by Teri Wilson
I can’t help but laugh. “That was over two decades ago. I doubt anyone remembers my reign as Firefighters’ Sweetheart.”
Every year on Christmas Eve morning, the fire department holds its annual Firefighters’ Toy Parade. The event is a celebration of the holidays, but mainly a charity drive to provide toys for children in need. In the days leading up to the parade, the fire department collects and wraps hundreds of gifts for underprivileged kids throughout the state. Then, on parade day, the fire trucks all roll through town with firemen waving from the windows, followed by elaborate floats decorated by local businesses. The last vehicle in the parade is always the ladder truck, of course, with Santa and the Parade Sweetheart riding on top. Tradition dictates that the Firefighters’ Parade Sweetheart is always a young child related to one of OLFD’s bravest. I had the honor of reigning over the parade with Santa when I was six years old.
“Think about it,” my mom says. “It’s for a good cause, and I think you’d have a lot of fun!”
“I’ll think about it. I promise.” I’m sure she’s right. It would be great fun, and I’d love to do some volunteer work during the holidays. But with the promotion hanging in the balance, I’m not sure I should commit. From what I remember of the toy parade, it takes loads of effort.
I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep and end up letting anyone down. I feel like I’ve been doing enough of that already.
“In the meantime, I’m off to Pete’s Auto Store for snow chains.” I fasten the buttons on my coat and grab the keys to the rental car. “Wish me luck?”
My mom nods as she refills her coffee cup and adds a generous splash of Christmas cookie–flavored creamer. “Good luck, honey. Give us a call when you get to the city so we know you’re safe.”
Dad is less optimistic. “Good luck, but something tells me Aidan will be bringing you home in about an hour or so.”
I give my head a firm shake. “Definitely not happening this time.”
“Of course not,” my mom says, but she’s clearly biting back a smile.
I arch a brow at Fruitcake for some sort of validation. He lets out a woof and wags his tail with enthusiasm, so I bend to press a kiss to the top of his warm, furry head. At least my dog believes in me.
Not your dog, remember?
I straighten, take a deep breath and remind myself that I’m a woman on a mission. Nothing will stop me from getting to Manhattan today. Operation Snow Chains is underway.
“What do you mean you don’t have any snow chains?” No, this cannot be happening. It absolutely can’t.
“I’m sorry, Ashley, but we’re clean out.” Pete, of Pete’s Auto Store, casts me a sympathetic glance and shakes his head. He’s wearing a Santa hat, and the white fluffy ball on its end swings back and forth in comical fashion.
I’d laugh if I didn’t feel like crying. “You don’t understand. I really need them. Can you check in the back and see if you have one more set lying around somewhere? Please? I’m desperate.”
“I can check, but I’m not going to find any. We just sold our last pair to the customer who came in five minutes before you did.” Pete tips his head in the direction of a fellow auto shop patron browsing the ice scraper display. My nemesis, apparently.
“Thank you.” I force a smile as Pete heads to the stockroom.
I can’t believe this. Five minutes? Five minutes?! If only I’d gotten out of the house sooner this morning, I’d probably already be safely on my way to the city.
I glare in the direction of the snow chain bandit. His back is to me, and it looks like a perfectly nice back, but I despise it all the same. Still, maybe if he knew how badly I need those snow chains, he’d reconsider and agree to sell them to me. Or, since I won’t need them after today, maybe we could share them, because joint custody of auto parts between strangers is totally a thing, right?
Something tells me this is going to be a hard sell, but it’s worth a shot.
“Excuse me, sir,” I march toward him, ready to throw myself at his feet and beg.
But then he turns around and flashes me a self-satisfied smirk, and I stop dead in my tracks. There’s no way I’m getting those snow chains. “Aidan?”
What is he doing here? Shouldn’t he be refilling fire extinguishers or petting a Dalmatian somewhere?
