by Wendy Loggia
I shake my head, confused. He isn’t making any sense.
Charlie goes on. “That night, you got stuck in that snowbank,” he went on. “If I hadn’t come along when I did, a 1972 F100 Ford truck would have.”
Huh? That’s the truck Jacob drives. I shake my head. “I’m not understanding where you’re going with this. If you hadn’t stopped to help me, Jacob Marley would have?” And how the heck does Charlie know what kind of truck Jacob has?
“No.” Charlie’s still holding my hands, and he pulls me closer, an earnest expression on his face. “Bailey, it was your crucial night. If I didn’t stop to help you and get you on your way, something bad would have happened—Jacob Marley would have left Joe Shiffley’s party. Upset over not talking to you, he would be driving too fast and playing his music too loud. In that whiteout, he wouldn’t have seen your car in time to stop. He would have hit you. You both—” Charlie shakes his head. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
I’m still as a statue. “We both what? And what do you mean, let that happen?”
Charlie squeezes my hands. “Bailey Briggs, named after George Bailey and believer in Christmas Magic, don’t you get it?” he asks quietly.
“Can you spell it out for me?” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Because I think I do get it and I’m slightly freaked out right now.”
Charlie lets go of my hands and rests his palms on top of my trembling shoulders. “I’ve been given a great gift, Bailey. I get to watch out for you and protect you and help you. I’m—”
“Stop! Don’t say it,” I cry out, holding my hand across his mouth. If he says what I think he’s going to say, that would mean he has serious mental issues…or it would mean that he is…an angel.
This is not something I’m prepared to deal with after my twelve-to-six shift at Winslow’s.
“I thought you wanted me to ‘spell it out for you,’ ” he says, using air quotes.
“Changed my mind,” I say firmly. But then a calmness comes over me and I realize…as crazy as it is, I believe him.
From the moment I first laid eyes on Charlie that day at the ice rink, there was something about him that felt special and different. And now I know why. Suddenly it all makes sense—the snowbank, the beautiful cookies, the tree tags, the North Pole….
Everything falls into place, like the last piece in the Christmas puzzle my family works on each year. It’s like the holiday sign my mom hangs up in our family room. JUST BELIEVE.
And I do.
“There’s a reason both you and Jacob were spared that night,” he tells me, and I’m hanging on his every word. “You’re going to do important things in your lives. You both have to be alive for those things to happen.”
“So we end up together?” I let out a little gasp. “We get…married?” I like Jacob—I like him a lot—but I am not ready for this level of commitment. I’m only a high school junior!
Charlie laughs. “Slow your roll there, Bailey. Focus on the here and now. That’s what’s important. You have a wonderful life ahead of you. And so does Jacob. I just needed to make sure you each had the opportunity to live it.”
“You look really pretty,” Jacob says, his voice soft. It’s finally my favorite night of the year, Christmas Eve, and here is my favorite guy, standing in my living room.
It’s like a dream.
“So do you.” Then we both laugh. “You know what I mean,” I say, blushing. He looks great. He has on dark jeans, and a sweater over a dress shirt. And he got a haircut, but it’s just a trim, barely noticeable if you aren’t paying attention. I’m wearing a cream sweater and skirt, with little rhinestone barrettes pulling back my hair on either side of my face. Without my boots on, he is a good four or five inches taller than me.
My family is in the middle of getting ready for our traditional Christmas Eve feast with all my aunts and uncles and cousins. My aunt Amy hosts every year, and my family is upstairs getting ready. Jacob has a family dinner to go to as well. But when he called to ask if he could come over for a little while, of course I said yes. I’ve never gotten ready so fast.
Snow is falling outside our window, and our neighborhood is aglow in holiday lights. It’s magical. A fire is crackling in the fireplace, and our Christmas tree looks beautiful, its white lights twinkling. Dickens is underneath it, nestled between presents, chewing on a toy bone Jacob brought him. And Liam’s laptop is on the coffee table, open to noradsanta.org so we can track Santa’s progress across the globe. He’s just been spotted over Azerbaijan.
