by Leah Atwood
Frankly, that’s why it’d taken him so long to actually move home after Mom and Dad gave him the place. Until he’d concocted the idea of coaxing his siblings home, he couldn’t fathom having so much space to fill.
“The tree might only be up for a few weeks, but the needles fall off all over the place and we’d be finding them for a month after. I’m fine with this one.”
Leigh bit her bottom lip before speaking again. “Actually, Drew, I’ve been meaning to—”
A burst of laughter clattered from the other side of the room—Maren’s. A gap in the branches gave him a view of her waving away Winnie who was tossing loose pieces of tinsel into Maren’s hair.
Frank Sinatra faded away, replaced by some other tranquil Christmas classic that reminded him of Grandpa. The slow songs had always been his favorite.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” Leigh tried again.
And at that, Drew turned to her once more. She faced the window now, her reflection appearing in the windowpane, a chill sifting from its glass surface. He dropped the last tree branch as the hesitance in her tone awakened an all-too-familiar dread. Had he been so focused on Maren, that’d he’d missed something with Leigh? Was she struggling again with the pills? Or alcohol? Was something wrong with Winnie?
A laugh sputtered from her. “Oh my gosh, the panic in your eyes right now.” She shook her head at his reflection next to hers. “Stay calm. I’ve got my two-year chip. Meetings are helping, that small group at church is really helping—”
“And being here, it’s helping?”
Her nod was slow. And weighted with something he couldn’t read. She angled away from the window. “It is. Being back in Maple Valley is awesome. I even love working at the restaurant. Seth Walker’s a great boss. Oh and his girlfriend, Ava, she’s a blast. I’m actually making friends.”
He heard the “but” before she said it.
“But I think it’s time to start looking for a place in town. There are some cute townhouses on Water Street and—”
“What? Why? I thought you were good here?” The questions bulleted from him. “There’s plenty of space. It’s rent-free.” I’m here.
“Winnie and I…we’re still finding our groove. I need space to really be her mom. I work so many hours and she’s got school and even when we’re both home, we don’t spend much time together.” Leigh picked up the branch he’d dropped on the chair, fidgeted with it before going on. “Honestly, it’s kind of hard to compete with you.”
“It’s not a competition.” He hated the dark underpinnings in his tone. Even more, the current of anxiety coursing through him. He’d failed coaxing Colin home and now Leigh was talking about leaving?
Couldn’t she see he was doing all this for them? Practically rebuilding the house and spending every last ounce of his energy, not to mention his savings, trying to prepare for his new life as a farmer…all for them.
“I know it’s not a competition, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t think Win’s ever going to truly depend on me or see me as someone she can count on, when you’re the one taking care of us.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad, I’m just…” Disappointed. And sagging under the realization that eventually it would just be him all alone in this big house. That he’d walked away from his life in St Louis for siblings who didn’t want to be here and a job he didn’t know how to do.
But hadn’t he prayed about this? Felt a nudge? Had it all been a mistake? “We’re going to need an extension cord for the lights. I’m going to go look for one.”
“Drew—”
“It’s fine, Leigh. I’m fine. I get it.”
He turned before she could read his lie and slipped into the kitchen, Maren and Winnie’s voices, the crackle of the fireplace and Bing Crosby’s warbling trailing after him.
He pulled open a drawer—the junk drawer, crammed with who knew what. He pilfered through it. No extension cord. He glanced up at the sound of dripping—an icicle outside the kitchen window, melting under a brash sun.
Of course Leigh wants to move. She’s always wanted space. And maybe she’s right about Winnie. Maybe—
“Drew?”
He heard Maren’s slippers padding over the tiled floor.
“Leigh said you need a cord. I borrowed one the other day. My laptop charger didn’t reach to the window seat. I can go get it.”
He closed the drawer and turned. A couple strands of tinsel still tangled in her hair and she was sliding her feet back and forth over the slippery floor, as if ice-skating in place. Her eyes lit with delight.
