Page 88 of Catching the Mistletoe

I’m not sure how much time had passed, but the train began to slow and let out a low whistle, signaling our arrival. With a final lurch and the sound of grinding metal, we came to a full stop.

The conductor’s voice echoed over the intercom. “Alright, folks, we’ve reached the half-way point. Feel free to step out and stretch those legs. We’ve got a nice clearing here, perfect for a little winter picnic.”

I stood, stretching my arms overhead, and watched as the kids’ faces lit up like Christmas trees. They were practically bouncing in their seats, eyes wide and brimming with excitement. As the train doors slid open, a gust of cold air rushed in, and we bundled up in our jackets, scarves, and beanies.

“Come on, let’s go!” The smile Arabella flashed me could melt ice, I swear.

We stepped out into a winter wonderland. Fresh snow covered the ground, cushioning each step as if we were walking on a cloud. Around us, the trees stood tall, their branches laden with snow, creating natural archways that framed the clearing.

Volunteers were already setting up tables filled with thermoses of hot cocoa and trays of homemade cookies. The kids were soon settled at the tables, eating their lunch.

“Want a cookie or a hot cocoa?”

“Both.” Arabella’s laugh was a throaty, sexy sound that had me wishing we were alone. Grabbing a couple of cups, we piled on the marshmallows and sipped, savoring the sweetness, the richness, the utter perfection. “Oh, my god.”

“It would help me a lot if you wouldn’t make noises like that in public.”

Her eyes were dancing when she raised them to mine and her blush was fucking adorable. “I’m gonna go sit with the kids.”

“Good idea.” We split up, each sitting at a different table, but as always, my eyes tracked her every other moment.

After lunch, we had an hour until the train looped back around and Julia suggested we take a walk. The kids loved the idea so in no time at all, we headed for the trailhead, marked by a rustic wooden sign that read “Winter Wonderland Walk,” and an arrow pointing the way. It was a well-trodden path, the snow compacted from the footsteps of previous wanderers, and it made for easy walking.

Arabella strolled beside me, her hand occasionally brushing against mine. I felt that electric spark, but pushed it to the back of my mind, reminding myself to live in the moment. It was a perfect afternoon, the kind that makes you wish you could stop time. But of course, you can’t. So you treasure it, hoping that the memory will be enough to warm you when you need it most. Jesus fuck, what was the word for this? Maudlin. I’d read it in a book one time and never forgotten it. I’d even looked it up in the dictionary - self-pityingly or tearfully sentimental. Well, I wasn’t about to cry, but something was churning inside me, turning me inside out, actually. Eating away at me.

“You know, I was thinking...”

“Yeah? Sounds dangerous.”

She giggled. “Cute.”

“What were you thinking?”

“Just some ideas for things we can do at home. Charity auctions, umm,” she chewed on her bottom lip and it was all I could do not to grab her and kiss her. “Okay, this might sound dumb and a bit OTT.”

“Tell me.”

“I think I’m kind of good at being in front of the cameras.”

There was that niggling doubt, that vulnerability, that she just didn’t deserve to feel. She was amazing in front of the cameras, and it was all because of her that we’d raised enough money that the Christmas Caravan had lasted this long. “You are.”

With a shaky smile, she went on. “Well, I was thinking of doing a charity auction, right, but live streamed. So, bids could come in from anywhere in the county.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“You really think so?”

“I really do. Tell me more.”

Arabella chatted as we strolled along and I couldn’t shake it—the nagging sense that our time was running out. We were miles away from the ranch, yet the weight of home, of “after,” pressed down on me like a sack of bricks.

My gaze lingered on her a little longer as we walked. I reached over, my fingers lacing through hers almost instinctively. She glanced up and smiled, but she didn’t know. She didn’t know that I was committing to memory the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the exact hue of her hair under the winter sunlight, the cadence of her voice. Fucking ridiculous. It’s not like either of us was dying.

Without realizing it, we’d wandered down a little side trail, much narrower than the main track. Suddenly, Arabella fell silent, grabbing at my coat sleeve and pulling me to a stop. “Look over there.” Her voice was tinged with awe as she pointed toward a small clearing.

My eyes followed her gesture, landing on a doe and her fawn delicately picking their way through the snow-draped forest. The mother’s eyes were cautious, watchful, as if she knew the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. The fawn, still speckled and new to the world, followed closely, trusting in the guidance it was given.

“Wow, that’s magical,” Arabella whispered, once they’d disappeared through the trees.

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