Page 29 of Christmas Charms
Still, when we drive past the theater, I sneak a glance at Aidan. His gaze fixes with mine, and his lips curve into a tiny smile of remembrance. Memories flash through my mind like a montage from a rom-com—the two of us sharing a bucket of popcorn in the dark, Aidan draping his high school letter jacket over my shoulders as shadows move across the screen, the look in his soulful blue eyes when I’d said I thought Audrey Hepburn was the most beautiful woman in the world.
It’s you, Ash,he’d whispered.It will always be you.
I swallow hard as Aidan’s smile fades and he turns his attention back to the road.
“You left the station awfully suddenly last night,” he says. Once again, a telltale knot of tension is visible in his jaw.
“Oh.” A weight settles in the pit of my stomach as I realize what he’s thinking.
We’d had a moment when our hands collided. The briefest, most innocent of touches had sparked something to life inside of me, like a thousand shimmering Christmas lights. Aidan had felt it too.
And within seconds, I’d fled.
It was the bracelet’s fault,I start to say, but how absurd would that sound?
I glance down at the collection of silver charms lying against my black cashmere sleeve and vow once again to somehow get the clasp open—today, if at all possible. The sooner, the better.
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I say, because I can’t exactly change my story now.
But he knows it’s nothing but an excuse—I can see the sadness in his expression, and it makes me want to rip the bracelet off my arm and hurl it out the window.
A few awkward seconds pass until the firetruck slows to a stop in front of my house.
“Here you go,” Aidan says, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Home sweet home.”
There are so many things I want to say, but before I can even utter a heartfelt thank you, his radio crackles and dispatch comes through, sending Aidan out on another call.
“Be safe,” I say as I step out into the cold, but he’s already driving away.
I watch the firetruck until it’s nothing but a hint of red on the horizon. When I finally turn to walk up the pathway to the lake house, I notice Fruitcake waiting for me by the door, and this time, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. His fur is warm and dry, despite the swirling snow, which doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but I know better than to question it.
Christmas is a time of magic, and little by little, I’m starting to believe.
Chapter Nine
“How’s Aidan?” my dad askswhen I walk inside with Fruitcake trotting at my heels.
My parents are sitting at the kitchen table, putting together a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle of a cozy Christmas scene. Mugs of hot cocoa sit in front of them, topped with whipped cream and curls of dark chocolate ribbon. Their little tableau is all kinds of adorable, so I decide to overlook the I-told-you-so lurking beneath Dad’s question.
“He’s fine,” I say. “I drove into a snowbank and he gave me a ride home, but why do I get the feeling you two already know all about it?”
My mom pops a puzzle piece into place and shrugs one slender shoulder. “Hugh called to let us know.”
Of course he did.
“Quick question—did you guys put Fruitcake outside before I got back?” I’m sure they didn’t, and Fruitcake somehow appeared on the porch all on his own out of thin air, sort of like Clarence inIt’s a Wonderful Life. But I should probably make sure, even though the fact that all of this is beginning to seem normal is probably cause for concern.
“Of course not. He likes to stay snug and warm in your room when you’re gone,” my dad says. “Good dog you’ve got there, honey.”
I bend to wrap my arms around Fruitcake’s furry neck and breathe in the scent of winter and candy canes.
“Sweet boy,” I whisper, and his tail thumps against the hardwood floor.
I spend the rest of the morning helping Mom and Dad with their puzzle until the snow finally stops coming down and the world beyond the picture window is a glittering winter wonderland. The afternoon sky is robin’s egg blue—the peaceful, perfect calm after a storm.
“I think I’ll take Fruitcake for a walk.” I reach for my red coat. The charm pendant I pinned onto the lapel a few nights ago is still there, even though that evening is starting to feel like it took place a lifetime ago.
“Don’t forget about the Christmas tree lighting tonight,” my mom says.