And he just stood there, one hand still on the drawer knob, wondering how in the world she seemed more at ease in this house than Leigh or Winnie.
And how it was possible—in only two weeks—to feel like he’d known her for a year.
And if maybe, like her parents meeting in a ski lodge during a snowstorm, Maren showing up in Iowa wasn’t random, if their easy friendship wasn’t happenstance. And if the feeling he was too nervous to name—probably the very thing that worried Leigh and something he wouldn’t have thought possible in so short a time—wasn’t so ridiculous, after all.
“Drew? The cord? Do you want me to go get it?”
The tapping of the melting icicle filled his pause. “Do you want to go on a date, Mare?”
She stopped sliding. “What?”
He reached forward to pull a piece of tinsel loose from her hair. “There’s a Christmas carnival in town tonight. Just another whackadoo Maple Valley thing, but—”
“Yes.”
He fiddled with the junk drawer knob. Opened it. Closed it. “There’ll be a bunch of booths and lights and music. And food, tons of it. Funnel cake—that seems like something you’d like. And—”
“Yes, Drew. I said yes.”
He clamped his mouth closed. Finally pulled his hand away from the junk drawer, but accidentally brought the knob with it…and the whole drawer, off its hinges…and everything with it. The drawer dropped and knocked against his leg. Its contents spilled to the floor, rolling under their feet, under the table.
“So it’s a date?”
He’d take her burst of laughter as a yes.
Chapter 8
For the second time in her life, Maren Grant sat next to a Renwycke brother, bundled under a quilt as glittering snowfall swirled in the air around her and a horse pulled her through a sunset-glazed city street.
Only this time it was the swish of a sleigh’s blades through snowy ground that filled the air instead of a clipped trot over pavement. And it was the now-familiar lights of the Maple Valley town square up ahead that beckoned instead of the brick and cement of Minneapolis.
And instead of Colin, it was Drew Renwycke sitting next to her, driving the sleigh he’d found in his barn.
Or, well, attempting to drive. So far the horse pulling the thing had stopped four times and veered off course once.
“I swear I told J.J. I needed a horse that was used to pulling something like this.” Drew flicked the reins as the Archway Bridge came into view. “But something tells me Godfrey here is past his prime.”
“Or he’s just protesting against being named Godfrey.” Moonlight brushed over the river’s icy ripples and music glided from the square. Christmas lights traced the rooftops and doorways of the riverfront businesses—Coffee Coffee, the newspaper office, the flower shop. She leaned closer to Drew. “Anyway, I don’t mind that it’s taking awhile to get to the carnival.”
“No?”
No, because the longer it took to get downtown, the longer this evening lasted. This enchanted night that so far had all the makings of a date she’d never forget. Almost enough to make her forget the suitcase back in Drew’s attic waiting to be packed or the book waiting to be finished or the fact that the bubble she’d lived in for the past two weeks was about to pop.
And it had nothing to do with the sleigh or the snow or the dinner they�
��d had back at the farm…
[Narrator]
I’m sorry, but we can’t just skip over this. We’re talking candle light dinner…in a haymow. Yes, a haymow.
Drew thought of everything. He brought up a space heater to warm the barn’s upper level, spread a quilt over the wood floor, lit candles and strung icicle lights from the rafters.
So basically it was one big fire hazard. But a romantic one, at that.
And there was pizza. Maren’s favorite.
Okay, back to the sleigh ride…
Well, maybe tonight’s magic had something to do with the sleigh or the snow or the dinner they’d had back at the farm…
But mostly it had everything to do with the man sitting next to her with the winter-ruddied cheeks and the windblown hair and the army green coat and—
“Hey, you’re wearing a coat.”
Drew glanced over, his blue-black eyes lit by contentment. “It’s below freezing tonight.”
