Page 92 of Never Sleigh Never
I toe off my boots and hang up my coat and meet her the kitchen. “Smells good.”
“Swedish meatballs,” she says, already pulling out an extra plate. “Are you hungry?”
She slides it across the kitchen island, and I add it to the empty spot at the table.
She leans closer, lowering her voice like she has some top-secret intel. “How are things going with… Brie?”
I collapse onto the stool, rubbing a hand over my face. “Over.”
The potato masher clatters into the pot, and she turns on me with a glare that could crush a grown man. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume it was me?” I ask, but the look she gives me is answer enough. “Fine. It was me.”
Her expression softens. “Logan, what happened?”
I scrub my hands down my face. “Maybe it’s best I don’t start dating yet.”
She rests a hand on my arm. “Sweetheart, I say this with love—it’s been three years. It’s okay to move on.”
“I am moving on. I sold the Chicago house, moved back here for Josie, for a better life. I’m moving on.”
But even as I say it, my chest feels heavy. Because maybe moving on and moving forward aren’t the same thing at all.
Mom arches a brow. “Only to organize a Christmas carnival that wasn’t even your idea. I want to make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. You’ve never been Mister Christmas Spirit. So why now?”
“People change.”
“They can.” She tilts her head. “Let me ask you this. What do you want?”
Her question lands like a weight in my gut. What do I want? It should be easy. Everyone should know what they want. But the truth? My life feels like it’s hovering at an intersection with no street signs.
I fidget with the corner of a kitchen towel, then force myself to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to be a shell anymore.” My voice is rough, but a piece of me feels lighter just saying it. “I want to live. Really live. I thought finishing Brooke’s carnival dream would finally put her memory to rest. But it’s not my dream. It never was. And you’re right. The carnival isn’t me.”
“In cases like this,” she says gently, “it’s okay to be selfish. Brooke’s legacy already lives on—in Josie, in every memory you two made. You don’t have to complete her dream to prove you loved her. And if she’s watching, she’s definitely calling you an idiot for even trying.”
My lips twitch. Yeah. That sounded exactly like Brooke.
Mom smiles, softening. “When your dad passed away, I found his bucket list. Only one thing wasn’t crossed off.”
“What was it?”
A smile tugs at her lips. “To go skydiving. I spent a lot of time contemplating whether I should finish his list for him.”
“Did you?”
“Jump out of a perfectly operational airplane? No! His list stayed unfinished, and I know your dad would want it that way. He was stubborn, but he never wanted anyone else to live his life for him.”
I can’t help it—I smile. She’s right.
Her gaze flicks to mine, warm but firm. “There was a time I thought I’d never find anyone again either. But then I met John. He made me laugh again. He reminded me that life wasn’t over just because a chapter ended. And now I want the same for you.”
I lower my head, her words sinking in deeper than I want to admit.
“I know you buried yourself in hockey so you could avoid the silence,” she continues. “I did the same when your father passed. All those school fundraisers I helped organize, volunteering at the Mount Holly Community Club, I didn’t do those things for fun. It kept my mind off losing your father. But, Logan”—she squeezes my hand—"this past month, since Brie, I’ve seen something in you I haven’t seen in years. A real smile. Not the fake one you plaster on for show. The one that reaches your eyes. The one that tells me you’re happy.”
She releases my hand and gestures toward the back door. “Now, go grab John and Josie from the yard and wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.”
I stand, but her words echo in my chest. For as much as Brie drives me insane, she also makes me feel—everything. With her, the past doesn’t drown me. When she smiles, I remember what it’s like to actually want a future.
