Snowflakes and Holly

by Jae Dawson

  I navigated out of the parking lot and the voicemail logo dinged on. I hit it and Mamma’s voice bloomed to life from my car’s speakers. “Belly, I have your programs for the musical. Stop by on your way home so I don’t have to lug them from the shop, yes? Ciao!”

  I groaned. How did she know I was on my way home? Did she have a tracker on me or something? I would just need to put on my emotional armor and face her. She was my mother, after all, not the enemy.

  I parked in the back alley behind Charmed and darted in the back door. “Mamma?”

  “Cara mia!” She appeared in the hallway, tying on a hooded velvet half-cloak around her neck. “There are two boxes here. I’ll help you carry them.” She was literally the only woman I knew who would rock a cloak in the 21st century and pull it off.

  “You in a hurry?” I picked up one of the boxes. Normally she’d chew my ear off for fifteen minutes before we got to the actual task at hand. I wasn’t used to this brusque efficiency.

  “Melanie and I are heading over to the Pine Door to ogle the cute new bartender.”

  “Fun,” I managed, feeling slightly sorry for this new bartender, who had no idea what he was in for. But it was all the better for me—no time to interrogate me about Cade now.

  I popped the trunk and we carried the two boxes outside, huddled deep in our hoods. As I went to put my box down, my mouth dropped open. Shit.

  “What’s this?” My mother dropped her box in the trunk and pulled a race-car driver costume out of the car, zipped into a clear plastic garment bag. “Is this from Le Mans? Madonna mia, that man was bellisimo! Are you dressing as Steve McQueen for Halloween? Don’t you have the musical?”

  “It’s not mine.” I grabbed the costume and placed it on top of the boxes, closing the trunk. “I gotta go, Mamma. Thank you for the programs!” I kissed her on the cheek and slid into my car.

  My hands gripped the steering wheel as my heart whimpered like a wounded beast. Memories of the costume shop assaulted me: Cade laughing as the shaggy Beefeater hat tipped precariously sideways on his head, Cade pressing me back against the mirror, his hands roaming the length of my body, his lips on mine, my neck, my breast. It had felt so real. Because for a moment there, he’d fooled me. I’d imagined that the lead singer of Burning Umbrage wanted me. That coaching high school kids tucked inside a papier-mâché plant was more important than performing on the biggest stages in the world to millions of adoring fans.

  My hands balled into fists and the keys dug into my palm.

  I didn’t seduce him to keep my job.

  I tipped forward, my wet forehead against the steering wheel. “Idiot,” I hissed at myself.

  Either he was a far better actor than I’d given him credit for, or I was a way worse judge of character. Because, for a while, the arrogant asshole I’d met that first night had vanished and, instead, I had convinced myself that I stood before the real Cade Owens. Obviously, I was wrong. Of course, he would choose his career, his band, the glamour and fame and money. It probably hadn’t even crossed his mind that, by leaving, he put the final nail in my coffin. I would lose everything. My job, arts funding in Hartwood. The home I had built here.

  It was my fault, really. Somewhere along the line, I had come to rely on him. I had believed that his fame, his very presence, could solve all my problems. That first day, I told Principal Kelley that I didn’t need him. I should have stuck to my guns. I shouldn’t have counted on anyone but myself. Men always ended up being a disappointment. My father. Jason. And now Cade.

  I started the car and pulled out into the parking lot, not wanting Mamma to see me sitting here, crying. I wiped my eyes, took a deep breath, and then called Casie. It wasn’t Cade’s grandfather’s fault that his grandson had turned out to be a complete dick. He still needed his costume.

  My friend answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, are you at work?” I asked.

  “For another hour,” she said. “Why?”

  “I need to drop off a Halloween costume. For Cade’s grandfather.”

  “Is Cade coming too?” Casie whispered.

  “Just me.” My voice dipped as tears threatened again.

  Pause. “Are you okay?”

  “Cade’s gone,” I admitted.

  “Like, gone gone?”

  “Like, on a plane, not going to see him again gone.”