“Morning, Ashley.” He lifts his hand as if to wave, but he can’t quite manage it because his hands are full of snow chains.
I stare longingly at them and then back at Aidan’s stormy blue eyes. They’ve gone dark, like a blue-gray sky right before a blizzard. “I don’t suppose you heard me talking to Pete just now?”
He nods. “Sure did.”
“I really need those snow chains.”
“So I heard,” he says in the same flat tone he’s used every time he’s caught me in the act of trying to leave Owl Lake.
Date or not, just because we’re going to the movies together clearly doesn’t mean he’s willing to help me get out of here for a few hours.
I have to at least try, though.
“Can I, um, buy them from you?” I start rummaging through my handbag until I have a fistful of dollars to wave at him.
He rolls his eyes. “Put your money away, Ashley.”
My hands go still, and a dollar floats to the floor. Neither one of us moves a muscle. I can’t seem to look away from his angry, gorgeous face. Why does it feel so warm in here when it’s snowing buckets outside and Pete’s steady stream of customers keeps opening and closing the front door of the shop?
I direct my gaze at Aidan’s broad chest instead of his face, but it’s equally distracting. Somehow, I manage to find my voice. “Does that mean you’re going to give them to me?”
“Nope.”
Ugh. Why does he have to make this so difficult every single time? I want to throw a snowball right at his stubborn head. “Must we do this again? It seems really unfair, especially considering that every time I see you, you’re dressed like a firefighter action hero.”
He frowns down at the OLFD T-shirt just visible beneath the lapel of his heavy winter coat. “It’s my uniform.”
“My point exactly.” I swivel on my heel and stomp toward the door.
“Sorry, Ashley. No luck in the back, but come back after the New Year,” Pete calls after me. “I should have plenty of snow chains by then.”
Of course he will. “Thanks anyway, Pete. You have a merry Christmas.”
When I resume my swift exit, Aidan is hot on my heels, tire chains jangling in his grasp. He sounds like one of the ghosts from A Christmas Carol.
The ghost of my Christmas past, I think. But wait, that’s not right. Aidan is standing right beside me, part of my life again in the present. And as much as I’m afraid to think about it, that means Christmas future is still up for grabs.
“Ashley, wait!” he says once we’re out on the sidewalk.
I spin around so fast that he nearly plows into me. “What?”
He backs up, and his blue irises bore into me, unblinking. I hold the stare, refusing to blink either until tears prick my eyes. “You think I’m like an action figure—plastic and unfeeling?”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” I counter. “I’m just saying that for a man who seems to either be at work or on call twenty-four hours a day, you have a lot of opinions about the fact that my career is important to me.”
He says nothing in return, and I know I should probably drop it, but I can’t.
“I get it. I’ve changed. I’m not the same person I was when I left Owl Lake.” The admission makes me sadder than it should. Changing and growing is part of life, and I’m proud of all that I’ve accomplished since I moved away. But being back in my hometown is making me wonder if leaving everything I knew and loved behind was worth it in the end. Everything…and everyone.
I lift my chin in defianc
e, because no matter what sort of doubts are swirling through my head, he’s not being fair. “But you’re not the same person either.”
“You’re right,” he says, and there’s an ache in his voice that seems to scrape my insides. “I’m not.”
I bite down hard on my bottom lip to stop it from quivering.
“Did you really think you’d come back after eight years and find the same lovesick boy you left behind?” He gives me a half smile, like he’s trying to downplay the heartbreak behind what he’s just said, but I know better. Those words didn’t come easily for Aidan.
For the first time since I’ve been back in Owl Lake, we’re getting dangerously close to discussing our history together. I almost hope we actually do, just to get it over with. But the sidewalk on Main Street doesn’t seem like the best place to take a painful trip down memory lane.
We’re so close that our breath commingles into a suspended puff of warmth in the frosty air. The angry knot in Aidan’s jaw is back again, and there’s a fire in his eyes that makes me weak in my knees. Then his gaze drops to my mouth, and this huge unspoken thing between us suddenly feels less like history and more like something else—attraction.
