by Teri Wilson
A cushion-cut diamond solitaire in a pristine platinum setting glitters against a black velvet pillow. Somewhere behind me, a man says, “Whoa, look at that rock.”
Someone in the vicinity groans. I’m pretty sure it’s my dad. My mom elbows him sharply in the ribs.
I stare at the diamond in confusion, and it’s only then that I realize that all the times I’ve imagined my proposal, the engagement ring in the box was never a fancy modern sparkler like this one. It was vintage rose gold. An antique, with a modest emerald-cut center stone, surrounded by a decorative halo of tiny diamond chips. A ring steeped in history, just like Aidan and me.
He’s the man I’ve been waiting for, all this time.
I feel him stiffen beside me, and it takes every bit of courage I can muster to look at him. This isn’t how Christmas Eve was supposed to go. We should be enjoying the parade together right now, and instead, Aidan has just watched another man ask me to marry him.
At least I think that’s what Jeremy just asked me. I can’t be one hundred percent certain, because I never quite got past the first French lesson on the language app on my phone. Maybe someplace deep down, I didn’t want to go to Paris as badly as I thought I did.
“Ashley, sweetheart,” my mom says. She gives me a tight smile, her subtle way of reminding me that Jeremy is still kneeling at my feet, waiting for an answer, while I’m desperately wishing I could turn back the clock to a time before he popped up in Owl Lake—maybe even farther back than that. Maybe I’d go all the way back to the night eight years ago when Aidan proposed.
My bottom lip starts to tremble, and I feel like I might cry. The time I’ve spent in my hometown this Christmas is too precious to me to wish it away. I’ve learned things about myself I never knew, and in many ways, I feel like Aidan and I are closer than we ever were before.
I’ve changed. He’s changed. We’ve changed. We’ve grown into the people we were always meant to be—people we might never have become if we’d taken different paths in our lives.
As painful and embarrassing as this moment is, I know Aidan isn’t going to stand by and let me walk away again. He said so himself.
I should have fought for you, Ash.
“I’m sure she’s still just surprised,” Jeremy says to my mom as he rises back to his feet. He’s brimming with confidence at the thought of my unspoken yes. Or oui, as the case may be.
“Of course she is,” Mom says in return, though she sounds a lot less certain.
Dad just shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Fruitcake’s tail has stopped wagging altogether.
But I’m barely paying attention, because my eyes have finally found Aidan’s and what I see there causes my chest to constrict in a terrible, terrible way. The man who sat beside me in the Palace Theatre a few nights ago and whispered about all the ways he wished he’d done things differently has vanished. Action-hero Aidan stands in his place, more distant and closed off than I’ve ever seen him. His arms are crossed, and his eyes are cold and vacant. The angry knot of muscle in his jaw hasn’t made an appearance since the day we collapsed beneath the mistletoe on the sidewalk outside of Pete’s Auto Shop, but it’s back in full force right now. There’s not a trace of the vulnerability he’s shown me in the past week.
He takes a backward step, and I can feel him slipping away.
I know better than to wish he’d tell me right here and now not to marry Jeremy. Aidan is a good man, and he’d never want to publicly humiliate someone like that, nor would he interfere with anyone else’s relationship. I just need a tiny hint of reassurance, but he refuses to even meet my gaze.
Do something. Say something. Please. A bone-deep coldness sweeps over me, and even though I’m surrounded by so many people I know and love, I’ve never felt quite so alone.
The lights on the fire engine at the start line flash yellow and red. Caution! Emergency! But today is Christmas Eve, a time to celebrate. The people around us turn their attention toward the parade, now kicking into full swing. Uncle Hugh must have given up on Aidan and me.
He’s not the only one. Aidan’s last words before he disappears into the crowd are for Jeremy.
“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly. “And congratulations.”
I’m not marrying Jeremy, obviously.
Aidan might think I am, and in this incredibly awkward moment in time, Jeremy definitely thinks I am. I can’t quite get a read on whether or not my parents think my answer will be yes, but frankly, I have far more important things to worry about right now—starting with correcting Jeremy’s misguided assumption that we will ever be man and wife.