  “But you could stay in touch—"

  “He didn’t leave on a good note.” That was the understatement of the century.

  “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I forced out. “He was never going to stay.”

  “But you guys were hitting it off so well—”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it, Cas,” I cut her off. I didn’t need Casie’s optimism or magical thinking right now. I needed the harsh light of reality.

  “I get it. If you change your mind, I have that good Cabernet I bought on our Chelan trip last summer that still needs drinking.”

  The memory brought a smile to my face. Casie had bought that bottle near the end of our wine tasting tour, so we weren’t entirely certain our judgment about its quality was sound. But we all remembered it as delicious.

  “That bottle deserves a worthy occasion,” I argued.

  “A friend in need is worthy in my book. Besides, I have no occasions on the horizon. At this rate, that bottle will be discovered by archeologists, buried in my tomb beside my mummified body.”

  I laughed. “Far-future generations will call you the Wine Woman.”

  “I can think of worse legacies.” Casie chuckled. “At least, I’ll be teaching them an important lesson about our civilization.”

  I shook my head. Without fail, Casie could always bring a smile to my face. “I’ll see you soon, Cas.”

  “Mwah.” Casie kissed into the phone and ended our call.

  I spun the radio dial to the classical music station—no risk of Burning Umbrage assaulting my already battered state—and found myself turning in the circular drive to Maple Lane before I knew it.

  I darted inside, costume in hand, shaking the water from my coat in the entrance.

  “Bella!”

  I looked up to find Deloris striding toward me. Today she wore a bright, lime-green raincoat over black pants, and sported black shiny duck boots on her feet.

  “Are you here to visit Frank?” she asked.

  “Sort of. I realized I had his Halloween costume in my car still. The party is next weekend, right?”

  “How kind of you. I’m visiting him too. Should we go up together?” She threaded her arm through mine and started to tow me forward. I tugged against her gently.

  “Actually, would you mind just taking it up, if you’re already on your way to see Frank? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “You don’t have time to say hello?”

  I swallowed. I knew it wasn’t Gramps’s fault that his grandson had been a complete ass to me, but I didn’t want to see him. It would be too hard. He reminded me of a feisty older Cade, minus the infuriating cockiness.

  “I don’t think it would be the best idea.”

  “Why?” Deloris cocked her head.

  “Cade and I didn’t leave things on the best note. I’m not sure he’d appreciate me visiting his grandfather.”

  “Nonsense. You and Cade have a spark, I can see it. I’m sure you can talk through whatever happened.”

  “Cade and I don’t talk,” I replied with a little laugh. “We fight. And our fight this afternoon was apocalyptic.”

  Deloris’s eyes twinkled. “The make-up will be all the sweeter.”

  “He’s returning to his real life. There will be no make-up. Or us.”

  Deloris turned, her hands on her hips. “From what Frank has told me, Cade has a lot of demands placed on him, and he’s not always the best at prioritizing or saying no. He’s still dealing with losing Frances, too. Life’s pushing him around a bit. He needs to get his feet under him before he’s ready to push back
and fight for what he really wants. But I know he will. And I know what he wants is you.”

  My heart spasmed at her words. I wished she was right about what he wanted. I wasn’t so sure. But it was true that Cade was pulled in a million different directions. So many people wanted things from him, and me and the musical had been one more tug on his time. Maybe I hadn’t been totally fair to him.

  “Even if you’re right, I just don’t see how it could work. I don’t want to go on the road and I couldn’t ask him to give up his career. I expected him to finish his community service with the musical and . . . explosion. Clearly I had been using him all this time to keep my job.” I lowered my head and studied the costume. “He would resent me. And I’m not willing to play second fiddle again.”

  “Don’t close your heart just yet, dear. There’s a seed of love between you two, I can see it. You just need to coax it to grow.” She held out her hands for the costume and I gave it over.

  “Thank you. I’ll think about what you said. Say hi to Frank for me, okay?”

  She reached up and patted my cheek. “Will do, my dear. Take heart. All is not lost.”

