by Vivian Arend
Even though Gary had worded the invitation as something that Brooke would want, Mack considered for a moment, letting the truth sink in. A scary yet wonderful truth—her father knew he was important to Brooke. “Do I bring flowers or something?”
This time he got an awkward shrug. “Not a hundred percent sure, but flowers are usually appropriate. You should do what you think Brooke would like. Safer that way.”
“Thank you. For bringing the note and for the advice.”
“No problem. Interesting to see how this shakes out in the end.” A slow smile spread across Ashton’s face, deepening the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “Getting to the point in life where it’s nice to have a few distractions, and you’re turning out to be a fine one.”
Meaning Gary had obviously been talking about Mack with his cronies. So be it—Mack had been wagging his tongue about Gary as well, at least with a couple friends he really trusted.
Still, some things couldn’t be left without being poked.
Mack eyed the older man. “I think you need something to keep you occupied. Don’t they keep you busy enough down at Silver Stone?”
“Lately? Not really. Enough new people running around that I have less to do on a daily basis. Besides, the goal of any good supervisor is to make sure they’re replaceable.”
“Maybe I should offer you a job here at the fire hall.”
Mack had meant it as a joke, except the instant the words were out of his mouth, he remembered Alex’s comment about needing new rotation leaders. Ashton Stewart was older yet still in prime condition, but more than that, he knew how to lead teams and get people to work hard.
“Let me know if you’re serious about wanting a real distraction.” Mack tucked the letter into his back pocket and straightened, looking Ashton over for a moment before continuing. “We could use you here at the fire station. And I don’t mean to gossip about people’s dating life.”
Ashton looked intrigued but left without saying anything more.
Mack got things in order so he could take off on time, swinging by the florist to pick up two small bouquets. He pulled into the parking space at the Silver garage right as the Open sign was being flipped over to Closed.
He hurried to the service entrance, even the short time in the intense cold making his cheeks tingle in the warmth of the garage.
Brooke glanced up from where she was pulling on thick winter boots, shock in her eyes. “Hey. You’re here.”
He glanced around. Gary was at the far end of the shop, moving slowly with his back toward them. “You didn’t tell me we had something on the agenda.”
She scooted up and kissed him quickly before reaching for her coat and tugging it on. “I didn’t know we had an agenda until breakfast when Dad told me he was closing down the shop so we could go to the gravesides.”
Mack nodded. “He sent me a message. Invited me to come along.”
Brooke paused in the middle of pulling her hair out of the back of her collar. “Oh.”
“You didn’t know?”
She shook her head, then pulled a heavy toque down over her ears. “It’s a good thing. Isn’t it?”
He slid closer, wrapping a hand around her waist and squeezing tight. “I’m glad I’m here.”
Gary joined them, heavy boots already on and winter coat with its high collar turned up against the cold. He stared at Mack for a moment then dropped his chin decisively. “We should go in one vehicle. You drive.”
Mack nearly fell over at the order, but he hurried to open the door for Brooke, swinging ahead of her to unlock his truck.
Gary waved off the offer of the front seat, climbing into the back of the crew cab. He paused when he spotted the bouquets resting on the center console.
It took a moment to get the truck started and the heaters blasting, then Mack turned to Brooke. “I picked these up for you. Seems like in most of those pictures you showed me, your grandma always had daisies and baby’s breath around. Thought it would be appropriate.” Mack met Gary’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Gary just kinda grumbled, but Brooke reached over and tangled her fingers in Mack’s. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”
It was a quiet ride, the sun already sliding behind the mountains by the time they made it to the cemetery on the outskirts of town. The house beside the graveyard was lit up, a warm homey glow shining from the windows.
In the graveyard itself, teeny lights twinkled as if pixies were flitting amongst the stones and dancing in the bare branches of the conifer trees. Mack pulled into the parking space, thankful to see a path had been plowed into the cemetery’s center.
Today had been the least blustery day in a while, but the wind still rumbled around them like icy fingers dragging at their clothes. Mack tucked Brooke closer to his side as they followed Gary down the slippery path toward the far corner where the land rose and fell like soft folds in a crumpled blanket, carrying on westward toward the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
Gary came to a stop beside two small memorial stones that lay side by side. Sharon and Emmanuel Silver. Stark black against the pristine white, they were bordered by a small rosebush barren of leaves but glowing brightly with three hanging canning jars that seemed filled with firefly light.
Rose-coloured streaks shot out against the darkening sky. The wind whistled harder, and Brooke hid her face against Mack’s chest, shivering slightly.
Gary turned back, his face pinched with the cold but resolution in his eyes. He met Mack’s gaze. “I was totally out of line when I shouted at you two the other day. My dad would’ve busted my chops right then and there, and I know it. So, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dad.” Brooke reached a gloved hand toward him, and he grabbed it and squeezed tight even as he shook his head.
“Nope. It’s not okay. I was wrong. You don’t remember, but your Grandpa got hurt one time setting up those decorations. Fell off the damn roof because he didn’t wait for me to help. He was okay in the end, but it threw me. Seeing you two with ropes and ladders and those damn—” He took a deep breath then let it out carefully. “That’s no excuse, but I just thought about how he got hurt out of the blue and the idea of that happening…”
His fears were understandable. It was also far more of a confession than Mack had expected to hear from the man.
