Page 61 of Christmas Charms
“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly. “And congratulations.”
I’m not marrying Jeremy, obviously.
Aidan might think I am, and in this incredibly awkward moment in time, Jeremy definitely thinks I am. I can’t quite get a read on whether or not my parents think my answer will be yes, but frankly, I have far more important things to worry about right now—starting with correcting Jeremy’s misguided assumption that we will ever be man and wife.
Thankfully, the crowd of observers hovering around us has dispersed, with everyone’s attention refocused on the parade. Mom and Dad have moved to the frontlines to see if Hugh needs any help with anything since he’s taken over for Aidan and me. Main Street is lined with people on both sides, all the way from the firehouse to the inn at the top of the hill, where the parade will come to an end in the spot where the town Christmas tree stands.
Has it really only been a handful of days since I watched Aidan place the star atop that tree? It feels much longer, even though my time in Owl Lake seems to have passed in the blink of an eye.
“Your parents’ dog is really friendly,” Jeremy says, doing a quick sidestep out of Fruitcake’s reach.
We’re standing off to the side, away from the crowd and beneath the pretty white gingerbread trim of Mountain Candy. Over Jeremy’s shoulder, I can see Enchanted Jewels, where the snowman that Susan and I made a few days ago still stands. He’s crooked and uneven, much like the cookies I made on my first day back in town. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Fruitcake is attempting his famous nudge maneuver, prodding Jeremy’s hand with his nose in hopes of being petted. For once, it’s not working. Fruitcake’s furry brow wrinkles in confusion as he peers up at me.
It’s not you, it’s him, I want to say. But first I need to clear the air with Jeremy. And as far as he and I are concerned, it’s not him, it’s me. I want a different sort of life than I thought I did a few weeks ago. I want a life with dog hair stuck to my jeans. I want cobblestone streets and old stone churches instead of skyscrapers and fancy Windsor-blue carpet. I want to design and make my own jewelry all day long instead of squeezing in time in spare minutes here and there after spending eight hours a day behind the charms counter. I want more nights steeped in the scent of my mom’s peppermint tea, more evenings skating in a Santa suit by the light of the moon and quiet mornings by the lake listening to the ethereal birdsong of the owls.
My eyes fill with tears.
I want Aidan.
I blink my tears away and rest my hand on Fruitcake’s broad, golden back. “Fruitcake doesn’t belong to my parents. He’s mine.”
Jeremy frowns. “Who said anything about fruitcake?”
“You did.” I ruffle Fruitcake’s head. “Fruitcake is the dog’s name, and he belongs to me.”
“Um, I don’t understand.” Jeremy’s gaze narrows. “You can’t have a dog.”
“Yes, I can…” I take a deep breath.Here it goes. “…if I stay here instead of going back to Manhattan.”
Jeremy’s forehead creases. “But we can’t stay here. Our jobs are in Manhattan. Ourlivesare there.”
I nod, because he’s just captured the essence of our dating relationship so perfectly. Ourlives—his and mine. Neverour life, never truly something unified and equal. Jeremy and I never shared the kind of closeness Aidan and I once did. I used to tell myself it was because young love was different and that I loved Jeremy differently but not less than I’d loved Aidan. Now I know the truth—I never really loved Jeremy at all. It’s hard to give your heart away when it already belongs to someone else.
How could I have gotten things so wrong?
“Jeremy, let’s sit down. We need to talk.” I nod toward one of the pretty park benches situated by the walking trail surrounding the lake.
“Okay,” Jeremy says, and he follows me until we’re sitting on opposite ends of the bench with Fruitcake planted between us at our feet. The dog insisted. I’m pretty sure he knows what’s coming. Call it canine intuition or just another spark of Christmas magic.
“I can’t marry you,” I say quietly, looking Jeremy straight in the eyes.
He blinks back at me as if I’ve just said something nonsensical. “I don’t understand. The whole reason we broke up before I left for Paris was because you wanted to get married and I didn’t. But I’ve given it some thought and decided I’ll do it, since that’s what you want. It’s the whole reason I’m here.”
“Right.” I force myself to smile. “I know you ended your trip early and came all this way, but we’re just not right for each other. Do you remember what you said to me that night at dinner before you left for Paris?”
His brow crinkles.
So I fill in the blanks. “You said ‘marriage isn’t for people like us,’ and you were right.”
“I was?”
“Well, mostly right. Marriage isn’t for people like you—at least not now. You’re not ready to get married, Jeremy, and that’s okay. You said yourself that you’re living your dream, and I don’t want to take that away from you. You deserve someone who wants the same sort of life that you do, because the thing is…” I give him a tender smile. “I’m living a different dream.”
He looks around, taking in the sight of the town I love so much—the snowcapped mountains and clusters of blue spruce trees, glistening with icicles, the quaint downtown area with its mom-and-pop shops and old fashioned theater—and the heart of it all, the frozen lake that sits at its center, silvery smooth like a mirror.
“This is really what you want?” he asks.