“Don’t pretend this is normal behavior for you, Drew Renwycke. I’m pretty positive this is the first time I’ve seen you appropriately bundled up since I met you. You’re always running around outside in a flannel shirt or one of those puff vest things as if that counts as winter wear.”
“That’d be because I’m always hurrying. Trying to get stuff done. Tonight…” The sleigh bumped over the edge of the bridge and onto the street that would lead them downtown. “Tonight, for the first time in weeks, I feel…relaxed.”
“I like relaxed Drew.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
But the way he looked at her then, the shadow on his cheeks unable to hide the laugh lines that deepened as he grinned, she didn’t wish them back. They passed under an old-fashioned lamppost, light landing over them for a flicker of a moment.
“Hard to believe you’re leaving soon.”
His words, though soft, landed with a thud. “We were having such a fun night. Why’d you have to go and bring that up?”
“Don’t know. Guess it just keeps hitting me today. How empty the farmhouse is going to be soon. Colin clearly isn’t coming home and you’re leaving eventually and Leigh’s apparently already looking at townhomes.”
One block away, the square came into view. Lights and booths and a decorated evergreen, the buzz of laughter and conversation. Perfect.
Except for the barely-there whisper of concern in Drew’s voice. “Wait, why’s Leigh looking at other places? You’ve got plenty of space.”
“That’s what I said.”
“And after all the work you’ve put into the place. And it’s so pretty out there, like your own little carved out winter wonderland.” And she’d wondered more than once what it might be like to actually belong on the farm herself, instead of just temporarily laying claim to the attic.
And there it was again, the reminder that her days in Iowa were coming to a close. Mom and Dad were expecting her for their annual Christmas Eve party and then of course, family Christmas the next day. She had an editor waiting for her book and an agent wondering when she’d be ready with a proposal for more Ethan Whitney books and a school district that expected her to be available after winter break.
I’m not ready.
The horse’s gait halted—again. Drew flicked the reins. Nothing. “C’mon Godfrey, we’re almost there.”
The horse let out an irritated huff, its mane waving in the wind. “I think he just shook his head no at you.”
Drew’s expression was half-amused, half-annoyed. He lifted the quilt and hopped down from the sled. “Maybe I can lead him by hand. I’ll walk, you ride.” But when he tried to tug Godfrey forward, the horse only stamped its hoof.
“So maybe instead of filling your barn with animals, Drew, you should just save it for romantic dates.”
“One stubborn horse defies me and suddenly I’m not an animal guy?” He shrugged, tied the reins around a lamppost and rounded to her side of the sleigh. He reached for her hand. His fingers closed around hers as she stood, his other hand finding her waist.
“I’m just saying, so far it’s not looking good for you and horses.”
And then she was on the ground, just like this morning in the shed, only inches from Drew, looking up into a face that had at some point—without her realizing it—stolen her affection from the one on her book cover.
“Well, maybe I’m really good with cows.”
She blinked away a snowflake that landed in her eyelash and grinned.
“Or pigs. Or sheep. Or goats. You ever think of that?” He let go of her waist, but held on to her hand, steering her toward the square.
“I apologize, Old MacDonald. I shouldn’t have underestimated you.” How could her steps feel so light with her heavy wool-lined boots warming her feet and her long, belted winter coat? And she shouldn’t feel this warm, with the icy air turning her breath white and snowflakes sticking to her cheeks.
“So what do you want to do first? Some of the booths have games—you know, like, throw a ball, knock over some cans, get a cheap stuffed animal. There’s probably apple cider and hot chocolate somewhere.”
“I want to see your benches.”
He led her across Main Avenue. “My benches?”
“You delivered the rest of them a few days ago, didn’t you? Let’s see where they ended up.”
And so that’s what they did. For the next ten minutes, they wandered through the square, winding in and out of booths and people, finding each of Drew’s benches until they ended at the original—the one where they’d sat while that newspaper reporter took their photo and the mayor waxed eloquent about the downtown beautification efforts.