Mack nodded. “Makes sense to me. The idea of anything happening to Brooke terrifies me too.”
“You’re not helping. I’m not made of crystal,” Brooke deadpanned, obviously trying to break the tension. “But I appreciate what you’re saying, Dad. We didn’t mean to scare you.”
Gary nodded. “I had kind of forgotten about those decorations being there. I want to make it clear that I have no interest in seeing you on the roof of the shop putting them up—that’s like a death sentence waiting to happen. But if there’s somewhere else you want to put them, feel free.”
The fire hall was out as an equally dangerous location, but an inkling of an idea had snuck in. “Maybe they’d be interested down at the Seniors Lodge.”
“That’s a great idea,” Brooke said. She cuddled in closer as the wind picked up and fluttered her collar around her face.
Gary took a deep breath then motioned with his head toward the stones. “Why don’t you put the flowers down, then we’ll go get warmed up.”
Brooke slipped the stems into the holders at the head of the graves. They all stood for a moment in silence, looking down at the bright yellow contrasting against the white. A moment of joy in the midst of utter nothing.
Then they were back in the truck and headed for the shop, but this time it was Gary who did the talking. Not as if he was spilling all the beans but sharing memories he couldn’t contain.
“Dad and I made those decorations over a couple of years. They couldn’t be made with new materials, not with my Dad’s rules in place. No, everything was recycled and reused in those days, well before it was a catchphrase. It was a good lesso
n at times—that star was my first welding job. Put it together out of pieces from an old wagon I used to have. My favourite, now that I think of it.”
In the rearview, Mack caught a glimpse of Gary looking thoughtful as he stared out at the growing darkness.
The older man continued. “I was proud of that star. I guess it will be good to see the lot of them up again and people enjoying the sight. Dad would have liked that.”
The whole afternoon had been one incredible yet unexpected moment after another, but they’d hit the bad turn in the fairy tale. This was where Mack lost his footing.
Because out of all the decorations he and Brooke had rescued from the loft and everything he had revamped with new wiring to become a part of this year’s Christmas celebration, there was obviously something missing.
There’d been candy canes, and trees, and a Santa Claus, and a whole lot of reindeer.
There hadn’t been a single star.
8
Wooden floors underfoot echoed with the sounds of boots moving past the folding tables that had become impromptu workstations along the edge of the Rough Cut’s dance floor. Music played in the background but not as loudly as on a typical evening when locals and visitors alike would pour through the doors into warmth and revelry.
This late afternoon event was still about Christmas cheer, though, and being with friends. Brooke glanced at the gathered crowd with a sense of glowing happiness.
And a hint of confusion.
“Why do they all look normal?” she asked Mack as he helped her off with her coat.
A snort of laughter and a quick grin flashed in her direction. “That’s a terrible opening to give me.”
“Just tell me when you spot it, Einstein,” she teased back.
Because while it was obvious the assembly of Christmas hampers was going well, a growing stack of boxes lined up near the front door, the other portion of the event she’d been expecting seemed to be lacking for everyone except her and Mack.
A cheery hello hit her from two sides as Rose and Yvette both came into view.
Yvette had her arms wrapped around a box, but she paused to give Brooke a thorough examination before blinking hard. “You’re looking very…bright and festive.”
“What she looks like is a billboard in Times Square,” Rose offered in return.
A soft curse escaped Mack’s lips before he once again grinned. “You ladies know where Ryan is?”
“Don’t tell him,” Brooke warned before turning to Mack and adjusting the collar of the incredibly tacky sweater gracing his muscular body. “Remember, he’s a good friend and it’s the holiday season. You don’t want to go and skin him or do anything remotely gory.”
“Is Ryan the reason Mack currently looks like Mister Rogers on LSD?” Rose asked.
Yvette had added her box to the stack by the door and returned at that moment, gasping at Rose’s comment. But it wasn’t shock; it was amusement. “Number one, Mister Rogers would never stoop to using drugs. Number two, I kind of like the sweater. The fuzzy blue fruits on the tree look friendly.”
“They’re pears, and there’s a partridge in there somewhere,” Mack growled before shaking his head. “Okay, I won’t kill him now. But I might save that option for later, if I get bored.”
“What are you complaining about?” Brooke said sweetly as she linked her arm through his and followed the girls to where the assembly line began. “My ugly sweater has lights, and I still haven’t figured out how to keep it from flashing SOS.”
The man of the moment—Ryan—showed up, his expression welcoming, but nothing out of the usual. Nothing to show that he’d successfully pulled a fast one on them. “Glad you guys made it. Grab a box and run down the line. Add one of every can or package of dry goods, and at the end we’ll add the perishable items.”
“And at what point do I get to shove my favourite turkey in a box?” Mack asked, his voice a growl.
For one second, Ryan’s lips twitched before he went back to looking smooth and debonair. “That would be the final perishable item.”
