by Anita Hughes
“Actually, they hired someone else for that position. This is a better opportunity—it’s assistant copywriter at Ogilvy & Mather in Milwaukee.”
“Milwaukee?” Fletcher said, stumbling over the word. “Your dream is to live in New York.”
“There will only be two people on the account, so there’s a better chance of promotion,” she said quickly. “I can probably transfer to New York in a year. Plus, my aunt lives in Milwaukee. I could stay with her and save money.”
“What about us?” Fletcher asked.
“If you’re in New York or Philadelphia, I can visit on weekends,” she said shakily. “This is a wonderful chance; I can’t pass it up.”
“Of course you can’t.” Fletcher looked at Emma and sipped his champagne. “You’re going to be the best copywriter Ogilvy & Mather, Milwaukee, ever had.”
The waiter brought caramel flan for dessert, and they reminisced about college: The winter mornings when it was minus ten degrees, so by the time they walked to class, they thought they’d never be warm again. The last few weeks when everyone was so anxious to leave, the dining hall was like Grand Central Station at rush hour.
It was only after they both returned to campus and made up an excuse not to spend the night—Emma had to revise her senior thesis, and Fletcher wanted to make notes for tomorrow’s matinee—that Emma let the grief wash over her. She sank onto the bed in her dorm room and felt something hard in her pocket.
She took the watch out of the case and turned it over. It had taken her hours to come up with the inscription: TO FLETCHER, YOU HAVE MY HEART. EMMA.
She hadn’t given him the watch at dinner. Now she didn’t know if she ever would.
One Day Before New Year’s Eve
Snowberry, Vermont
Emma sat on the bed in her room at The Smuggler’s Inn and wondered what would have happened all those years ago if she hadn’t lied to Fletcher about the job in Milwaukee. But she had felt so betrayed. If Fletcher loved her, he would have told her about the opportunity in London; instead, he’d just planned on disappearing.
She walked to the closet and wondered what shoes she should wear with the red dress. Maybe she should run to the beauty parlor and get her hair done: proper curls, so she looked elegant and sexy.
Fletcher and Megan were no longer engaged, and tonight she and Fletcher were going to have a romantic dinner. She slipped on her coat and grabbed her purse. Bronwyn would say it was all synchronicity, and nothing could go wrong.
Eighteen
One Day Before New Year’s Eve
Snowberry, Vermont
FLETCHER RUBBED SHAVING LOTION ON his cheeks and buttoned up his shirt. He was meeting Emma for dinner in half an hour, and he was as nervous as a teenage boy before the prom.
It had been so odd running into Emma in Manchester this morning, after he called Megan last night. He was beginning to believe that fate kept bringing them together. Being with Emma was like sipping a cappuccino after going weeks without coffee: warm and sweet and electrifying at the same time.
Could they start seeing each other again? They were both single, and they enjoyed each other’s company. It didn’t have to be anything serious; they could explore the East Village, or Emma could show him her neighborhood.
Then why was he so anxious he’d missed a button? There was a knock at the door, and he opened it. Lola stood in the doorway, wearing a blue jacket and sheepskin boots.
“I knocked on your door earlier,” he said when Lola entered his room. “I was wondering when you and Betty would get back.”
“We had a wonderful afternoon.” Lola plopped on the bed. “We delivered homemade fudge to all the vendors who are donating to the talent show. Then Betty showed me the covered bridge where her children fished every summer. They caught trout this big.” Lola held out her hands.
“I bet you can catch one even bigger.” Fletcher fixed the buttons on his shirt. “Maybe Stephen can set you up with a fishing pole. And you’ll need plenty of mosquito repellent; I heard the mosquitoes in Vermont in the summer eat better than the people.”
Lola glanced at Fletcher and her eyes were wide as saucers.
“Do you mean it?” She clapped her hands. “Are we going to spend summer in Vermont?”
“I haven’t told Stephen yet,” Fletcher said. “I wanted to check with you first. And of course we need to talk to your mom.”
“It would be the best summer of my life!” Lola gushed. “What did Megan say? Are you going to get married at The Smuggler’s Inn?”
