Page 12 of Mistletoe Sky
Amelie wondered how long he’d been watching her. She pointed a thumb at the shop and said, “Just looking.”
“There are other fudge places I can recommend to you,” the man said, checking both ways for carriages or bikes before he crossed the street over to her. He was wearing thick black boots, and they crunched through the snow. “There’s Donovan’s down the way. Or Rita’s is pretty good.”
Amelie wanted to tell him that Donavan’s fudge was subpar at best, and Rita was a fudge hack. But she didn’t want to reveal herself too much as someone “in the know” on the island.
“I’ve heard really good things about Caraway Fudge Shoppe,” she admitted, tugging at the tip of her glove nervously, flashing chilly air against her wrist.
“Ah. Oui. It is the very best on the island,” the man said with a sigh. “I miss it every day.”
“Did it close for good?” Amelie demanded, her heart seizing.
The man shook his head. “I don’t know. No one does.”
Amelie furrowed her brow. The man had a French accent, she realized, although it hadn’t been fully noticeable before, as though he’d been here long enough to tame it. It was funny, since the word Mackinac itself was so French. She imagined he was related to the original settlers, all those years ago. She imagined him in an old uniform, stabbing a French flag into the land near Arch Rock and saying, “This is ours.”
The man smiled gently. “Did I lose you?”
Amelie shook her head, her cheeks flushing pink. “I get lost in my head sometimes.”
“Me too,” he said.
They stood like that, looking at each other, until finally they heard the cry of a trumpet, coming from inside the bed-and-breakfast he’d been standing outside of. His smile was crooked.
“I know it’s gorgeous out here in the freezing weather,” he said. “But if you don’t have anything to do right now and don’t want to buy any fudge either, I’d like to invite you inside. We have music, good food, and good times. It’s the best night you’ll have on the island, bar none, especially as it is now, in the wintertime. What do you say?”
Chapter Seven
Willa
December 2025
There was a traffic jam on Mackinac Island. Three carriages ahead, a wheel had broken, sending the carriage tilting leftward and blocking everyone from moving that way. At the sound of the commotion and the whinnying horses, Willa leaned forward, panicked, watching to see if anyone was hurt.
“Oh dear,” Marius muttered, drawing his own horses to a halt.
The broken carriage was so wobbly and shaking that its contents began to spill out onto the snow. Terrified it was a person, Willa prepared to heave out of the carriage and save whoever it was from the harsh cobblestones on the street. But before she could, the driver of the carriage hurried off his post and waved at the carriage drivers behind him, calling out, “It’s only fudge! Boxes and boxes of fudge!”
Everyone laughed, including Willa and Marius. Sure enough, as they watched, boxes tumbled from the interior, forming afunny pile on the road. Even though it was Rita’s fudge and vastly inferior to the Caraway Fudge Shoppe, Willa’s mouth was watering. She tucked her face deeper into her scarf, willing her heart to stop beating so harshly. She’d thought this would be a fifteen-minute carriage ride. But the road was narrow here. She wasn’t sure how the carriages in front of them would clip around the broken one and get through.
It was a tragedy. It meant more time with Marius Isaacson. It meant more time pretending to be anyone but Willa Caraway.
It meant hiding herself as best as she could.
“Sorry about this, ma’am,” Marius said with a friendly laugh. “I guess it isn’t easy to get anywhere quickly around Mackinac. I hope you aren’t in too much of a hurry?”
Willa made her voice small. “No. It’s fine.”
Now that he didn’t have to keep his eyes on the road, Marius twisted around to look at her. A chill went through her. How she’d always loved his eyes! She forced her own away, just in case he recognized them. She inspected his black leather gloves, willing him to take them off. She wanted to see his long, thick fingers. She wanted to know if he was wearing a wedding ring.
What! Where did that come from, Willa? Calm down.
He was very likely married. He was handsome, more handsome than he’d been as a teenager. He’d probably taken over his father’s horse barn up in the hills and probably had three or so kids he was very proud of, the boys with their father’s jawlines and the girls with their mother’s kindness and slender wrists. The image of his pretend family was perfect for Willa’s commercial for the Christmas Festival. It depressed her how perfect it was.
“So,” Marius said, becoming more and more curious about her the less she talked. “What brings you to Mack in the winter? It isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“Work,” she said.
“Ah! Wow. Work. Are you a digital nomad or something like that?” he asked.