“Jerk,” Mack offered dryly.
“On the dry goods table. Teriyaki and peppered.”
Ryan weaved back as Mack reached for him, then the two of them ended up scuffling good-naturedly as the women stepped closer together.
Rose watched the guys wrestle, one brow rising. “For grown-ups, they’re doing rather fine imitations of preteens.”
“I assume the ugly sweaters were Ryan’s idea?” Yvette asked.
“He told us everyone would be wearing them. I twisted Mack’s arm to make sure he participated.” Brooke felt nothing but amusement at this point, the bright yellow sweater she’d found at the thrift shop and then woven LED lights all over making her feel more happy than foolish.
“You look cute.” Yvette glanced at Mack who had given up trying to take Ryan to the floor and was now talking contentedly with the man as they stepped down the assembly line. “He, however, does look like an over-caffeinated Mister Rogers.”
The three girls laughed softly then moved into position and got to work.
It didn’t take long to finish putting together the food portion of the Christmas hampers, and they all took a break. They sprawled in chairs that had been brought in from the storage room, then cups of warm cider and bowls of home-baked snickerdoodles and whoopee pies were passed around the table.
“How do you decide what goes in a hamper?” Yvette asked Rose, who was the coordinator again this year.
“How do you decide what goes on the table on Christmas Day?” Rose offered back. “A lot of it is tradition. Some of it is strictly for convenience. Mostly, though, it’s not a great idea to pack ingredients that people don’t know how to use at a time of year when trying new things would take more energy than they have.”
Brooke mentally ran through the list of everything that had been put in these hampers for local families. “Are you saying a traditional Canadian Christmas in Heart Falls involves stuffing, a turkey, and green beans?”
“Pretty much, although I’ve been working with the newcomers’ group. We try to add different ingredients when appropriate. In a couple of cases, instead of doing up a hamper, we were able to do a gift certificate so the families could get what they needed at the mercantile for their own traditions. Adding recipes is new as well.”
“I saw the recipe part,” Yvette said. “I got a basket from the welcome wagon when I moved in, and it included recipes for cabbage rolls and for paneer makhani.”
“That sauce is fantastic with chickpeas as well,” Rose shared.
Brooke applauded the changes, but she had to offer a wry confession. “I think it’s absolutely awesome I can now learn to burn things from many different cultures.”
Beside her, Mack was trying hard not to laugh.
“My best-ever Christmas dinner was arriving home from college to discover homemade mac & cheese in the fridge. My mom had made a huge pot of it for anyone who wanted a late-night snack. I got in so much trouble when I snuck in and devoured a bowlful about half an hour before the official family dinner.” Yvette hummed happily. “Totally worth it.”
“Food memories are the best.” Mack said with a nod.
“Agreed, but I still think the best mac & cheese is KD.” Alex got a round of cheers and jeers for that one, the cowboy having joined the group a little late.
“What’s your favourite food memory?” Rose asked Ryan.
“Watching Talia take her first taste of ambrosia.” His gaze slipped upward, and he stared at the heavy wooden beams decorating the ceiling. “Justina wasn’t quite sure it was appropriate to serve to a little girl, but I insisted, and our friends backed me up.”
Mack pressed a hand against his chest. “I forgive you for all your wrongdoings because you mentioned the food of the gods. Ambrosia is the only way to celebrate the holidays.”
Ideas continued to be shared, laughter rising up often as the group spoke animatedly. Brooke paused to make a mental not
e, however.
She’d been trying to figure out exactly what to put on the table for their celebratory meal. Mack had promised to help her cook, thank goodness, and he’d already bought a turkey. It was currently somewhere at the fire hall, still frozen solid. He’d promised to take it out in enough time to thaw and be cooked up on Christmas Day.
The rest of the basics were doable. Potatoes, salads, pickles. She’d grab buns from Tansy’s at the last minute possible.
But Brooke hadn’t even thought about ambrosia, and it was one thing she knew she could make—it would be impossible to burn. And if it was one of Mack’s favourites, it needed to be a part of their tradition.
He needed to be a part of her tradition.
Because Mack had stepped up in a big way over the past days. He’d been there for her and for her father, even though Gary didn’t want to acknowledge it yet. No, Mack was most definitely a part of their family, and she was going to make sure he knew it.
Mack helped carry the boxes to the truck waiting outside. Between him, Ryan, Alex, and the other guys who had remained, it didn’t take long. Then Ryan slipped away to help his staff get the pub ready to open, and Mack trailed after him.
His friend glanced down at the gaudy fabric covering Mack’s chest but managed to keep a straight face. “You and Brooke sticking around?”
“I think so. I plan to get her out on the dance floor for a while.”
Ryan moved quickly behind the bar, checking the taps and alcohol supply. “Thanks for being a good sport about the ugly-sweater thing. I couldn’t resist.”
“Can’t believe I fell for it, but trust me,” Mack said with enthusiastic evil promise, “some moment in the future, when you least expect it, ugly sweaters will be a part of your world.”
They exchanged grins. Mack stepped forward to help Ryan exchange tanks on one of the pop dispensers.