Just a simple bench sitting under the glow of a lamppost. But it felt like a symbol of something, a sign. The care Drew put into it, the time he’d spent making something for the whole town to enjoy, even while fixing up his house and prepping the farm and doting on Winnie. While watching out for Leigh and worrying over Colin and playing impromptu host to Maren.
And for just a moment—one that lingered soft as the snowfall—all the echoes of the carnival faded to a mere murmur as she turned to Drew.
“I’m not ready—”
“We’ll miss—”
Her blurted words collided with Drew’s and she felt his hand tighten around hers. “You first.”
“I’m not ready to go. I’m still twenty thousand words from the end of my book, for one thing and I haven’t spent nearly enough time in Maple Valley and…” And she knew it now. The what-if she’d come here to find had shifted. And if she left now…
Drew stepped closer, gaze moving from her eyes downward. “And?” he prodded. The wind grazed over her cheeks. “And what were you going to say?”
“We’ll…” He stopped, closing the last of the space between them. “I’ll miss you.”
The hand not encased in his found its way to his arm.
“Yeah?” The question came out almost a gasp, barely a whisper.
And as breathy wind swirled around their feet, loose strands of hair tickling her cheeks, Drew simply nodded. He reached his arm around her waist, paused for one breathless moment and then…
“Drew?”
Her gaze whipped the direction of the voice as Drew’s arm dropped.
And there, rooted beside Drew’s bench, the same trench coat he wore on the cover of her book— Colin.
* * *
“Clearly, I walked in on something.”
Drew blinked—once, twice—as disappointment and disbelief tangled through him. Disappointment that a perfect moment—the kind Maren might’ve written about in a book—had snapped in a breath.
Disbelief that it really was Colin standing under the lamppost, arms folded and probing gaze…dark.
“You…you’re here.”
Colin dropped his arms. “Yes, but I can see my timing wasn’t the best.”
His brother had shaved since they’d seen him last. Was that really just yesterday? He’d gelled his hair into some kind of side-swept
manicured thing and apparently didn’t care what the snow might do to his leather shoes.
“I didn’t expect…we didn’t…”
“Obviously.” There was something murky in Colin’s tone and in the way his focus slid to Maren. “Maren. Good to see you again. I started reading your book yesterday. I saw the postcard tucked in the cover.”
She’d left the postcard with Colin? She wasn’t carrying it around in her purse anymore? It shouldn’t please him so much.
“Well, we’re glad you’re here.” Drew grasped for the ease he wanted to feel at seeing Colin, but the lingering effects of yesterday’s near-fight—of too many years of distance—badgered him.
But that was then. Today can be different.
After all, look at all that had changed in just two weeks. In just twenty-four hours, even. This time last night, he’d sat alone in the woodshop wondering how his plans could’ve gone so off course.
But sometime today—that moment in the kitchen with Maren or maybe when Leigh told him she planned to move or maybe even before that, when he’d woken up in the shop with Maren—he’d let something go. The need to make sure his siblings’ lives were perfect before he moved on with his own.
“You got here just in time. We just got to the carnival. I’m thinking we hit the beverage stand first and—”
“I didn’t come for the carnival.” Colin plunged his hands in the pockets of his coat.
“Then what did you…” But he didn’t need to finish the question. Because he saw it—Colin’s darted glance at Maren, at their still linked hands. He heard Maren’s sharp inhale, felt her palm go limp in his.
He’d come because of Maren?
Not because of. For.
“Anyway, as you were.” Colin pivoted.
Maren released his hand at Colin’s retreat. “Go on, Drew.”
The temptation to pretend the last two minutes hadn’t happened, to turn his back on his brother and gather Maren back into his arms, it nearly consumed him. But Maren’s eyes urged him otherwise.
So he turned, caught up with Colin in a few steps. “Col, you don’t need to leave. Hang out with us. We’ll find Leigh and Winnie and—”