by Teri Wilson
A happy-ever-after, just like a fairy tale. That explains the diamond ring, I think. And then my eyes are swimming with tears, and the images on the television blur like a gentle watercolor painting. I’m gripping Aidan’s hand so hard that my knuckles turn white.
Young Ashley didn’t care about having a glamorous holiday in Paris or a Christmas dripping with rare diamond necklaces. Once upon a time, the Christmas of my dreams was innocent and pure, filled with small miracles and community ties—things I valued most as a little girl, things I’m slowly learning to love again.
Deep down, I don’t think I ever really stopped.
As I furiously attempt to blink back my tears, I realize I understand the bracelet now. I still don’t know a thing about Betty or where she came from or how any of this is possible, but I know without a doubt that the mysterious charms are somehow magical. There’s no more trying to deny it. It doesn’t make sense at all, but I know it’s true. I know it as surely as I know my own name.
My eyes spill over, and I reach to brush a tear from my cheek, but Aidan releases my hand and beats me to it. His fingertips are warm, and his touch is so tender that I don’t think the lump in my throat will ever go away.
I can’t believe I ever said no to this man. Perhaps even more poignant is the realization that I’ve spent my time in Manhattan chasing the wrong things. When I said goodbye to Aidan and Owl Lake, I think I might have said goodbye to myself a little bit too. Or at least, the part of myself that understood what was really important.
The pad of his thumb lingers on my cheek, light as a snowflake. Somewhere in the periphery, I’m aware of my parents tiptoeing out of the room, leaving us alone together. And there’s so much I want to say, so very much, but the words won’t come. I’m spent, and I wouldn’t even know where to start.
How could I possibly explain that I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but the Christmas of my childhood dreams is coming true, one charmed encounter at a time?
Chapter Twelve
“So you’re really not going back to Manhattan?” Susan grins at me the next morning as she helps me roll a big ball of snow along the ground in front of Enchanting Jewels. “You’re staying in Owl Lake?”
“Not permanently—just for Christmas.” I pause from our efforts to tuck a stray lock of hair back into my pompom hat. It’s been a long time since I’ve made a snowman, and I’ve apparently lost my touch. The ball we’ve just made for the snowman’s midsection is distinctly lopsided.
“But you’re truly staying, with no day trips away, until after the holidays are over. No more trains or rental cars?” Susan packs another handful of snow onto the snowman’s tummy and arches an amused brow. “No more snow chains?”
I jam a twig of an arm into place. “Aidan told you about that?”
“He didn’t have to. I heard all about it from Pete at the auto store—” She lets out a laugh. “—and from Peggy at Mountain Candy, not to mention the ladies who take knitting lessons at the yarn store across the street and pretty much the entire lunch crowd at The Owl’s Nest.”
“Wow, I guess I’ve forgotten what living in a small town is like.”
“Well, you were both lying flat on your backs on the sidewalk beneath a clump of mistletoe.” She waggles her eyebrows. “At least, that’s way I heard it went down. That’s a lot of excitement for Owl Lake.”
I’m still not sure what to make of our argument-turned-near-kiss under the mistletoe, so I change the subject back to the matter at hand—the bracelet. “No more snow chains. After seeing that video of myself and realizing that the charms represent my childhood Christmas wishes, I can’t leave. I’m supposed to be here and finish the Christmas of my dreams. I just know it.”
Staying in Owl Lake until the holidays are over effectively means I can kiss my shot at the promotion at Windsor goodbye, but I feel strangely at peace about it. The second I saw my younger self rattle off the list of wishes, one by one, I knew I couldn’t go. Something bigger is happening to me right now than making manager of the charms department, and I’m tired of fighting it. I’m ready to lean all the way in—hence, the snowman.
“Tell me again why we’re doing this.” Susan sticks the opposite twig arm into place and it promptly falls back down onto the snowy ground. I guess I’m not the only one who’s out of practice.
“Because I’m supposed to, obviously. There’s a snowman charm on the bracelet.” I offer her my wrist, and she peels back the cuff of my mitten to inspect the charms.