  I gave her a half-hearted smile that slipped as soon as I turned. A seed of love? I shoved down the strange parallel to Mamma’s ritual. With my luck, my seed of love would grow into a man-eating plant. I could name it Cade II.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Cade

  The rumble of the plane’s engine vibrated through my seat. Out the port window, a dark world dotted with shimmering lights floated by. Dev and I were scheduled to arrive in LAX around eleven tonight. True to my word, I wasn’t a day later than Kenzie’s threat.

  No matter how much land stretched below me, my heart remained in Hartwood Falls. I worried about Gramps—it was his first night at Maple Lane. Would he be able to sleep in a foreign room? In a bed he had never shared with Gran?

  And Bella . . .

  I sighed, a deep heaving breath, then pulled out my phone to scroll through news headlines. A flight attendant was rolling a cart through first class with another round of fresh baked goods from Seattle’s famed Coyle’s Bakeshop.

  “This flight is going to ruin my girlish figure,” Dev said next to me. He flirtatiously smiled at the middle-aged woman in the blue uniform, a red scarf daintily tied around her neck. She had to know who we were. But if she was impressed–or cared–it didn’t show. It was a welcome gift. Anonymity. Normalcy. “A chocolate pistachio-filled croissant for him and a cinnamon roll for me. Warmed. But not too warm.” Dev grinned.

  The flight attendant–Susan, according to her name tag–arched a single brow before lifting a practiced, plastic smile.

  Not too warm? Only Dev would impose a temperature requirement on a croissant while flying thousands of feet above the Earth. The guy was weirdly particular about little things but couldn’t give two shits about big stuff. It drove Kenzie crazy.

  “Of course, sir.” She opened a warming tray from her cart and delivered the baked goods. Dev’s face lit up when a plate holding a giant cinnamon roll plopped onto his tray. “Warm enough?”

  Dev took a bite and moaned, his eyes falling closed.

  Susan ignored Dev’s foodgasm and peered my way. “Something to drink?”

  Vodka. Ten little bottles. Might as well make it an even dozen.

  “Coffee,” I answered. “Black.”

  Again, that eyebrow. Yes, it was coming on ten o’clock. I wasn’t going to sleep tonight anyway. I mumbled a quick “thank you” when she set the coffee cup beside the croissant on my tray. Then she moved onto the next row.

  I picked at the flaky crust and stared woodenly at the oozing chocolate. Normally, I would devour this within seconds. Dev knew I could never resist chocolate or croissants. Our European tour had been deadly to my six pack. But my stomach was a whirlpool of anxiety and regret, grief and . . . confusion. For the first time in ten years, I felt ambivalent about headlining a big show. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Hey, you going to eat that?”

  Dev pointed to the croissant. I shook my head and he snatched my plate. I caught the eyes of the couple across the aisle from us and quickly looked away. I could feel the attention turned our way, the quiet whispers that prickled the back of my neck. Cell phones angled my way and I wanted to flip them all off. Yeah, Cade Owens, frontman for indie rock chart topper, Burning Umbrage, sat among mere mortals on a commercial flight. I huffed a soft, bitter laugh and looked back out the window, taking a sip of my coffee.

  This is what I hated about the rock scene.

  No privacy. Everyone felt entitled to a piece of me—my body, my soul, my life. They wanted sexy lyrics and a sexier smile. And I just didn’t have energy to play the game anymore.

  Hartwood Falls had broken me for the second time. The restless, grieving boy I’d been when I first left town didn’t exist anymore. He was ambitious, reckless, angry. Naive enough to truly believe he wouldn’t sell out for money or fame. But ten years changed a person. Grief changed a person. The man who left Hartwood today was tired of the caravan life, the demands of fame, of drowning his angst and depression in alcohol, drugs, and women. He wanted a home.

  I wanted a home. A port in the storm, a pair of welcoming arms and warm lips to cherish me. The real me. Someone who would support me, and challenge me, and call me on my bullshit.

  I wanted Bella. But I had messed up any further chance of “us.”

  “You okay?” Dev asked, his dark brows hanging low over his eyes. “Motion sickness?”

