Page 53 of Christmas Cove

“This is why the magazine sent you there? Seems like an odd thing to cover,” her mom said.

“Not exactly. The mayor called and set this up with the magazine to cover the idyllic Christmas celebrations.” America thought about Leo’s possible reasons for wanting the magazine to do an article in the first place. “Now that I think about it, it doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“What part?” her dad asked.

“Why would Leo have asked for the magazine to feature the city’s holiday events when there wasn’t any planned? It was almost as though the town wasn’t expecting to see me, or anyone else from a travel magazine, at all this year.”

“How do you mean?”

“Think about it. If you invited a writer to your town, wouldn’t you have wanted to put your best foot, or in this case, holiday show, forward?” America said and paced in front of the tree.

“I see what you mean,” her mother said and took a bite of bread dipped in the oil. When she was finished chewing, she added, “So, either the mayor set you up to embarrass the town, or he really knew nothing about it.”

America remembered the look on Leo’s face as she accused him of doing nothing and not caring what happened to the Cove. It was not the look of a man who had been found out. It was the look of a man who had just been stabbed in the heart.

America covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “I made a huge mistake,” she whispered. “The last thing I said to him was that he didn’t care about the town, or the people, and he was crushed. I had no right to say anything to him about anything.”

America whipped out her phone and opened a text to Poppy.

FIND OUT WHO REQUESTED THE FEATURE ON CHRISTMAS COVE ASAP.

“Dad, is there anything legally that will help the Cove?”

“I don’t know, hon. I have to look up the statutes and—how many people do they need to move in?”

“It was six, but Jenny Townsend had her baby early. So,” America said, thinking about the tiny baby who didn’t even know they were helping to save Christmas.

“Well, we got three, right here. So that leaves two more to go,” Mom said, and America spit out the cheese she had just begun to chew.

“Excuse me! What? I never said I was moving to Christmas Cove.” The idea was preposterous, though Leo had suggested the same thing in jest. The question swirled: Why couldn’t she? What was keeping her in the city? She could do her job from anywhere, and she would certainly like to work in a more secluded setting than the one her glass pen provided.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you have loved everything about Christmas, from the decorations to the giving, to the smiles and twinkling lights, and the merriment you can bring to the community around you. I, for one, can’t imagine you living out your days anywhere else than somewhere named for the holiday. Plus,” her mom put her hand on her dad’s knee the way America had touched Leo in the truck to reassure him, “your father and I are tired of the city and thinking about making a big change.”

“How so?” America said slowly as though she was afraid of what her parents would say next.

“Now that your father has retired, I have decided to finally follow my dream of opening my own boutique,” her mom said.

America couldn’t believe it. Her mom had spoken about her idea for a little shop that would carry local artisan crafts and apparel and furniture for years. “That’s wonderful! But, if not in the city, then where?”

Mom looked at Dad and they both cracked a mirrored smiled. “Christmas Cove.” They said in unison.

“What do you think?” her mom asked. “In one of the photos you sent of Main Street, I believe I noticed a For Sale sign in one of the windows, and well...”

“We missed you very much while we were away in Italy. If you go, we go too,” Dad finished.

America’s phone buzzed with a message from Poppy.

ON IT. STAND BY

America tapped the corner of the phone into her open palm. If Leo hadn’t requested the article, then who?

“I’m a little on edge,” America said and sat across from her parents. “Distract me, will you? How was your trip? Other than shortened.”

“We had a wonderful time. I got to see where Papoosh grew up in a village at the base of the Alps. It was out of a storybook. Ripped from a different time. I have a ton of pictures.”

Her mom motioned for America to come and sit beside her. She swiped through photos of picturesque country sides filled with grapevines and dotted with tiny villages. There were photos of narrow, sun-drenched streets lined with towering cypress trees, and bustling holiday markets overflowing with handcrafted trinkets and delicious foods.

“This looks incredible. I might have to go someday myself. So, why didn’t you want to stay?” America said and shut off the screen. “I’m a big girl, you know. I could have handled this on my own.”

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