“That’s the other thing I want to talk about,” Fletcher said. “Megan and I aren’t getting married after all. We decided to end the engagement.”
“That diamond ring never suited her anyway,” Lola insisted. “That ring is better suited to someone with smaller hands.”
“I never noticed,” Fletcher laughed. It felt good to be laughing with Lola, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I give a woman a ring.”
“Cammi’s mother’s wedding ring is as big as an Easter egg because her new husband is loaded,” Lola continued. “Mom’s new ring is pretty small, but it does have a pretty emerald.” Lola clamped her hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t like it when I talk about Mom and Chuck.”
“You have to talk about them,” Fletcher said. “You live with Mom most of the time, and Chuck is her husband.”
“You really don’t mind?” Lola fiddled with her coat toggle. “Because there’s something you should know. Emma said Mom should tell you, but I hate keeping secrets. It makes me feel like I swallowed a balloon that’s going to burst.”
“What kind of secret?” Fletcher said sharply. “And what does this have to do with Emma?”
“I discovered it by accident and didn’t know if I should tell you,” Lola said. “Emma was worried how you’d react to Mom and Chuck having a baby.”
The room seemed to sway and Fletcher put his hand on a chair to steady himself.
“When did your mother tell you she was pregnant?”
“That’s the thing—she hasn’t told me,” Lola rushed on. “We were talking on Skype and Chuck asked how her doctor’s appointment went and whether he should buy pink or blue cigars.”
“Your mother doesn’t know that you know?” Fletcher tried to process the information.
Lola’s eyes filled with tears. “Maybe she doesn’t care how I feel. All she’s worried about is the new baby.”
“Of course she cares how you feel.” Fletcher hugged her. “Emma’s right, she probably wants to tell us in person. It’s exciting news; you’re going to be a wonderful big sister.”
“Do you think so?” Emma asked expectantly. “Babies are cute. Susannah at school has a baby sister, and she blows bubbles. I was thinking of giving the baby my Paddington Bear. I could send it to SnowBeary Academy and Doctor Traci can sew on his coat toggles.”
“That’s a good idea,” Fletcher agreed. “We’ll dig out your Beatrix Potter books, and you can teach the baby about Peter Rabbit.”
“I used to love it when you pretended you were Farmer McGregor.” Lola looked at Fletcher. “I won’t mind if you have a baby someday.”
“I doubt that will happen, now that I’m not engaged,” Fletcher said gruffly.
“There’s always Emma,” Lola remarked. “She just came back from the beauty parlor. She said you were going out to dinner.”
Fletcher flushed. He should have asked Lola to join them. Even though he wanted to be alone with Emma, Lola came first.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to come,” Fletcher said quickly.
“Emma already did, but I said no.” Lola shrugged. “Stephen asked me and Betty to see the Christmas parade in Chester. Santa Claus pulls a sleigh with real reindeer, and they serve gingerbread snaps.” She rubbed her stomach. “I love gingerbread snaps, I could eat a whole box.”
“Emma already asked you?” Fletcher repeated curiously. “Well,
we’ll both be disappointed. But I don’t mind being replaced by live reindeer.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a nice dinner; you have a lot to catch up on.” Lola eyed Fletcher’s button-down shirt and newly shaved cheeks. “It’s kind of odd, though.”
“What’s odd?” Fletcher wondered.
“When Cammi comes over, she usually wears jeans and a T-shirt,” Lola said. “You’re all dressed up, and Emma got her hair done.”
“What are you saying?” Fletcher asked.
“Old friends wear their most comfortable things around each other. It looks like you and Emma are going on a date.”
“Emma and I are going to dinner, that’s all.” Fletcher kissed Lola on the forehead and turned to the closet. “If I don’t finish getting dressed, I’ll be late.”
Lola went downstairs to join Betty, and Fletcher reached for a sweater. He was about to grab his coat when his phone rang.
“Graham, how are you?” Fletcher answered. “I read the review of A Winter’s Tale in The Guardian. You hit it out of the park.”
