Page 40 of Christmas Charms
“Sorry, Ashley. No luck in the back, but come back after the New Year,” Pete calls after me. “I should have plenty of snow chains by then.”
Of course he will. “Thanks anyway, Pete. You have a merry Christmas.”
When I resume my swift exit, Aidan is hot on my heels, tire chains jangling in his grasp. He sounds like one of the ghosts from A Christmas Carol.
The ghost ofmyChristmas past,I think. But wait, that’s not right. Aidan is standing right beside me, part of my life again in the present. And as much as I’m afraid to think about it, that means Christmas future is still up for grabs.
“Ashley, wait!” he says once we’re out on the sidewalk.
I spin around so fast that he nearly plows into me. “What?”
He backs up, and his blue irises bore into me, unblinking. I hold the stare, refusing to blink either until tears prick my eyes. “You think I’m like an action figure—plastic and unfeeling?”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” I counter. “I’m just saying that for a man who seems to either be at work or on call twenty-four hours a day, you have a lot of opinions about the fact that my career is important to me.”
He says nothing in return, and I know I should probably drop it, but I can’t.
“I get it. I’ve changed. I’m not the same person I was when I left Owl Lake.” The admission makes me sadder than it should. Changing and growing is part of life, and I’m proud of all that I’ve accomplished since I moved away. But being back in my hometown is making me wonder if leaving everything I knew and loved behind was worth it in the end. Everything…and everyone.
I lift my chin in defiance, because no matter what sort of doubts are swirling through my head, he’s not being fair. “But you’re not the same person either.”
“You’re right,” he says, and there’s an ache in his voice that seems to scrape my insides. “I’m not.”
I bite down hard on my bottom lip to stop it from quivering.
“Did you really think you’d come back after eight years and find the same lovesick boy you left behind?” He gives me a half smile, like he’s trying to downplay the heartbreak behind what he’s just said, but I know better. Those words didn’t come easily for Aidan.
For the first time since I’ve been back in Owl Lake, we’re getting dangerously close to discussing our history together. I almost hope we actually do, just to get it over with. But the sidewalk on Main Street doesn’t seem like the best place to take a painful trip down memory lane.
We’re so close that our breath commingles into a suspended puff of warmth in the frosty air. The angry knot in Aidan’s jaw is back again, and there’s a fire in his eyes that makes me weak in my knees. Then his gaze drops to my mouth, and this huge unspoken thing between us suddenly feels less like history and more like something else—attraction.
My head spins. This feels like the moment in a rom-com when the couple kisses in the middle of a huge argument, and the pounding of my heart is a sure sign that at least part of me hopes that’s precisely what’s about to happen. Snow flurries dance around us, and the air smells like crushed candy canes and frosted pine—like Christmas. Likehome.
I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to be kissed so badly in my entire life. What ishappening?
Aidan is the first one to look away. He glances up, and I follow his gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly over our heads. It’s suspended from the eave of Pete’s shop by a red velvet ribbon. Our eyes meet again in a panic, and we spring apart so fast that we both end up slipping on the ice and sliding to the ground.
I’m flat on my back on the sidewalk, looking up at the offending mistletoe when Aidan lets out a muffled groan, followed by a snicker. I laugh and swat at his chest. Big surprise, it feels as solid as a rock.
“Now can I have the snow chains?” I say through a giggle.
He’s laughing so hard that he can barely form a response, but his answer is unchanged. It’s still a no.
A short while later, Aidan is once again driving me home in a vehicle with flashing lights, but at least this time he’s had the decency not to turn them on. I’ve returned my rental car, because without the snow chains, it’s useless to me. Aidan kindly offered to give me a ride home since he’s at the end of his shift, and I took him up on it because it’s the least he can do after sabotaging my getaway. And maybe, just maybe, I’m the tiniest bit reluctant to see him go after our near-mistletoe moment.
Not that we’ve come anywhere close to kissing since then. It’s all business as usual, with a mile of distance between us in the front seat of the OLFD utility vehicle.
Its wheels roll to a stop in front of the lake house. I don’t even need to glance at the porch to see if Fruitcake is there, because I know he is. My life has turned into Groundhog Day, Christmas edition.
“That’s one loyal dog you’ve got there,” Aidan says. “Maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to belong to anyone else. I’ve been asking around for days—I’ve even checked the other departments in the surrounding counties. No one’s heard a thing about a missing golden retriever mix.”
The relief flowing through me nearly takes my breath away. After just a few days, I can’t imagine parting with Fruitcake.
“So he’s really mine?” I ask, throat going thick.
“It certainly looks that way,” Aidan says.
I give him a wobbly smile. Loyalty is an admirable quality—one that I probably haven’t appreciated as much as I should. “Do you want to come in? Mom and Dad would love to see you.”