  “Yeah,” I quietly answered. It wasn’t. But I didn’t feel like a Devon therapy session on a plane among strangers. “Be right back.” I unbuckled and stood. Dev swung his legs out of the way for me to shuffle past, and then I moved toward the bathroom in first class.

  I needed a drink. Bad.

  My hands were shaking. My head was pounding. All I could think about was the bliss of numbness. The artificial happiness from a vodka-induced buzz. Damn, I wished I hadn’t given up smoking. I could really use a cigarette too.

  Susan, the flight attendant from earlier, glanced up from her cart. I must have looked like I was sick because she apologized to a passenger and rolled out of the way. She tossed another plastic smile my way and I held it with a fake smile of my own. Her eyes remained on me and not my hand as I brushed past. Or the fingers that grabbed a small bottle of whatever alcohol they latched onto. I slid the bottle into my pocket, angled past the cart, and shoved into the bathroom.

  Once alone, I closed my eyes for a few seconds to settle my building nerves. There were too many people out there. And Devon too. It was impossible to hide anything from him.

  I pulled the bottle from my pocket. Whiskey. That would do.

  My fingers began twisting the cap and stopped.

  Sinful brown eyes flashed in my mind. Dark, wavy hair fell across bare shoulders in a tangle. Olive skin begged for my lips, my tongue. My name whispered in heady pleasure. Hips arched into mine, moving, desperate, hungry.

  I had literally fallen into her life, but somehow, she had transformed mine. She was my moon-touched angel on a dark forest path. My muse, my drug, my poison. I wanted her more than I wanted this drink.

  I wanted to be in the eye of her storm, then caught up in her tornado of fury and passion, only to die in the arms of the music she made—the melody of her voice, the notes of her piano.

  Every inch of me was intoxicated by Bella Pagano.

  I untwisted the cap and poured the amber liquid down the drain. I knew what I needed. And it wasn’t this.

  Head down, I moved back to my seat and ignored the curious stares.

  “You okay?” Dev asked me, for the hundredth time since leaving Hartwood Falls.

  I simply nodded and plunked back into my seat. Dev handed me my abandoned coffee and I took a mechanical sip. Lyrics were coming to me. An ache I felt roaring in my pulse. I pulled out my phone and began typing a note to myself.

  I want you to touch me

&nb
sp; To see me

  Kiss my soul

  I need you to want me

  To feel me

  Love me whole

  I paused on the last line. Devon was right.

  I was in love with Bella.

  Dev leaned over and read my lyrics and smirked. “You’re brooding again.”

  For the most part, Dev and I remained inconspicuous as we maneuvered through various crowds toward baggage claim. And then toward the pick-up area. We both sported ball caps and kept our heads down. Wearing sunglasses at night in the airport would draw too many eyes, and we didn’t need any attention.

  The sliding door opened to the Southern California night and warm air rushed past me. Up north, temperatures were already in the forties and fifties. But here? A balmy seventy-five degrees.

  Cabs, Ubers, and buses to rental car agencies and parking garages rolled past us. Cars pulled to the curb and those with suitcases would break into smiles and jump into hugs. Above my head, a neon lavender strip lit the overhang trim. The strange light reflected off my darkened phone screen and I swallowed.

  This was familiar. All of it. And, yet, I felt like a stranger in my own story.

  “Did you text them?” Dev asked me, noting the phone in my hand.

  Before I could answer, a high-pitched squeal cut through the droning bustling sounds. I twisted to see what was going on and started to laugh. Then groaned.

  “Get your asses over here, bitches!” Dev shouted to Andy and Bale.

  “OMG, it’s Cade Owens!” Andy shouted back while lifting a handmade sign that read, Hey Cade, wanna get laid?

  I bust into loud laughter. An obsessed fan had traveled to every concert during our last U.S. tour with this sign. After the last show, Andy paid her fifty bucks to keep it . . . and then mounted it in his apartment.

  Next to him, Bale lifted his own sign, Kissing Devon is Seven Minutes in Heaven.

  “More like forever in heaven,” Dev scoffed.

  I snorted. “Don’t put down Bale’s arts and crafts hour.”