“I love a glowing review, but it’s giving my leading lady a very big head,” Graham said, and sighed. “Annika is demanding heated slippers and a glass of Pimm’s after every performance.”
“The budget can afford it; you must be making a mint.” Fletcher glanced at the time on his phone. “I can’t talk long, I’m late for an appointment.”
“You mean you’re late for dinner with Emma,” Graham corrected.
“Who told you that?” Fletcher wondered.
“I couldn’t get hold of you, so I called The Smuggler’s Inn. A woman answered and said you were out. She put Lola on the phone, and Lola told me you were going to dinner with Emma.”
“You talked to Lola?”
“She is my goddaughter,” Graham reminded him. “It’s bad enough that you took her five thousand miles away. At least I can talk to her on the phone.”
“Lola adores you,” Fletcher agreed. “She was just here, and she didn’t mention talking to you.”
“Like you didn’t tell me Megan went back to New York?” Graham returned. “I suppose I could have predicted it, the way your week was going. And now you’re already planning a romantic dinner with Emma.”
“Maybe you were right about the magic Christmas spell over The Smuggler’s Inn,” Fletcher commented. “I thought when I broke off the engagement, I’d be completely wrecked. But I feel like a new man.”
“You’re talking about the oldest spell in the books,” Graham chuckled. “It’s called love.”
“I don’t know about that. Emma and I are just friends,” Fletcher said hastily. “I’d rather have a steak and baked potato with Emma, then retreat to my room with a bottle of scotch and a carton of Ben & Jerry’s Minter Wonderland ice cream.”
“You and Emma have never been just friends,” Graham rejoined. “When I met you, you were ten pounds thinner because you’d hardly eaten since you arrived in London. We went out for fish and chips and you barely touched them.”
“They were too greasy,” Fletcher recalled. “They were wrapped in newspaper, and the newspaper was covered in oil.”
“And when we went back to your flat, you had photos of Emma in a scrapbook,” Graham continued.
“There was one photo of Emma on the opening night of Romeo and Juliet,” Fletcher said. “Was I supposed to cut her out of the photo?”
“Remember how Cassandra found the watch Emma gave you the day before your wedding?” Graham kept talking. “I always wondered why you kept it. Maybe you didn’t want to get married.”
“I loved Cassandra, and I have Lola,” Fletcher said. “I wouldn’t have traded my marriage for anything.”
“Emma appears in Vermont, and a few days later you and Megan break off your engagement,” Graham continued. “You’re like a dog with a bone. You’ve never really let Emma go.”
“I suppose you have a point,” Fletcher said warily.
“I just want you to be careful. You’ve closed off a space in your heart that no one else can reach,” Graham said. “I’m a theater producer; I know how easy it is to glamorize the past. Don’t let nostalgia for your first love get in the way of common sense. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want you to get hurt. We’re getting old, Fletcher. Our hearts don’t mend easily.”
Fletcher hung up the phone and glanced in the mirror. Graham was wrong; he wasn’t glamorizing the past. But maybe Graham had a point. He couldn’t take Emma to a diner in Snowberry, like the ones they’d frequented in college. If there was any chance of their relationship progressing, they had to try something different.
Suddenly he had an idea. He took off the wool sweater and put on the silk tie that Megan had packed in his suitcase. Then he slipped on his coat and draped a scarf around his neck. He and Emma were going to have a night neither of them would forget.
* * *
Emma was standing in the parlor when he walked downstairs. She turned and his heart hammered in his chest. Her hair was freshly curled, and she was wearing a belted coat that made her look like a movie star.
“What have you done to your hair?” he asked. “And that coat! You look stunning.”
“Do you like it?” She touched her hair. “Betty lent me the coat, it’s vintage Halston. She said it would keep me warm if we’re walking around Snowberry.”
“Your hair is lovely, and the coat suits you,” Fletcher rejoined. “But we’re not going to dinner in Snowberry.”
“Where are we going?” Emma asked.
“It’s a surprise.” He held out his arm. “I promise, we’re going to have a good time.”
