Page 20 of Christmas Charms
He narrows his gaze at me. His eyes are the same striking shade of blue they’ve always been.Forget-me-not blue. The lump in my throat grows threefold. I could never, ever forget Aidan Flynn, not if I tried.
Nor would I want to. I just wish he would smile at me again, for old times’ sake. Aidan always had the best smile. It never failed to make me weak in the knees.
“I just saw you two days ago in the city. You have to have just gotten here,” he says stonily.
“I got in late last night.” Not that it’s any of his business.
“So you’ve been home all of twelve hours, and you’re already itching to go back.” He shakes his head and looks about as thrilled as a kid who just found a lump of coal in his stocking on Christmas morning. “Sounds about right.”
I’ve changed my mind about the glowering. I definitely prefer the robot treatment. But at least with this last comment, his standoffishness suddenly seems more understandable. To him, I’m just the girl who broke his heart and turned her back on her small town for a new life in the big city.
But that’s not who I am.
Is it?
My chest grows tight as I realize all available evidence supports his theory. Here I am—back for my first Christmas in Owl Lake in years—and all I can think about is finding a way to get back to Manhattan.
“It’s not what you think,” I say, blinking against a sudden whirlwind of snow flurries. “This is just a day trip. I’m coming right back.”
He goes silent for a beat. After a long, painfully awkward pause, his blue eyes soften—ever so slightly. He clears his throat. “Not today, you’re not. All trains have been cancelled.”
Oh yeah. He already mentioned that, didn’t he?
“That’s unfortunate.” I try my best not to sound like a snobbish big city princess, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m successful. What would Aidan think if he knew I was supposed to be in Paris right now? And why does his opinion still matter after all this time? “I guess I’ll call the cab to come back.”
Aidan gives me a slow nod, then squints against the snowfall and glances around at his fellow firemen.
“No need. I can take you home,” he finally says. He zips his jacket the remaining two inches until it’s snug against the base of his throat. His neck is thicker than it used to be—corded with muscle.
The Aidan I used to know was a boy; the person standing in front of me right now is very much a man.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say softly. For some reason, his kindness is more difficult for me to accept than his earlier crankiness.
He shrugs one shoulder. “I know.”
And then he strides toward a shiny red fire truck parked parallel to the railway tracks, leaving me no choice but to follow.
My high school sweetheart is giving me a ride home. In a fire truck.
Minutes later, I’m seated up front in the ladder truck, right beside Aidan as he navigates the rig over the ice-covered streets of Owl Lake toward my parents’ lake house. Everything about the experience is nostalgic, which does little to alleviate the ache in my chest. When I was a little girl and my dad was chief, he would prop me up in the front seat of the various fire trucks all the time. I felt like a princess, and my dad’s heavy chief’s helmet was my crown. Now, here I am again, in a fire truck in my hometown, only the man sitting beside me is Aidan. Never in a million years would I have predicted this turn of events, but it feels right somehow. Fated, if I’m really being honest.
Aidan’s own father died in a car accident when he was just a little boy. He and my dad have always been close. The fact that he’s followed in my father’s footsteps must mean the world to Dad.
Still, this trip down memory lane would be a lot nicer if it were a bit more quiet. Thanks to the siren, every head turns our way as we pass, from the good people of Owl Lake who are outside shoveling snow to the white-tailed deer prancing among the fir trees. Super. Just what I need for this awkward reunion—an audience.
“Is the siren really necessary?” I ask over the earsplitting wail of the fire engine.
“Sorry.” Aidan silences the siren, and I catch the telltale hint of a smirk on his lips. He’s enjoying this little rescue mission, probably because he can tell I find it wholly embarrassing.
I face forward and do my best to ignore his presence, but of course doing so is impossible. The air in the cab of the fire engine is thick with memories and the warm, masculine scent of woodsmoke and evergreen. Adult Aidan is as appealing as s’mores cooked over an open campfire on a cold winter night, all melty warmth and starlight. The miles between here and Paris seem longer than ever.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get back to the city?” Aidan asks without tearing his eyes off the road.
I tell myself he’s only being safety-conscious, not trying to avoid meeting my gaze, but his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel says otherwise.
“I found out this morning that a promotion has opened up at the jewelry store where I work, and I really want it—but they’re looking to fill it right away. If I wait until after the holidays to talk to my boss about it, it will be too late.”
Aidan nods.
