his warm spot near the woodstove. "Quiet, boy." Wes went to the door and opened it.
There stood Paige, red cheeks blazing, matching her scarf and hat. She shivered in her puffy black coat, arms wrapped around her. "Hi! I—I thought you m—might want a visit this fine w—winter afternoon!"
A homeless puppy. That's what she reminded him of. He bit back a laugh. "Come in! You've got to be freezing!" He peeked outside. Sure enough, no car. "Where did you walk from?"
She trudged into the house, tracking snow everywhere. "Around the curve. That's where my car is. I braked to avoid hitting a rabbit, and now my poor Camry’s in a ditch." She went to the sofa and sat down, shivering. "Oh no. I've brought snow in everywhere!"
This time, he allowed himself a small chuckle. "It's all right. The floor needed a mopping anyway. You know what they say about bachelors . . ."
"No, I don't, actually. Tell me."
He wasn't prepared for that. "Uh, well . . . that they need to mop their floors?"
They both laughed rather nervously, then he took a few blankets and draped them around her. "These will help. Let's get you warmed up, then we'll talk about your car. Would you like something hot to drink? Coffee, tea?"
She peeked up at him from the mound of blankets. "Hot chocolate?" Her innocent way of requesting something so simple tugged at his heart. He'd tried to convince himself that he hadn’t really been as drawn to her as he thought, but being in her presence again, here in his house, brought back those feelings and intensified them.
"Yes, I have hot chocolate. Give me a few minutes." All sorts of questions raced through his mind as he made the chocolate, but he figured she'd tell him what she was doing there soon enough.
Wes handed her the mug and settled down on the sofa next to her. There was silence while she sipped her chocolate. "Ah, I can feel the warmth coming back to my face. I didn't walk very far, but it sure is cold out there." She looked around and frowned.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing." She took another sip of chocolate.
He didn't want to play games. "No, please tell me. I really want to know."
Paige fiddled with the edge of the blanket. "Well, okay. I didn't want to upset you, since we left each other on the wrong foot. But I couldn't help noticing how you don't have any Christmas decorations in here. Not even one. Yet you help other people at Christmas . . . are you Jewish? Atheist?"
He laughed. "I lean toward Christian, but I don't really believe in organized religion. Plus, Christmas is over. There's no need to have decorations up."
"But . . . when I was here before Christmas, you didn't have any either. I guess I just don't understand." She added hastily, "But that's okay. I don't need to."
Wes wasn’t thrilled that she'd brought the subject up again, but after all, he'd wanted to know what she was thinking. Maybe he should come clean. "I didn't tell you my full name, did I?"
"It’s Wes Atwood. Right?" She cocked her head, curious. Wow, she was adorable.
"Actually, it’s Wenceslas Atwood."
"Wenceslas? As in ‘Good King Wenceslas?’" She ended the sentence on a higher pitch than when she'd started, and when he nodded, she clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
"It's okay. Go ahead and laugh. But now you can see why I go by 'Wes.'"
“I’m not going to laugh. I think it’s sweet.”
"My parents adopted me at Christmastime. My mother named me and called me her Christmas miracle. She always loved Christmas and went all out celebrating. They’d only been able to have my sister, Janelle, and they’d wanted at least two children.
“When I was seven, she went to Kansas City to get supplies for the huge Christmas party she always threw, and got in an accident on her way home.
"She was severely, permanently injured. My father couldn't take care of her, so she was put in a home where she lived until I was twelve, then passed away when her body couldn't hold out." He hadn't expected to tell her quite that much, but for some reason, he wanted to. "I haven't talked about this in a long time."
‘Her brows drew together in concern. "I'm so sorry, Wes. That's terrible."
"It is what it is. After she passed, my father started drinking more. He was a reclusiv
e drunk. Kept to himself. Janelle went to college as soon as she graduated from high school, but she couldn’t take me with her. I left home at eighteen, and he stayed married to his booze. Died a few years back from a ruined liver."
"At Christmas?"
"No. In June."
They sat in silence for a moment. Paige said, “I don’t blame you at all for not liking this time of year. What a horrible thing it must have been for you to go through.” She ran a hand through her hair, sweeping silky blonde strands back from her face. Wes tried not to stare. She made a simple motion utterly beautiful and tantalizing all at once.
Suddenly, he wanted to tell her his other reasons for disliking Christmastime. Well, one other reason. But it was kind of personal. Nah, he wouldn’t ruin this moment by talking about Katherine.
He stood and took her empty cocoa mug. "So, if you're warmed up, let's go into the kitchen. I'm not a professional like you, but I want to get the rest of the stew put together. You can tell me about your car and watch someone else cook for a change." He couldn't stop noticing how her pink lips were framed by her pale skin. And her eyes . . . those dark brown eyes. "I don't see many girls with blonde hair and dark eyes. It's a very striking combination."
Paige raised her eyebrows, obviously wondering what kind of crazy guy said those kinds of things. He'd probably offended her. Shoot. But she said, "Well, my father's family is Norwegian. And while a large amount of Norwegians do have Mediterranean blood now, my mother is Italian. I actually look a lot like my Bestemør—that’s Great-Grandmother—Frantzen. I'll have to tell you about her sometime. She and my great-grandpa have an amazing story. I guess hearing all about them as I grew up really cemented my love for my heritage." She pulled a necklace out of her coat and opened the oval locket, holding it out to him.
Wes walked over and leaned close to see the locket, hyper aware of Paige's nearness. He smelled the sweet vanilla scent of her hair, and her breath warmed his cheek. All he'd have to do was glance up to be inches away from her lips. He focused hard on the pictures in the locket and did see a big resemblance there.
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