Page 49 of No Business Like Snow Business

I stayed for good.

There was a whole lifetime in his words. An entire happy ending. It was here in this cabin, in the solid walls and the warmth and even that stupid tartan stag’s head. It was in the way Win and Kyle looked at each other, hands clasped. I wanted to knowmore. I didn’t just want Win’s happy ending; I wanted to know the struggles he’d overcome to hold onto it. The doubts, the fights, the regrets, the recriminations, and, most of all, the looming scepter of the Van Ruyven family back in New York. Because it couldn’t have been easy, and I was suddenly desperate to be told it hadn’t been. But Win and I were strangers still, and he didn’t owe me his trauma just because I suspected it looked a hell of a lot like mine.

“Maybe Christmas Falls is like a vortex,” Harvey piped in helpfully. “Drawing in the people who need it most.”

I almost snorted, except I’d thought nearly the same thing.

So here we were again, at the place where this was my choice. When the storm that was Patrick’s arrival in New York blew over, would I be there, cleaning up the mess?

Or would I still be here?

“Maybe,” I agreed, a little numbly.

“A vortex,” Martha repeated. She’d taken off the Tupperware lid to help herself to a cookie, and now passed the container around. “We should use that in the museum advertising. ‘Christmas Falls sucks...you in!’”

“That’s terrible,” Harvey said, his eyes bright with delight. “We should get it on postcards along with the creepy elf.”

Again, I wanted to snort at his ridiculousness, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Win and Kyle. I felt as though if I stared hard enough, I’d see a crack appear in their happy facade. A reason to tell myself that happy endings were overrated. That Christmas was. That love was too. I wanted them to make this easy for me.

“When do you go back, Sterling?” Win asked. And once again, I had that uncomfortable sense that he could see right through me.

“Um,” I repeated. “I don’t know. I was on my way back when Martha cracked the case.”

Martha laughed, biting into the rear end of a reindeer-shaped cookie. “The answer was right under your noses the whole time.”

I tried to smile. “So, I’m already checked out of the Pear Tree. I’m guessing there won’t be another room available this close to Christmas.”

“Well,” Kyle said, taking a Santa’s head cookie and then passing the container to Harvey. I could almost swear he gave Harvey a conspiratorial look. “I’m sure we can find a solution.”

“Yes,” Win said. “I’m sure we can.”

“This is crazy,” I said under my breath, and then, because it deserved to be sung from the mountaintop, I said it louder. “This is crazy.”

“Oh, this room is really nice,” Harvey said, following me and Win inside the little guest room at the back of Win and Kyle’s cabin. “It’s very cozy.” He pointed at the bed. “That looks like one of Grandma’s quilts.”

“We bought that off Kyle’s old second grade teacher a few years back,” Win said. “Mrs. Novak.”

“That’s her!” Harvey exclaimed. “Small world!”

He said it with an air of pleased delight as though he thought it was something magical and destined, the threads of our fates entwined in this little way, instead of just what happened in a small town where there were probably limited quilt-buying options.

“Small world,” Win agreed with a smile. “Can you go and get Sterling’s suitcase?”

There were probably a million things I could have asked Win after Harvey left the room and gave us a moment’s privacy, but for some reason the first words that tumbled out of my mouth were, “Did you know about me?”

“Did I know you existed?” he asked. “Yes. You and Sarah.” He crossed the small room to the dresser. “There’s a spare blanket in the bottom drawer, if you need it. The quilt is very warm, though.”

“I don’t know if I’m staying yet.”

“No.” He tilted his head as he regarded me. “But you don’t know if you’re going either. So the blanket’s there if you need it.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Nobody reached out and let me know about you and Sarah—it’s not as though I left a forwarding address—but the family isn’t exactly low profile, is it? I’ve kept tabs.”

“But you never reached out? Not after you send the photograph of you and Kyle?”

“I stupidly thought Dad would be happy to know that I was happy.” Win glanced away for a moment, and then met my gaze again, and I felt guilty for having wished he’d show me some of his pain. I caught a glimpse of it now, and it was more than enough. “And Quentin could have found me, if he’d tried. You managed it.”

“He didn’t throw the photo out, after all these years,” I said. “Grandfather. He could have, but he didn’t. But that’s not enough, is it?”

“No,” Win agreed. “It’s really not.”

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