Page 8 of Noel Secrets
Michael crouched down, forcing a smile that came easier than expected. “You know Santa’s already got you covered, right? But I did bring some surprises for the ride.” He tapped his bag. Their eyes widened as if he’d told them he had the key to Willy Wonka’s factory.
“Later,” Ginny said firmly, stepping between the boys. She adjusted one boy’s hat and straightened the other’s scarf with the same mother-hen efficiency she’d once used on Michael and every one of her foster children after him. He’d lost count over the years. “They’ve already had more sugar than sense today. Save your bribes for when the cabin fever sets in.”
Her words were warm, but her eyes held a glint of warning—the look she gave him every time she thought he might cause problems. She saw straight through him. The years hadn’t dimmed her intuition. She should have been the reporter in the family. Nothing got past her.
Behind his mother stood his father, his gray wool coat dusted with flurries. He clamped Michael’s shoulder in a single squeeze that said what his quiet mouth never did.I’m glad you’re here.
“Leave it to your mother to plan such a shindig,” his dad said.
“Oh, no, this was all Jayda’s idea,” Ginny replied. “Now where is that child?”
Ginny looked over the boys’ heads to the entrance to the platform. Worry etched her brow, and Michael could have kicked Jayda for doing this to his mother. Every year, Jayda blew them off.
Michael didn’t mask his I-told-you-so look.
“She’ll come,” his mother whispered, stopping him from voicing his opinion further.
Michael bit back the retort. Of course, she believed in Jayda. She always had. Even when no one else did, including him.
“She’s not coming, Mom,” Michael said as sympathetically as possible.
Her hand tightened around her purse strap. She lifted a daring chin and stated, “She’ll be here.”
“Your confidence in her is misplaced. Always has been.”
“I disagree. You’ll see.”
The conductor’s whistle shrieked across the platform. “All aboard!” he called.
The twins squealed with delight. Ginny herded them toward the train, muttering, “Come on, come on. Let’s get you settled before you freeze.” But her eyes—sharp as ever—scanned the platform behind them before she stepped up the steps, guiding the boys to their seats.
The train lurched with the first groan of movement. Ginny’s face pinched, her hand pressing against the glass as she peered out the window of the car.
And then?—
“Michael!” she cried, startling everyone. “Michael, help her! She’s here! Jayda’s here!”
Michael moved to the window, and there she was, barreling down the platform, coat flapping open, curls wild, determination blazing in her eyes. She was late. Of course, she was late. But she was here.
For a moment, the years melted away. She wasn’t a Yale Law student, wasn’t a woman running to catch a train. She was just the same Jayda who used to beat him at chess and smirk about it for days.
The train picked up speed.
“Go!” Ginny ordered, practically shoving him toward the sliding door to the outside hallway.
Michael grumbled and wondered why he had agreed to always clean up Jayda’s messes, but he still did as his mother ordered.
Outside the car, he swung himself onto the outside steps leaving the platform, one hand gripping the cold metal rail, the other stretched out for her.
“Come on, Jayda!” he shouted.
She lunged, her hand slapping against his, and he hauled her up with more force than finesse. She slammed into him, the momentum driving her against his chest. For one shocking second, their faces stood inches apart, their breath mingled in the cold air.
“You’re always late,” Michael accused, his voice rougher than he intended.
Jayda’s lips curved. “Only when you’re around. The less time near you, the better.”
The jab was sharp, practiced. She meant it to sting. Same old Jayda, different day.