Thankfully, the crowd of observers hovering around us has dispersed, with everyone’s attention refocused on the parade. Mom and Dad have moved to the frontlines to see if Hugh needs any help with anything since he’s taken over for Aidan and me. Main Street is lined with people on both sides, all the way from the firehouse to the inn at the top of the hill, where the parade will come to an end in the spot where the town Christmas tree stands.
Has it really only been a handful of days since I watched Aidan place the star atop that tree? It feels much longer, even though my time in Owl Lake seems to have passed in the blink of an eye.
“Your parents’ dog is really friendly,” Jeremy says, doing a quick sidestep out of Fruitcake’s reach.
We’re standing off to the side, away from the crowd and beneath the pretty white gingerbread trim of Mountain Candy. Over Jeremy’s shoulder, I can see Enchanted Jewels, where the snowman that Susan and I made a few days ago still stands. He’s crooked and uneven, much like the cookies I made on my first day back in town. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Fruitcake is attempting his famous nudge maneuver, prodding Jeremy’s hand with his nose in hopes of being petted. For once, it’s not working. Fruitcake’s furry brow wrinkles in confusion as he peers up at me.
It’s not you, it’s him, I want to say. But first I need to clear the air with Jeremy. And as far as he and I are concerned, it’s not him, it’s me. I want a different sort of life than I thought I did a few weeks ago. I want a life with dog hair stuck to my jeans. I want cobblestone streets and old stone churches instead of skyscrapers and fancy Windsor-blue carpet. I want to design and make my own jewelry all day long instead of squeezing in time in spare minutes here and there after spending eight hours a day behind the charms counter. I want more nights steeped in the scent of my mom’s peppermint tea, more evenings skating in a Santa suit by the light of the moon and quiet mornings by the lake listening to the ethereal birdsong of the owls.
My eyes fill with tears.
I want Aidan.
I blink my tears away and rest my hand on Fruitcake’s broad, golden back. “Fruitcake doesn’t belong to my parents. He’s mine.”
Jeremy frowns. “Who said anything about fruitcake?”
“You did.” I ruffle Fruitcake’s head. “Fruitcake is the dog’s name, and he belongs to me.”
“Um, I don’t understand.” Jeremy’s gaze narrows. “You can’t have a dog.”
“Yes, I can…” I take a deep breath. Here it goes. “…if I stay here instead of going back to Manhattan.”
Jeremy’s forehead creases. “But we can’t stay here. Our jobs are in Manhattan. Our lives are there.”
I nod, because he’s just captured the essence of our dating relationship so perfectly. Our lives—his and mine. Never our life, never truly something unified and equal. Jeremy and I never shared the kind of closeness Aidan and I once did. I used to tell myself it was because young love was different and that I loved Jeremy differently but not less than I’d loved Aidan. Now I know the truth—I never really loved Jeremy at all. It’s hard to give your heart away when it already belongs to someone else.
How could I have gotten things so wrong?
“Jeremy, let’s sit down. We need to talk.” I nod towar
d one of the pretty park benches situated by the walking trail surrounding the lake.
“Okay,” Jeremy says, and he follows me until we’re sitting on opposite ends of the bench with Fruitcake planted between us at our feet. The dog insisted. I’m pretty sure he knows what’s coming. Call it canine intuition or just another spark of Christmas magic.
“I can’t marry you,” I say quietly, looking Jeremy straight in the eyes.
He blinks back at me as if I’ve just said something nonsensical. “I don’t understand. The whole reason we broke up before I left for Paris was because you wanted to get married and I didn’t. But I’ve given it some thought and decided I’ll do it, since that’s what you want. It’s the whole reason I’m here.”
“Right.” I force myself to smile. “I know you ended your trip early and came all this way, but we’re just not right for each other. Do you remember what you said to me that night at dinner before you left for Paris?”
His brow crinkles.