“Nice tree you have there,” Jacob says, grinning. “How’s the one from the farm doing?”
“Oh, it’s great,” I say. “I have it up in my room. I went with a candy theme—the whole tree is decorated with ornaments like cake slices and lollipops.”
“That’s…sweet.”
I give him a good-natured sock in the arm. “Ouch, that hurt,” he kids, and I reach over and squeeze his biceps. It feels good to joke around with him. I can’t stop smiling.
“So I got you something, and I wanted to give it to you before tomorrow,” Jacob tells me. He walks over to where he left his coat and comes back with a small gift-wrapped box. He places it in my hands.
“Should I open it now?” I ask, excited. I still can’t believe he’s at my house, let alone giving me a Christmas present. Luckily I have one for him too—a customized paint-by-numbers painting of Wags I ordered on Etsy. It’s wrapped and under the tree in—no surprise—the Dogs in Stockings gift wrap.
He nods. Inside the box is a delicate gold chain with a slim gold bar at the center. On the bar is a series of numbers. I squint to read them in the firelight.
“It’s the coordinates of the bookstore,” Jacob says, and I can tell how excited he is to give it to me. “I know it’s a special place to you. And it’s special to me, too, because it’s where we met, not counting school.”
“I love it,” I breathe, holding it up. “Would you put it on me?” It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.
Jacob stands behind me and fastens the clasp while I hold up my hair. “Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect.” I turn to face him. After my conversation with Charlie last night, I’m looking at Jacob with new eyes. Everything about him seems clearer and brighter—and not just because it’s Christmas Eve. I wish I could tell him about Charlie, about how he saved both our lives, how he told me we were destined to do great things, but I know I can’t.
When we said goodbye last night, I understood that I wasn’t going to see Charlie anymore—maybe not ever. But I also instinctively know that he’ll always be there, hovering around the edges, ready to swoop in if I need him. I am going to miss him.
Now it’s time to appreciate what I have right in front of me. Real-life Christmas Magic.
Jacob reaches into his back pocket and takes out a little green sprig dotted with white berries. “I brought this from the farm,” he says. “I tried not to bend it.”
“Is that actual mistletoe?” I ask, my breath catching in my throat. My wish is coming true before my eyes.
“It’s the real deal,” he says quietly. “You are, too, Bailey. I think you’re amazing. Will you…will you be my girlfriend?” He holds the mistletoe over our heads, and I lean in to kiss him.
“I would have done that without the mistletoe, you know,” I whisper.
“Just wanted to be prepared,” he says, wrapping his other arm around me and pulling me close. “Merry Christmas, Bailey.”
“Merry Christmas, Jacob.”
And maybe it is my imagination, but as our lips touch, I’m pretty sure I hear a sleigh bell ring.
Acknowledgments
The Nice List
Everyone at Underlined: my editor, Kelsey Horton, who made my story merry and bright; art director Alison Impey, who went the extra holiday mile for me
; Josie Portillo, for a holly jolly cover; Lili Feinberg, Colleen Fellingham, Marla Garfield, Erica Henegen, Jenn Inzetta, Alison Romig, Tamar Schwartz, and Elizabeth Ward for their goodwill and good cheer; and a cup o’ kindness to Beverly Horowitz.
My dear friends who keep the season bright.
My family, for making every single Christmas the best one ever.
And in loving memory of Dickens, the best dog and truest friend.
Get swept away in another Underlined romance!
“It looks like a drunk elf threw up in here.”
I snorted a laugh and looked at my sister, Lauren, as we stopped just inside the sliding glass doors to the Evergreen Lodge. Lauren was not wrong. The huge, three-story lobby atrium, with its exposed wood beams and tremendous chandeliers (made of a thousand fake deer antlers), was still decorated for Christmas—and the sensory experience was an onslaught of yuletide cheer. Every one of the beams was swagged with evergreen garland and roped with white twinkle lights. The chandeliers had been draped in red-and-green-plaid ribbon, and large glass balls hung overhead. Christmas-themed pillows overflowed from every couch and chair, and there were Christmas trees of all sizes everywhere. In the corners, on the counters, acting as centerpieces for the low coffee tables. There was even a life-sized animatronic Santa next to the check-in desk, waving with one hand and holding a plate of cookies in the other, while the instrumental soundtrack to The Nutcracker played at a respectful volume from hidden surround-sound speakers.