My head spins. This feels like the moment in a rom-com when the couple kisses in the middle of a huge argument, and the pounding of my heart is a sure sign that at least part of me hopes that’s precisely what’s about to happen. Snow flurries dance around us, and the air smells like crushed candy canes and frosted pine—like Christmas. Like home.
I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to be kissed so badly in my entire life. What is happening?
Aidan is the first one to look away. He glances up, and I follow his gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly over our heads. It’s suspended from the eave of Pete’s shop by a red velvet ribbon. Our eyes meet again in a panic, and we spring apart so fast that we both end up slipping on the ice and sliding to the ground.
I’m flat on my back on the sidewalk, looking up at the offending mistletoe when Aidan lets out a muffled groan, followed by a snicker. I laugh and swat at his chest. Big surprise, it feels as solid as a rock.
“Now can I have the snow chains?” I say through a giggle.
He’s laughing so hard that he can barely form a response, but his answer is unchanged. It’s still a no.
A short while later, Aidan is once again driving me home in a vehicle with flashing lights, but at least this time he’s had the decency not to turn them on. I’ve returned my rental car, because without the snow chains, it’s useless to me. Aidan kindly offered to give me a ride home since he’s at the end of his shift, and I took him up on it because it’s the least he can do after sabotaging my getaway. And maybe, just maybe, I’m the tiniest bit reluctant to see him go after our near-mistletoe moment.
Not that we’ve come anywhere close to kissing since then. It’s all business as usual, with a mile of distance between us in the front seat of the OLFD utility vehicle.
Its wheels roll to a stop in front of the lake house. I don’t even need to glance at the porch to see if Fruitcake is there, because I know he is. My life has turned into Groundhog Day, Christmas edition.
“That’s one loyal dog you’ve got there,” Aidan says. “Maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to belong to anyone else. I’ve been asking around for days—I’ve even checked the other departments in the surrounding counties. No one’s heard a thing about a missing golden retriever mix.”
The relief flowing through me nearly takes my breath away. After just a few days, I can’t imagine parting with Fruitcake.
“So he’s really mine?” I ask, throat going thick.
“It certainly looks that way,” Aidan says.
I give him a wobbly smile. Loyalty is an admirable quality—one that I probably haven’t appreciated as much as I should. “Do you want to come in? Mom and Dad would love to see you.”
I regret the question as soon as it’s out of my mouth. Again, Aidan isn’t my boyfriend. There are probably a million things he’d rather do on a rare afternoon off than hang out with my parents.
But he surprises me by saying yes and minutes later, we’re sharing a bucket of my mom’s special butter toffee almond drizzle popcorn while we sit side-by-side on the big, overstuffed sofa in the living room. Fruitcake flops at our feet and rests his head on Aidan’s foot while my parents flit around in preparation for a “special surprise” they’ve prepared for me.
I cringe a little when my dad pops a videotape into our ancient VCR. Surely we’re not about to watch the long-lost footage from the year Aidan and I were homecoming king and queen back in eleventh grade. I can’t think of anything more mortifying.
But as the old home movie begins to roll, joy warms me from within. It’s not footage from high school. On the contrary, it’s a full decade older than that.
“Is this the Firefighters’ Toy Parade?” Aidan asks, leaning forward with his elbows planted on his knees for a better look.
“It sure is.” My mom points at the grainy image of a young, trim firefighter in a Santa hat passing out candy canes to children lining the parade route. “Look, there you are, Ed.”
My dad laughs. “That might have been a few Christmas cookies ago.”
As if on cue, the camera pans to my mom, working her way through the crowd gathered around the firehouse with a giant platter of her gingerbread firemen and sugar cookie snowflakes. My heart stirs with pride at being part of such a special tradition this year. Mom was right. Who cares if my cookies didn’t look—and certainly didn’t taste—as perfect as hers did?
