by Teri Wilson
“Yes, please,” I say. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that he’s the one who turned up to help me. “But I suppose this means I owe you more cookies.”
His laughter warms the chill out of my bones. “Not necessary. We’re good, Ash.”
I hope we are, I think. I truly do.
The inside of the firetruck is toasty warm, and I sink into the leather passenger seat while Aidan closes me in and stomps through the snow toward the driver’s side. We’re in the OLFD small rescue vehicle this time, not the ladder truck. It’s more like a glorified SUV than an actual fire engine, which explains why Aidan is operating it without a crew.
“How did you know I’d gotten stuck out here?” I ask once he’s sliding in place behind the steering wheel.
He removes his helmet and sets it on the console between us. “A trucker saw you drift into the snowbank and called 911.”
“I’m surprised you’re still on duty. Isn’t it usually twenty-four hours on, forty-eight hours off?” A fire chief’s daughter knows these things.
Aidan shrugs. “One of the guys is down with the flu, so I volunteered for some overtime.”
“Ah.” I nod as he steers the truck off of the snowy shoulder and onto the road, deftly avoiding the dark icy patch that caused me to go into a slide.
On the way back, the ride is brief. Within minutes, we’re turning onto Main Street. The Palace Theatre’s marquee glitters gold in the midst of the storm. Classic movie night is only four days away, and a very real part of me is tempted to ask Aidan if he might want to go. Just for old times’ sake, of course.
But the other part of me—the rational, sensible part—knows this would be a mistake. I still have every intention of getting back to Manhattan after this holiday visit is over. I’m scheduled to be back at work two days after Christmas. Since that means I only have a limited amount of time to spend with my parents, I definitely don’t need to be filling up my schedule with social outings, no matter how badly I find that I want to. Besides, he could have a girlfriend for all I know. Classic movie night could be their thing now. The thought makes my heart clench, even though I know I have no right whatsoever to be jealous.
Still, when we drive past the theater, I sneak a glance at Aidan. His gaze fixes with mine, and his lips curve into a tiny smile of remembrance. Memories flash through my mind like a montage from a rom-com—the two of us sharing a bucket of popcorn in the dark, Aidan draping his high school letter jacket over my shoulders as shadows move across the screen, the look in his soulful blue eyes when I’d said I thought Audrey Hepburn was the most beautiful woman in the world.
It’s you, Ash, he’d whispered. It will always be you.
I swallow hard as Aidan’s smile fades and he turns his attention back to the road.
“You left the station awfully suddenly last night,” he says. Once again, a telltale knot of tension is visible in his jaw.
“Oh.” A weight settles in the pit of my stomach as I realize what he’s thinking.
We’d had a moment when our hands collided. The briefest, most innocent of touches had sparked something to life inside of me, like a thousand shimmering Christmas lights. Aidan had felt it too.
And within seconds, I’d fled.
It was the bracelet’s fault, I start to say, but how absurd would that sound?
I glance down at the collection of silver charms lying against my black cashmere sleeve and vow once again to somehow get the clasp open—today, if at all possible. The sooner, the better.
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I say, because I can’t exactly change my story now.
But he knows it’s nothing but an excuse—I can see the sadness in his expression, and it makes me want to rip the bracelet off my arm and hurl it out the window.
A few awkward seconds pass until the firetruck slows to a stop in front of my house.
“Here you go,” Aidan says, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Home sweet home.”
There are so many things I want to say, but before I can even utter a heartfelt thank you, his radio crackles and dispatch comes through, sending Aidan out on another call.
“Be safe,” I say as I step out into the cold, but he’s already driving away.
I watch the firetruck until it’s nothing but a hint of red on the horizon. When I finally turn to walk up the pathway to the lake house, I notice Fruitcake waiting for me by the door, and this time, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. His fur is warm and dry, despite the swirling snow, which doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but I know better than to question it.
Christmas is a time of magic, and little by little, I’m starting to believe.