* * *
“Stowe!” Emma exclaimed when the taxi dropped them off in front of a sign that curved above stone pillars.
Fletcher tipped the driver and climbed out after her. Above them, cable cars transported visitors to restaurants on the slopes, and lit torches guided nighttime skiers down the mountain. There was a Christmas tree as large as anything he had seen at Harrods, and lampposts decorated with silver bows.
“I’ve never been to Stowe, but the guidebooks say it’s a must-see destination in Vermont,” he explained. “There are half a dozen gourmet restaurants, and they have almost as many designer boutiques as Fifth Avenue. Plus we can take the cable car up the mountain and see the Green Mountains at night.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Emma said as they passed shop windows with mannequins outfitted in expensive ski gear. Even the salespeople were different from those in Snowberry: the saleswoman at the Stowe Mercantile Company was dressed in a chic ski sweater and leather slacks.
There was a chocolate shop that sold truffles with gold icing, and a cheese store where they offered samples of goat cheese accompanied by spoonfuls of caviar. The liquor shop resembled the inside of some fabulous wine cellar, and there were three jewelry stores with cases of gold watches and diamond brooches.
“It reminds me of the ski resorts in Switzerland,” Fletcher said when they explored the ski shop. Fletcher tried on a pair of wraparound sunglasses that made him feel like a downhill racer, and Emma stroked a ski jacket lined with mink.
“I would never wear fur, but it’s dreamy to touch,” she sighed. “I feel like we’re at one of those chic ski resorts in the movies where everyone sits around sipping Campari. I’ve never been to Europe; it would be lovely to visit Gstaad or St. Moritz.”
“You’ve never been to Europe?” Fletcher asked quizzically.
“It’s too expensive on a copywriter’s salary in Manhattan if you want to afford a decent apartment.” She shrugged. “I will someday. I’ve promised myself a trip to Rome when I get my next raise.”
“All those boyfriends,” Fletcher teased. “And no one took you on a romantic weekend in Venice, or a whirlwind trip to Portugal?”
“Evan planned New Year’s in Paris a few years ago: three nights at the Ritz and a New Year’s Eve cruise on a barge on the Seine. I only found out because the concierge at the Ritz called when I was clea
ring my things from his apartment and left a message on the answering machine,” she said with a smile. “I broke up with him the day after Christmas. He was sweet, but he was a massive baseball fan, and I couldn’t sit in front of the television watching a ball being hit around a field.” She looked at Fletcher. “I hope that doesn’t sound too demanding. I just want to grow old with someone who has similar interests.” Her eyes sparkled. “Someone who loves big dogs and wants a whole army of grandchildren so we can always look forward to their visits.”
“You’ll be a wonderful grandmother,” Fletcher said, playing along. “You’ll be the kind who plays touch football and lets them watch The Bachelor when they’re stressed from college entrance exams.”
“I’ll be too old to play football by the time I have grandchildren. If I have them at all,” Emma said doubtfully. “At least I have Liv and Sarah. Once a month I spend the day with them and we go to the Natural History Museum. Liv usually falls asleep, and she’s so heavy I can hardly carry her. But Sarah loves the dinosaurs.”
“That’s the thing about being a parent—sometimes you don’t know how you keep going,” Fletcher said. “Then they put their hand in yours, and it’s the best feeling in the world.”
“You’re doing a great job with Lola,” Emma returned. “She has so much self-confidence, and she’s very kind. She spent hours sewing ears on the teddy bears so Betty could donate them to charity.”
“I have a confession to make.” Fletcher took Emma’s hand. “I didn’t want to talk about Lola tonight. I wanted this evening to be about us.”
“About us?” Emma looked at Fletcher.
“I didn’t want to sit in a diner in Snowberry and talk about college or Megan or even Lola,” Fletcher said earnestly. “I wanted to show you how much I’ve accomplished. You know, the big Broadway director who’s spent winters in fashionable ski resorts and knows the names of different kinds of caviar. But that’s not who I am. I love being Lola’s father, and if we’re even thinking about a future, you have to recognize how important she is to me.”