I called Susan first thing morning and asked if I could meet her before her shift started at the jewelry shop. I simply had to talk to someone about the video and Susan was the logical choice since no one else knows about the magic bracelet. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Aidan about it last night. He never even asked why seeing the home movie reduced me to tears—he simply wove his fingers through my mine and held my hand until the film ended.
I could have sworn I spotted a glimmer of a tear in the corner of his eye at one point, but I couldn’t be sure, and I was afraid to ask. There are still so many things we haven’t talked about and I didn’t want to ruin the magic spell of the charms.
“What’s this?” Susan toys with the engagement ring charm and her grin spreads ear-to-ear. “Maybe you’re going to get engaged during the holidays, after all.”
It’s too bad Maya isn’t here. She and Susan have a lot in common, including their enthusiasm for Christmas proposals—and their obsession with seeing prospects for them around every corner.
“That’s not what it means.” I shake my head. “In the video, I said something about a happy-ever-after. I’m sure the ring is just a symbol for a fairy-tale ending.”
My heart pounds hard beneath my holly-berry-red coat. Despite everything—despite the disastrous dinner with Jeremy in the city, despite Aidan’s initial frosty reaction upon my return to Owl Lake and our complicated history—I still believe in romance. I still believe in happy-ever-afters, and I still think there’s something undeniably magical about a Christmas engagement. I’m just no longer altogether sure who might be best man to slip a ring onto my finger.
“I don’t know, Ash. This whole charm bracelet thing has been full of surprises so far. I wouldn’t rule anything out.” Susan releases my hand, and I tuck the bracelet back beneath the cuff of my mitten.
“I’m not getting engaged.” I take a deep inhale of winter air, not quite certain who I’m trying to convince—Susan, or myself.
Because earth to Ashley! I’m out here building a snowman for the sole purpose of making the charms come true so I can usher in my fairy-tale ending, whatever it might be.
I unwind the scarf from around my neck and wrap it around our creation, just below the misshapen ball of snow that serves as his head. The jewelry shop probably opens soon, and I’m sure Susan has actual work to do. But when I glance at the shop door to check the list of operating hours, my gaze snags on a sign situated in the corner window, just beside a gorgeous collection of antique pocket watches. I’ve always had visions of repurposing old pocket watches into a line of hand-crafted pendants strung on a strand of delicate seed pearls instead of chains. But like most of my other ideas for vintage jewelry design, I’ve been too busy selling charms at Windsor Fine Jewelry to make it happen.
“Is Enchanting Jewels going out of business?” I frown. That’s what the sign says, but it seems like such a shame. The shop is wonderful, and it fits right in on Main Street.
“I’m afraid so,” Susan says. “Right after Christmas. The owner is relocating. The family is moving up north, which is why I’m pretty much the only one holding down the fort during the holidays. As it is, we’re only open three days a week while Josh is off-duty to watch the girls.”
“I had no idea. I’d offer to help out while I’m here, but I already texted Uncle Hugh this morning and volunteered for the Toy Parade committee. He seemed really exc
ited. Apparently, they’re short-handed this year.”
Susan presses two rocks in place for our snowman’s eyes. “Thanks anyway, but the shop’s days are numbered and you’re only in town for a little while. Something tells me you’ll have a great time on the parade committee.”
I think back to the video—to the smile on my little-girl face and the hustle and bustle of the parade happening all around me—and warmth fills my chest. “I do, too.”
Susan takes a step back and tilts her head, regarding the snowman. “I think we’re done here.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Not yet.”
I pull a fat carrot from my pocket. Since the silver snowman charm has a shiny orange enamel carrot for a nose, this final detail seems crucial.
“Since you’ve obviously been carrying that thing around all morning, I’ll let you do the honors.” With a dramatic flourish, Susan waves her mittened hands at the snowman.