Chapter Nine
“How’s Aidan?” my dad asks when I walk inside with Fruitcake trotting at my heels.
My parents are sitting at the kitchen table, putting together a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle of a cozy Christmas scene. Mugs of hot cocoa sit in front of them, topped with whipped cream and curls of dark chocolate ribbon. Their little tableau is all kinds of adorable, so I decide to overlook the I-told-you-so lurking beneath Dad’s question.
“He’s fine,” I say. “I drove into a snowbank and he gave me a ride home, but why do I get the feeling you two already know all about it?”
My mom pops a puzzle piece into place and shrugs one slender shoulder. “Hugh called to let us know.”
Of course he did.
“Quick question—did you guys put Fruitcake outside before I got back?” I’m sure they didn’t, and Fruitcake somehow appeared on the porch all on his own out of thin air, sort of like Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life. But I should probably make sure, even though the fact that all of this is beginning to seem normal is probably cause for concern.
“Of course not. He likes to stay snug and warm in your room when you’re gone,” my dad says. “Good dog you’ve got there, honey.”
I bend to wrap my arms around Fruitcake’s furry neck and breathe in the scent of winter and candy canes.
“Sweet boy,” I whisper, and his tail thumps against the hardwood floor.
I spend the rest of the morning helping Mom and Dad with their puzzle until the snow finally stops coming down and the world beyond the picture window is a glittering winter wonderland. The afternoon sky is robin’s egg blue—the peaceful, perfect calm after a storm.
“I think I’ll take Fruitcake for a walk.” I reach for my red coat. The charm pendant I pinned onto the lapel a few nights ago is still there, even though that evening is starting to feel like it took place a lifetime ago.
“Don’t forget about the Christmas tree lighting tonight,” my mom says.
“That’s tonight?” I had indeed forgotten all about the annual Owl Lake tree lighting ceremony, plus I’d had no idea it was this evening.
“It sure is. We should probably leave around six so we can get a good spot.”
“We’ll be back in plenty of time. I promise.” Maybe getting stuck in that snowbank wasn’t so terrible. I wouldn’t want to miss my first Owl Lake Christmas tree lighting in years. “Come on, Fruitcake.”
The dog scrambles to his feet and romps toward me, while my dad shoots me an amused glance.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t say it, Dad.”
I swear, if he tells me to say hi to Aidan again, he’s going straight on the naughty list. Surely I can manage to walk my dog without managing to be escorted home in a fire truck again.
He mimes zipping his lips closed and locking them with a key, just like Maya always does. It never works.
“Cute.” I roll my eyes.
Fruitcake trots politely at the end of his leash as we head toward Main Street. Snow crunches beneath our feet and Fruitcake’s breath comes out in tiny puffs of vapor, pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Clearly, he’s enjoying himself, and I’m glad, even though the purpose of t
his walk is actually twofold.
Yes, my mystery dog probably needs some exercise. But this morning, I’m pretty sure I spied a new—or at least, new to me—jewelry store tucked into one of the quaint shopping centers along the lake. If they’re open, they might be my best shot at getting the bracelet off my arm. Surely they can help.
“Hi, Ashley!” Our neighbor, Jerry, is out front, shoveling snow when we walk past. He stops to lean against his shovel and grin at Fruitcake. “My, that’s a handsome dog.”
“Thanks.” Fruitcake wiggles his entire back end with excitement, so we pause and let Jerry scratch him behind the ears. “He doesn’t, um, look familiar or anything, does he?”
“No, the first I saw of him was when you came back from the big city,” Jerry says. Why am I not surprised? “Are you back to stay?”
“I’m not.” I shake my head. “Just visiting for the holidays.”
“It’s good to see you, all the same. I’m sure your parents are happy you’ve come home. We’re having our annual New Year’s Eve Scrabble tournament. Your parents are already invited, of course, and we’d love to have you join them if you’re still in town.”