“Why does the elf have to be drunk?” I asked.
Lauren rolled her eyes like I was so lame. Which, let’s be honest, I should be used to by now. But my cheeks went ahead and started burning anyway. Lauren pretty much always thought I was lame. I wasn’t sure why I kept trying. If there was one thing for certain on this earth, it was that my big sister and I did not share the same sense of humor. Or style. Or basic outlook on life. And still…
“No, seriously,” I said. “Couldn’t the elf just have the flu? Or E. coli?”
“Ew!” Lauren scrunched her perfect nose. “That’s so gross.”
“How is throwing up from the flu grosser than throwing up from being drunk? Barf is barf.”
“Why do you always do this?” Lauren asked.
I have no idea, I thought.
“Do what?” I said.
“Overanalyze everything. It was just an offhanded joke. God, Tess. Just chill.”
Lauren sighed the sigh of the world-weary and looked at her phone, punching in a message with her thumbs before shoving it back into the pocket of her tight jeans. The second she looked up, she shouted “Loretta!” and raised her arm straight up in the air. Her smile even seemed genuine, which was impressive, considering Lauren had spent the entire shuttle ride over from the tiny regional airport bitching about how our grandmother—who had insisted we call her Loretta from the day each of us could talk—hadn’t sent a car. Instead, we had been jammed into the back of the twelve-seat Evergreen Lodge minibus with ten other ski-obsessed Vermont vacationers, all of whom had been in far better, louder, and even singier moods than we had. “Twelve Days of Christmas” was going to be playing on repeat in my head until basically the end of time.
“Girls!” Loretta called, walking over to us in her high heels and pencil skirt. Her chic steel-gray bob gleamed under the lights, and her makeup was, as always, perfectly applied—cheekbones defined, lips outlined, eyelashes long and curled. She air-kissed first Lauren, then me—enveloping us in a cloud of her rose-scented perfume—then stepped back to look us over.
Loretta was wearing a white silk shirt, a pearl choker, and tasteful diamond earrings. She looked like a million bucks, as usual. I tugged at the frayed cuffs of my sweatshirt and wondered if any of my friends’ grandmothers made them feel frumpy and unstylish like mine did. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? My other grandma—Nana, my mom’s mom—was twenty pounds heavier than Loretta, wore nothing but colorful cotton sweaters and jeans, and smelled of apple pie and Bengay. She made me feel ready for Fashion Week.
Not that I had put in maximum effort this morning. The day after the worst Christmas ever, and I was getting on a plane with my sister to enjoy a week of exile. If any day had ever screamed “comfy sweats,” it was this one.
“Oh, it’s good to see you both,” Loretta said. “How was your trip?”
“It was fine,” I told her just as Lauren said, “It was long.” This was true. We’d had to fly from Philadelphia to Boston, hang out in the airport there for over an hour, and then board the tiny plane over to the Stowe airport, where we’d gotten on the musical shuttle bus. But I’d never been one to complain.
“Well, you’re here now. Just wait until you see all the incredible events the staff has planned for this week. You girls are going to have such a fabulous time.”
Lauren looked at me out of the corner of her eye, and I had to look away to keep from laughing again. There was always a litany of “incredible events” planned at Evergreen Lodge. My dad’s family had run the place for generations, with Loretta at the helm now. The lodge was more like a compound, consisting of the main building with its huge lobby, event spaces, restaurants and coffee bar, indoor pool, fully equipped gym, and one hundred hotel-style rooms. But it didn’t end there. Several outbuildings housed a spa, a greenhouse, a boathouse, a wedding chapel, a dance hall, a couple dozen private cabins, and the Little Green Lodge at the top of the ski lifts where people could rest and get hot chocolate and snacks between runs. Plus there was a staff of hundreds, each with their own specialty, whether it be lifeguarding, line-dancing, or fireside storytelling. Loretta knew every member of the staff by name and treated them all like family. Which was to say, she smiled at them occasionally.
