Page 78 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“But she’s so stuck on putting everyone else first. I’m hoping she grows out of that, but who knows.” She shrugged, then looked me over. “Maybe she just needs to meet the right person to help her figure out her priorities.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that I’m sure her granddaughter would figure it out on her own in due time, especially if she has as close a family as she implied, but a voice came over the loudspeaker, declaring that the storm had eased and my flight would be boarding soon.
“That’s me. I gotta go,” I said, reaching into my pocket to pull out my card to pay for both of our drinks, but she shook her head.
“No, no, let me.”
“Now, Dottie—” I said, ready to argue. If nothing else, my parents taught me manners.
“I’ve never gotten to buy a famous songwriter a drink. Let me have my moment. You’ve already paid your dues by spending two hours with me at this bar, listening to me ramble on. I’m sure you had much better things to do.”
I stare at her, then shake my head.
“Not much I’d rather have done than hang out here with you.” She gave me that wide smile again.
“I hope you find your muse again, Adam. Good luck.”
“I knew her,” I whisper, grazing a finger over the glass of the photo and looking more closely. Wren is next to her, and now that I see them both, I see the familiarities. The eyes are nearly the same, and she has her grandmother’s smile.
How did I not see it before?
“What?” Wren asks, rightfully confused.
“I met her. Last January. She was stuck at the airport in Denver due to a layover. I was supposed to go home to New York, but the flights were grounded due to a storm. We sat at a bar together. Talked.” I shake my head, confused and bewildered by this news, before I turn to her and give her my biggest confession.
“Your grandmother is the reason I’m in Holly Ridge,” I say, the words feeling strained as they leave my lips. My pulse is pounding, and adrenaline is making all outside noise dull; my focus is solely on the frame and Wren.
“What?” she asks again, and I shake my head, trying to organize my thoughts and explain to her.
“When I met her at the airport, she told me Holly Ridge was the best little town in the whole world. In October, when I was looking for somewhere to disappear to, I remembered her mentioning it. I found it on a map, found a house, and bought the first one I found.” I stare at Wren, stunned silence hanging between us as what I just confessed sinks in.
For a split second, panic fills me, unsure of how she’ll respond. What if it makes her unhappy or sad? What if the grief she’s been struggling to contain all month suddenly chooses to surface now? I’ll hold her through it, of course, but she wouldn’t want to have that moment here, with everyone around.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, eyes going wide, mouth spreading in a delighted smile that has my shoulders easing. “She came home and told us she met a celebrity. Showed us a scribbled signature on a cocktail napkin, but she couldn’t remember your name, and it was so messy, we couldn’t discern it.” She lets out a loud laugh. “We thought someone had lied to her to get her to buy him drinks!”
I lift my hands, eager to set the record straight. “In my defense, I wanted to pay for the drinks, really. She insisted.”
“Oh, trust me, I know. She was very stubborn.” She stares at me, then at the photo, her face etched with awe, though I’m sure it’s a different kind than mine.
I move my gaze back to the wall of photos and scan it again, now looking for Dottie King. I see her in almost all of them, many with Wren of various ages at her side, and smile at the way the world works.
I can’t believe that the woman I met at the airport, who told me to go to Holly Ridge, is the grandmother of the woman I am quickly realizing I am head over heels in love with.
“I can’t believe you met her,” she whispers, and when I look back at her, there are tears in her eyes.
“Birdie,” I whisper, reaching out to her and pulling her into me, my hand holding her head to my chest as she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself. Then her head tips back to look up at me, her eyes shining but tears not falling.
“I kept thinking she would have liked you, you know? She would have really liked you and been so happy to have someone encouraging me to put myself first, take care of me, and help me set boundaries. She always wanted that for me. But it turns out she already liked you.”
“I liked her,” I whisper.
She nods. “I’m so glad you met her,” she whispers.
I squeeze her a bit tighter. “Me too, Birdie.”
She tips her head back once more and stares up at me, and I lift a hand, cupping her cheek and grazing over a single tear that has fallen. I can’t help but lean down and press my lips softly to hers. When I pull back, her eyes are dazed, but the grief is gone once more, with adoration and relief and gratitude on her face now.
I’ve never been in love before, but I know this is the moment. This is when I tell her those three little words.