“Oh. Wow.” The invitation catches me by surprise. I’m oddly touched to be invited to Jerry and Arminda’s big Scrabble party. “I’ll probably be back in Manhattan by then, but thank you.”
“You’re always welcome if you change your mind.” Jerry bends down to give Fruitcake a parting pat. “You can bring this guy, too.”
“Look at you,” I say to Fruitcake as we resume our walk. “Mr. Popularity.”
As if to prove my point, we’re stopped almost every block by old hometown friends and acquaintances who want to pet the pretty dog. Usually they don’t even realize I’m the one on the other end of the leash until Fruitcake has already flopped down on the sidewalk for belly rubs. We run into my third-grade teacher, who wants to hear all about my life in Manhattan while Fruitcake offers his snow-covered paw for a shake. When we pass the shop on the corner that sells hand-carved rustic furniture and other Adirondack-inspired designs, the owner, Mr. Garcia, comes outside to offer Fruitcake a biscuit. While he chomps it down, Mr. Garcia reminds me of the time a black bear wandered out of the nearby forest and took a stroll down Main Street when I was just a little girl. He still has a picture of the bear pausing in front of his shop on the wall by the entryway.
The greetings repeat themselves three or four more times, and before I realize it, I’ve reconnected with people who’d been part of my daily life when I was growing up—people I haven’t thought about in a long, long time. It’s nice. Fruitcake is a total friend-magnet, and I’m starting to actually feel like I belong in Owl Lake again, even though I’ve spent half of my time here trying to get back to the city.
“Merry Christmas, Ashley,” the mailman calls from across the street.
“Merry Christmas!” I wave a mittened hand and Fruitcake lets out a friendly woof.
The jewelry store stands just a few feet away, next to Mountain Candy. As usual, the candy store somehow envelopes the entire block in its rich cocoa aroma. I pause on the cobblestone walkway to take a deep, chocolate-scented breath and study the jewelry shop’s exterior.
A swinging sign hangs from the rafters with a swirl of hand-painted letters that spell out the name Enchanting Jewels. I’ve never seen the store before, so it must have opened sometime in the past eight years or so. The windows are filled a mixture of new and vintage pieces—modern classic solitaires surrounded by halos of pavé diamonds and other Art Deco settings that look like something out of The Great Gatsby. I feel myself smile. There’s no doubt that I’m going to love this place. I can already tell.
A bell chimes as I push the door open, and just as I’m about to ask if it’s okay to bring Fruitcake inside, my gaze fixes on the woman standing behind the display case.
I gasp. “Susan?”
She looks up, and her eyes go wide. “Ashley! Aidan told me you were back, and I almost didn’t believe it.”
Susan Flynn is Aidan’s sister and one of my best friends from high school. Relief floods through me at the sight of her, because even though my time in Owl Lake thus far has been nice—kind of great, actually—I miss Maya like crazy. Strange things have been happening left and right, and…well, I could really use a girlfriend right about now.
Susan runs around the display case to hug me, and she wraps her arms around me so tightly that before I know it, I’m blinking back tears.
“It’s so good to see you,” she whispers, and there’s an unmistakable catch in her voice.
“You too.” I hug her back with all my might.
Fruitcake lets out a little whine, presumably picking up on my messy emotional state. As much as it pains me to admit it, Susan and I haven’t exactly kept in touch. There have been countless times I’ve wanted to pick up the phone and call her, but after breaking her brother’s heart, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She must have felt the same way, since I haven’t heard from her, either. Admittedly, I’ve been Facebook stalking her for a while, so I know she’s married now and has two adorable daughters—twins. But she’s probably the last person I’d have expected to find at the jewelry shop which is starting to feel like my only hope for solving the charm bracelet mystery.
“Look at you.” She pulls back, hands still on my shoulders as she sweeps me up and down with her gaze. “Classic black turtleneck, winged eyeliner and red lipstick…”
I cringe, waiting for the inevitable “big city princess” comment that’s sure to follow, but instead what she says renders me speechless.