So I fill in the blanks. “You said ‘marriage isn’t for people like us,’ and you were right.”
“I was?”
“Well, mostly right. Marriage isn’t for people like you—at least not now. You’re not ready to get married, Jeremy, and that’s okay. You said yourself that you’re living your dream, and I don’t want to take that away from you. You deserve someone who wants the same sort of life that you do, because the thing is…” I give him a tender smile. “I’m living a different dream.”
He looks around, taking in the sight of the town I love so much—the snowcapped mountains and clusters of blue spruce trees, glistening with icicles, the quaint downtown area with its mom-and-pop shops and old fashioned theater—and the heart of it all, the frozen lake that sits at its center, silvery smooth like a mirror.
“This is really what you want?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
“Is this about the promotion? Because I could probably pull some strings and make sure you get equal consideration for it, even though you weren’t able to apply for it in person.”
I didn’t realize he knew about the promotion, but it makes sense that he’s been in touch with work while he’s been away. He’d never completely step away from Windsor, even during the Christmas holidays. “Thank you. That’s a very kind offer, but no. This doesn’t have anything to do with the promotion.”
“Well.” He lets out a breath, and I get the feeling he’s not too disappointed that I’ve turned him down. In fact, he seems a little relieved. “Maybe this is for the best.”
Fruitcake swivels his head back and forth as if trying to keep up with the conversation.
Jeremy arches a brow. “I’m allergic to dogs.”
Once we’ve agreed that we’re better off as friends than life partners, Jeremy is anxious to get back to Manhattan. I half expect him to tell me that he’s allergic to the Adirondacks as well as dogs, but if that’s the case, he keeps the matter to himself. Lucky for him, there’s one last train back to the city tonight.
In truth, I’m ready for him to go. I’m sure I’ve missed the parade by now, but it’s still Christmas Eve. I want to meet my family and friends down at The Owl’s Nest like we’d planned.
Of course, it won’t be exactly like we planned. Aidan won’t be there—I’m sure of it. And his absence will cut me to the quick. Where’s Maya and her pint of her gingerbread ice cream when I really need her? I might have thought I was heartbroken after I broke up with Jeremy, but this time…
This time, I’m certain of it.
“Come on,” I say, wrapping my arms around my midsection in an effort to hold myself together until Jeremy gets on a train and I can properly fall apart. Aidan and I are over, and this time, it feels permanent. If we can’t find our way back to each other after a magical Christmas like this one, I’m not sure we ever will. “Fruitcake and I will walk you to the train station.”
We follow the walking trail halfway around the lake until the station comes into view. It’s all lit up for Christmas, with twinkle lights wrapped around the oversized grandfather clock out front and a cluster of evergreen trees, branches laden with snow, on the platform. I didn’t even notice all these details when I first arrived in Owl Lake ten days ago, but I was a different person then.
“Pretty,” Jeremy says, pausing in front of the train to gaze up at the lights and smile. “I can see why you love it here.”
Fruitcake woofs his agreement, and I can’t help but laugh. “I’m glad.”
“I should get going, though.” He glances down at the sleek silver watch strapped to his wrist. From Windsor, no doubt. “This is the last train, and it leaves in two minutes.”
Wow, it’s gotten late. I had no idea it was almost ten o’clock. The parade is definitely over. I’ve missed the entire thing, and suddenly, that realization makes me unfathomably sad.
“Go,” I say, waving Jeremy toward the train.
He looks at me for long, quiet moment until his smile turns bittersweet. “Merry Christmas, Ashley.”
And with a quick hug, Jeremy is gone. Just as he runs up the steps of the train, the horn blares, long and loud. I tuck my hands into my pockets and watch while it pulls away from the platform. I remember the last time I sat on that very train. I felt so lost, so adrift. Little did I know that the place I was traveling to would feel even more like home that it ever had before.
And to think it all started with a magic bracelet tucked into a handknit Christmas stocking that’s hanging from the mantle back at home.