Aidan sneaks a sideways glance at me, and when our gazes collide, he gives me a slow smile that builds until my pulse starts to race. I bite my lip and force my attention back to the television.
“This is amazing. I can’t believe you found this tape,” I say.
“Well, we were talking about the parade this morning, and I knew it was lying around here somewhere,” my mom says.
Then she and my dad exchange a meaningful glance, and just as I’m wondering what their secret communication could possibly be about, the camera zooms in on a six-year-old me.
My hand flies to my throat and I gasp. I shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, I am. This video was taken the year I was the Firefighters’ Toy Parade Sweetheart! I’m sitting on top of the ladder truck surrounded by a group of firefighters—including my dad, of course, who beams at me as if I’ve hung the moon. A glittering snowflake tiara sits atop my head, and I’m wearing a red velvet dress with white faux fur trim that looks like something the Rockettes would rock in their annual Christmas show.
“Look at how cute you were,” Aidan says. “The Firefighters’ Sweetheart. Who knew? How have I never seen this video before?”
“I haven’t even seen it,” I counter, and then I sit up a little straighter, because he’s right.
I was super cute. Whoever was manning the camera at the time—Uncle Hugh, if I had to venture a guess—is asking me questions, and I’m chattering away like a kid who’s just done a deep dive into the Christmas candy.
“Wait.” My mom shushes us and aims the remote control at the television, turning up the volume a few notches. “This is the best part.”
“Ashley, one last question,” the camera man says. It’s definitely Uncle Hugh. His deep baritone voice is unmistakable. “Describe for us your perfect Christmas—the Christmas of your dreams.”
My heart skitters to a stop. Did I just hear that right?
The Christmas of your dreams…
I can’t tear my gaze away from the screen, but my fingertips immediately latch onto the charm bracelet, wrapping tightly around the silver charms.
“The Christmas of my dreams would have a dog,” my on-screen self says, nodding so enthusiastically that my snowflake tiara bobs on my head. “A big yellow dog, with a huge red bow tied around his neck.”
>
Beside me, Aidan goes completely still as he glances down at Fruitcake. The dog’s big pink tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth, and I swear he looks like he’s smiling.
“Uncle Hugh was right. He remembered,” I say. A sense of wonder spreads through me, and I feel like I’m on the brink of something huge…
Something magical.
“Wait, there’s more,” Dad says, nodding toward the TV.
Six-year-old me isn’t finished with her Christmas wishes. “The Christmas of my dreams would have my mommy’s special Christmas cookies, too. And a Christmas tree as tall as the sky with a special gold star on the very top.”
My heart is suddenly in my throat. I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. Young Ashley has just described each and every charm that’s somehow come to life on Betty’s vintage bracelet. All three of the wishes six-year-old me made that came true.
“Ash? Are you okay?” Aidan says.
I nod without looking at him. I don’t trust myself to speak or to even meet anyone’s gaze right now. It feels like a flood of tears is gathering behind my eyes, and I’m not even sure why. A shiver courses through me as Aidan slips his hand in mine.
The adorable, innocent parade sweetheart onscreen continues describing her perfect Christmas while she waves a candy cane around as if it’s a magic wand. “And there should be cuddly teddy bears, ice skating and a crown shaped like a snowflake!”
My young self gives her tiara a reverent pat as my gaze drops to the bracelet, where a trio of charms rest innocently against my sleeve—a teddy bear, an ice skate and a snowflake crown. I take a deep breath and study the remaining few. The only three left after that are the snowman with the orange enamel nose, the wrapped gift box and the most baffling charm of all: the miniature engagement ring topped with a dainty diamond solitaire.
“Oh! A snowman, too. And dozens of Christmas presents for all the girls and boys,” six-year-old Ashley says, jabbing her candy cane in the air for emphasis. “And a happy-ever-after. That’s the Christmas of my dreams.”