I’m nervous of all a sudden, and I’m not sure why. Three charm wishes have come true so far, so I know precisely what’s about to happen. I’ll push the carrot into place and the bracelet will make the same jingle noise that it did when all the other charms came to life. I’ll be one step closer to the fairy-tale ending of the Christmas of my dreams.
So I take a deep breath and press the carrot into the snow. Our snowman is complete, all the way down to his bright orange nose. Susan and I exchange a glance, and then…
Nothing.
The bracelet doesn’t make a sound.
I’ve obviously done something wrong with the snowman, but I don’t have time to figure out what it could possibly be. Susan needs to open up the shop, and Uncle Hugh is expecting me at the firehouse this morning. So I give Susan a quick hug and make my way to the fire station, a tiny bit relieved to know that Aidan is off duty today.
First of all, I’m a total mess. My ill-fated snowman adventure has left my face numb and my nose is almost certainly pink from the cold. As for my hair, there’s no telling what’s going on beneath my pompom hat.
Plus, something changed between Aidan and me last night. I feel like he fully let down his guard in front of me for the very first time since I’ve been home, and I’m afraid that in the cold light of day, it will go right back up again. Bickering beneath the mistletoe was so ridiculous that it was kind of fun, but I’d much rather see Aidan’s vulnerable side again. I have no idea where we stand though, and I definitely don’t want to try and figure things out in front of an audience of firefighters. Frankly, I can’t imagine anything more awkward.
Tonight is classic movie night at the Palace Theatre, so maybe things will be more clear after our non-date—emphasis on non. The mistletoe incident was a huge wake-up call. Ever since my return to Owl Lake, I feel like I’ve been living inside a snow-covered dream. I’m trapped in a beautiful winter wonderland full of Christmas magic, but it won’t last forever. After the holidays, I’ll be gone. It wouldn’t be fair to start a romance with Aidan when I have every intention of telling him goodbye.
Again.
Not that he’s given me any sort of indication that he has any lingering romantic feelings for me. I’m sure he doesn’t, and that’s perfectly fine. Better than fine, really. It’s great.
So, so great.
Still, I get misty-eyed every time I think about the way he held my hand last night…the gentleness in his fingertips as he’d wiped away my tears. Maybe there’s a tiny part of me that wishes he did have feelings for me.
My confusion is one hundred percent the bracelet’s fault. I wish Betty were here. She’d have a lot of explaining to do. Loads. In the meantime, I should probably stop running around Owl Lake with carrots in my pocket, building snowmen in an attempt to get to the engagement ring charm as quickly as possible. It didn’t even work, anyway.
No more mistletoe.
No more snowmen.
No more swooning over Aidan.
I repeat these rules to myself while I walk down Main Street’s long hill toward the firehouse, in the hopes they might sink in. When I arrive at the station, the ladder truck and the small SUV are all lined up in the apparatus bay, as shiny as if they’ve just been washed—which they probably have.
As a retired fire chief’s daughter, I know perfectly well that the first thing firefighters do in the morning is clean the rigs. A clean, soapy smell hangs in the air, and the feeling of nostalgia that washes over me gives a major tug on my heartstrings. My fingertips reach for a touch of smooth red metal, but I stop short of making contact with the ladder truck’s gleaming exterior. I don’t want to leave fingerprints. Delivering cookies the other day and seeing the video last night have made me realize just how much the OLFD has impacted my life. This place and these people have left a mark on me—it may be invisible to the naked eye, but I feel it. It’s there, and I don’t think it will ever go away.
“Ashley!” Uncle Hugh pops his head out of the door and waves me inside. “Come on in. We’re just about to get started with the committee meeting.”
He wraps me up in a big bear hug once I’ve crossed the threshold, and as he squeezes me tight, my gaze sweeps over the common area of the firehouse. They’ve put up their Christmas tree since my mom and I delivered the cookies. It stands in the corner, just past the three rows of plush recliners lined up in front of a giant flatscreen TV. In place of a garland, it’s wrapped in yellow tape that says Fire Lane—Do Not Cross. Shiny red ornaments hang from its branches and as always, a firefighter’s helmet serves as the tree topper.