Fruitcake leans his solid weight against my legs. He’s still here, the first of the charmed wishes to come true. Each of them taught me something new, and it’s not until now, alone at the train station on Christmas Eve, that I finally admit to myself how much I’d hoped the last charm would have something to do with Aidan. I wanted that ring charm to represent our happy-ever-after together. I wanted it so much that it seems almost unbelievable that I was wrong.
“Wear this and have the Christmas of your dreams,” I whisper into the cold, dark night.
And then I pull back the cuff of my coat to look at the bracelet and run my fingertips over the charms that brought me back home…but it’s not there. At first, I think it must have slipped further up my sleeve, so I search and search. I flail out of my coat. My stomach lurches and I feel like I might be sick. It can’t be gone.
How can this be happening? Over and over again, I tried to open that clasp and it wouldn’t budge. The bracelet can’t be lost. It just can’t.
Please, no. Please.
But it is, and there’s no telling where I could have lost it. I’ve been all over town today. It could be anywhere, buried forever in the holiday snow.
Sorrow closes up my throat. My magical Christmas—the Christmas of my dreams—is officially over.
Chapter Eighteen
I’m not sure how long I sit there on the cold, hard ground of the train platform, weeping into scruff of Fruitcake’s neck. It feels like hours, but when my phone buzzes with an incoming text from Susan, the time reads 10:21.
Just got seated at a table by the window at the Owl’s Nest. Where are you?
A tear drips onto the screen of my phone as I type out my answer.
At the train station, but I’m on my way. See you in a few minutes.
I sniff and shove my phone back into the pocket of my coat. No doubt Susan thinks I’m engaged to Jeremy, just like everyone else in town. After all, news travels fast in Owl Lake. It’s a wonder she still wants to spend Christmas Eve with me.
“Come on, Fruitcake, let’s go. Enough wallowing.” I give my dog one last squeeze and scramble to my feet.
I’ve lost the charm bracelet, and I’ve somehow lost Aidan, all in the scope of a few hours. This isn’t the way I expected my magical Christmas to end, but there you have it. If I ever run into Betty again, we’re
going to have a serious chat.
Still, I know there’s a lot to be grateful for. I have my family, I have my dog and I have the memory of very nearly the most perfect holiday a girl could wish for, even if the ending wasn’t what I’d hoped so desperately for it to be.
But my wrist feels unsettlingly light without the comforting weight of the silver charms. I feel untethered, like I could float away. So I tighten my grip on Fruitcake’s leash as we make our way from the platform to the front of the train station, where the old grandfather clock towers over Owl Lake, just as it always has.
The station is eerily silent. With the departure of the last train, there’s no reason for anyone to be here. The parade is over, and the crowd of people that lined the streets earlier have all gone their separate ways to celebrate the holiday with their own special Christmas traditions. Merry Christmas, to one and all.
Snowflakes swirl down from above, and the night is so quiet, I can hear them land all around me in soft little wisps. Flutter, flutter, flutter. I take a step, but then I pause, because another sound breaks the silence—it’s faint at first, barely audible. But it builds and builds, just like the sudden pounding of my heart. I peer into the darkness, and my breath catches in my throat as the lights of a fire engine sweep into view.
It’s the ladder truck, and it’s heading this way.
Fruitcake goes completely still, on high alert with his ears pricked forward and his big, bushy tail held high. The closer the fire truck gets, the more animated he becomes, until he’s prancing gleefully at the end of his leash as it rumbles into the parking lot of the train station and comes to a stop at the curb just a few feet away. Fruitcake pulls away from my hold, running up to wait by the driver’s side door. The truck is still decorated with twinkle lights for the parade, and a row of light-up candy canes line the top of the cab.
I shield my eyes with my hand and squint at the windshield, but I’m almost afraid to look. Please tell me that’s Aidan behind the wheel of the big red truck, and please tell me there’s not a burning building behind me that I’m woefully unaware of. The very thought that he might be here…for me…seems too good to be true, the ultimate Christmas wish. There aren’t enough charms in the world to represent how badly I want it to be the case.