“…Aidan was right. You look just like Audrey Hepburn.” She reaches to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and it feels like we’re back in tenth grade again.
I blink at her, struggling to absorb what she’s just told me. “He did not say that.”
Impossible. It’s the single best thing Aidan could say about the way I look after all this time, and he knows it. Granted, he didn’t say it to my face, but even the idea that he said it at all makes me go all aflutter. Butterflies the size of flying reindeer are swarming around my insides.
“He absolutely did say that.” Susan lifts a knowing brow. “He was right, by the way. You look beautiful. City life certainly agrees with you.”
I have the sudden urge to change the subject. For once, I don’t want to talk about Manhattan. “You look great, too. I can’t believe you’re a mom!”
We spend the next half hour getting caught up. Susan assures me Fruitcake is more than welcome, and he curls up in a contented ball behind the sales counter as if he belongs there while we sip hot chocolate and talk so much that my throat gets hoarse. Customers come and go, and while Susan waits on them, she lets me scroll through the camera roll on her phone so I can see all the latest pictures of her girls. The most recent ones are from their visit to Santa, and they look precious in matching red dresses with huge tartan plaid bows in their hair. I’ve never seen such an adorable pair of five-year-olds in my life.
Aidan is in a good number of the pictures too, which makes sense, obviously. Still, I’m not quite prepared for the way I go breathless when his face looks back at me from the screen. Susan’s husband, Josh, is a fireman too, so there are several photos of the two of them together—standing in front of the church steps holding firemen’s boots overflowing with dollar bills during the Muscular Dystrophy Association’s Fill the Boot Drive, side-by-side at the grill for the fire department’s summer barbecue, washing the ladder truck with big, soapy sponges. Josh must have been off-duty last night when my mom and I visited the firehouse. He shows up in dozens of casual family photos with Susan and the twins, but I can’t help noticing there’s not a single shot of Aidan out of uniform.
That, plus the fact that Aidan was working an overtime shift when he rescued me from the snowbank this morning, leads me to believe he must work a lot. All the time,
from the look of things.
“Does your brother own any clothes without the OLFD logo on them?” I ask when I hand the phone back to Susan.
She shakes her head. “You noticed, huh?”
“It’s kind of hard not to.”
“He loves his job.” Susan smiles, but there’s a quiet tension to the set of her mouth that makes me wonder if there’s more to the story.
I know I shouldn’t press, but I can’t help it. “That must not leave much time for a personal life.”
Susan gives me an amused once over. “Are you asking if Aidan is seeing anyone?”
“Gosh, no.” I wave a dismissive hand, and the charms on my bracelet clink together. “Well, maybe.”
She stares at me until a flush of heat crawls up my neck and settles in my cheeks. Super, my face is probably as red as a potted poinsettia.
“Fine.” I sigh. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”
“I knew it. You went all starry-eyed as soon as I mentioned his name.” She laughs. And for the record, I did not go all starry-eyed. Much. “To answer your question—no, there’s no one.”
“No one at all?” Rudolph and company take flight in my tummy again, and I take a giant gulp of hot chocolate to try and quiet them down.
It doesn’t work.
“Nope.” Susan shrugs. “He dated other girls for a year or two after you first moved away, but never anyone long-term. For the past five years or so, he hasn’t dated anyone at all. Since he joined the fire department, it’s become his whole life. Sometimes I think he’d rather run into a burning building than risk his heart again.”
I lower my gaze to the marshmallows melting in my cup. As much as I’d sort of hoped Aidan was still single, this news makes my heart wrench.
“What about you?” Susan asks, voice going soft. “Anyone special?”
“No, not anymore.” I wait for the pang that hits me whenever I think about Jeremy—and Paris and the proposal that never happened—but weirdly enough, it doesn’t come. I feel…fine, really. Interesting. “I mean, there was, but not anymore.”