Evergreen Lodge reminded me of this movie called Dirty Dancing, which my mom had made both me and Lauren watch the second we turned twelve. It had been Mom’s favorite movie as a kid, and sometimes I wondered if that movie was the entire reason my mother had fallen in love with my dad. She must have walked into Evergreen Lodge the first time and envisioned Baby and Johnny doing their iconic lift in the center of the lobby and just said, That’s it! I’m in! Of course, Mom and Dad’s romance hadn’t worked out quite as well as the one depicted in the movie. My parents were currently in the midst of finalizing their divorce. Which was the entire reason Lauren and I were here. Usually we came in the summer, because my mom liked hiking better than skiing, but we’d been here a few times in February so that Lauren and I could learn to ski, which was one of my dad’s favorite things. This was the first time I had seen the place all done up for the holidays, though. Normally, I loved Christmas and would relish this cozy, merry atmosphere. With the way things were in my life right now, though, I was not in the mood.
Christmas was over, and I sort of wished the staff had already de-merried the place.
A family of four walked through the doors behind us, toting their skis and snowboards, the parents laughing and holding hands with ruddy faces and windswept hair. My heart panged. How could people be walking around all happy and carefree when everything was falling apart?
“Let’s get you two settled,” Loretta said, clasping her hands. She pivoted on her heel and led us across the lobby. “I’ve reserved one of the bigger rooms on the third floor for you. It has fantastic views of the mountains and the lake—not that I expect you’ll be spending much time in your room, what with everything going on around the resort.”
“Wait. Our room?” Lauren said. “As in one room?”
“Yes, I reserved just the one this time,” Loretta said, glancing back over her shoulder at us with an expression that told us there would be no arguments. “Your parents thought it would be good for the two of you to spend some time together. You know, family time.”
Heat flared through my entire body. How hypocritical could our parents be? Right now, at this very moment, they were l
iterally splitting up our family. They had shipped us off the day after Christmas for the express purpose of dividing their things, boxing up my dad’s stuff, moving him out. Because of them, there would never be family time again. So why did Lauren and I have to suffer?
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lauren scoffed. “Do you have any idea how hypocritical that is?”
“Lauren!” I scolded under my breath, though I was more annoyed that my sister had the guts to say what I didn’t.
“What? You know it’s true,” Lauren said as we stepped into the elevator. There was a giant wreath hung on the back wall, full of glittering berries and fake cardinals. An instrumental version of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” played through the overhead speakers.
Loretta hit the button for the third floor and sniffed. “Girls, whatever your thoughts on your parents’ current situation, you must understand this is difficult for them, too. They’re both doing the best they can.”
If throwing us out and forcing us to share the same room for a week is the best they can do, then we have serious problems, I thought.
I glanced at Loretta. Maybe I could ask my grandmother if I could come live with her. Maybe if I spent my last year and a half of high school with Loretta, I’d become poised and sophisticated by osmosis. And one day I could take over Evergreen Lodge and run the ice-skating competitions each January and the s’mores-and-scares campfire nights at Halloween, and the movies under the stars on summer weekends.
Loretta looked back at me. “We should get you an appointment at the salon while you’re here, Tess. I don’t know what’s going on with that hair.”
Lauren laughed.
Or maybe not.
* * *
• • •
It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to be more like my sister. In certain ways, anyway. I would have killed to have that seemingly effortless beauty of hers—to look fresh-faced and pretty without a hair out of place at all times—but for me, it was just impossible. Lauren took after our mom, having inherited her gorgeous olive complexion, lustrous dark hair, and natural curves. I, however, looked just like our Irish dad, with skin so white I practically glowed in the dark and very blah dark blond hair. Even on those rare days when I did manage to get my perfectly straight locks to look sleek and healthy before leaving the house, by the time I hit the bathroom after homeroom it was all piece-y and lanky and just hung there. While Lauren walked around looking like she had just stepped off a yacht somewhere in the Greek isles, I looked more like I’d just come from the potato fields and a hard day’s work.