But then my attention snags on a flash of something silver-colored beneath the tree’s thick branches. When Hugh releases me from his embrace, I peer closer at the Christmas tree skirt.
I feel myself frown. “Snow chains?”
Not just any snow chains—the snow chains. Either I’m imagining things, or the very snow chains Aidan and I quibbled over yesterday are sitting beneath the station’s tree, topped with a shiny red bow.
“Oh, yeah.” Uncle Hugh waves a dismissive hand. “There’s a family living in a cabin deep in the forest and the wife’s expecting a baby. With all the recent snowfall, we’re worried she’s going to go into labor and their car won’t make it as far as the highway, so Aidan picked up some snow chains for them. I’m delivering them this afternoon. We’re going to leave them on the porch, like a Secret Santa sort of thing.”
My throat clogs. “Oh, I had no idea.”
“You didn’t ask,” Aidan says as he strolls into the room. He’s wearing old, faded jeans and a cozy looking, cream-colored cable-knit sweater instead of his typical firefighter gear. But he’s here, even though today is his day off. Does he live in his bunk bed in the sleeping quarters?
“Aidan.” Swallowing is difficult, because my mouth has gone dry. I’m not prepared to see him, particularly not now, when I’ve just learned that he had an actual reason for not handing over the snow chains yesterday—a good reason.
Major swoon alert. Ugh, I’ve already failed at the most important item on my list of Christmas don’ts.
“Ashley,” Aidan says, and even though he’d be completely in his rights to keep rubbing it in how I’d been so consumed with getting back to Manhattan that I never asked why he wouldn’t give me the snow chains, there’s an underlying softness to his tone. Whatever magic wrapped itself around us last night while we watched the video hasn’t completely gone away. It lingers, like yesterday’s snowfall.
Hugh glances back and forth between us. “Ashley’s here to volunteer for the parade committee.”
“Is that right?” Aidan arches a single skeptical eyebrow. “You know the train station is back up and running, don’t you?”
I nod, clearing my throat. “I’d rather be here.”
His blue eyes twinkle. “Okay, then. I’m more than happy to put you to work.”
Wait. What?
My gaze swivels toward Uncle Hugh.
“Aren’t you the parade coordinator?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Aidan is heading up the parade committee this year.”
Of course he is. No wonder my parents pushed me into volunteering. Is everyone in town trying to push Aidan and me back together?
“Look at the time.” Uncle Hugh pretends to check his watch. He’s not fooling me. Like my dad, he’s always been #TeamAidan. “I’d better get those snow chains delivered. You two have fun now.”
He flashes us a grin, then he grabs the snow chains and heads toward the apparatus bay. I glance around the station in search of other parade committee members, but unless they’re waiting to pop out from behind the recliners, surprise party–style, it’s just Aidan and me.
Alone.
Again.
“Um, where is everyone?” I ask, glancing warily at the farm table. It’s piled high with presents ranging from board games and puzzles to Lego sets and dolls. At least a dozen rolls of wrapping paper are lined up beside the haul.
“Grocery store run,” he says.
That explains the engine’s absence and the lack of other firemen, but surely I’m not the only civilian on the parade committee. “And the other committee members?”
“We don’t meet until tomorrow. Hugh texted me this morning and said we had a new volunteer. He thought if I wasn’t busy, I could come in to get you up to speed and get a jump on some of the gift wrapping.” His lips twitch as if he’s trying his best not to laugh.
“Let me guess—he didn’t tell you the new volunteer was me.”
Aidan nods. “Interestingly enough, he left that part out.”
Our eyes meet, and just like yesterday when we were both lying on the snowy sidewalk outside the auto store, we break into simultaneous laughter. I’m relieved as much as I’m amused. A few days ago, I’m not sure Aidan would have found these silly matchmaking efforts at all humorous. I suppose this is progress.
My face grows warm as our laughter dies down and I realize Aidan is studying my disheveled appearance.
