One Enchanted Eve: A Novella (Enchanted Christmas Collection Book 2)

by Melissa Tagg

  He fiddled with his napkin. “I don’t know what to tell you. We’re like most families, I guess. We’ve got our . . . issues. You already know my parents retired to Arizona. They signed the house and farm over to Drew. Last year he actually tried to convince me to help him run the farm, if you can believe that. But eventually he realized neither one of us was cut out for it. He sold the land, but kept the house and opened a carpentry business. Drew’s helped Leigh out a lot, too. She’s had her fair share of struggles, but she seems to be doing better now.”

  Rylan hadn’t broken eye contact with him once as he spoke. There was an unsettling scrutiny to the way she looked at him. As if she’d heard every one of the details he’d intentionally left out.

  My parents retired to Arizona . . . probably because they needed distance from their two problem children.

  They signed the house and farm over to Drew . . . because at the time, he was the only stable one.

  Drew’s helped her out a lot . . . been the kind of brother Colin had never been.

  He pulled his gaze from Rylan, settling on the fireplace in the corner, but it did nothing to relieve the weight of her study. She was still watching him, he was sure of it, still seeing more than he wanted her to.

  But not judging. Not criticizing. Just . . . noticing.

  It startled him to his core.

  He should toss out a joke, the first roguish comment to come to mind. Tease her about something. Anything.

  Instead, he turned his focus back to her and leaned forward, elbow brushing the tabletop as he reached across to finger her hair, free the packing peanut stuck there.

  She let out an uneasy chuckle when he held it up in front of her. “How long was that there?”

  He dropped the piece of Styrofoam, curled his fingers around his rolled silverware, wished for a glass of water to give him something to do. “I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, Rylan, but I’m not exactly the standout in our family.”

  “Different people have different definitions of what constitutes a standout, Colin.” She said it so softly he almost didn’t hear it over the music of the restaurant.

  “I have a lot of regrets. There’s no single dark moment in my past that I look back on and think, man, if I hadn’t done that one thing or made that one choice, I’d be a different person now. It was a string of little decisions, bad ones that kept compounding until I was just that guy. That guy who drank and partied and didn’t think about anyone but myself and the next thrill ride.” Why was he telling her this? “My dad spent most of my teen years yelling at me, then most of my young adult years lecturing me.”

  But the silence ever since his parents moved to Arizona was almost worse. As if Dad had finally given up on him.

  “I used to think there weren’t any long-term consequences to my stupidity, but now that I’m home I see them all around me. Winnie’s never going to look up to me the way she does Drew. Leigh would turn to a stranger on the street for help before depending on me. Drew’s not even here.”

  “But you are.” Rylan said it with conviction. “Take it from someone who’s turned family avoidance into an art form. You’re here. That’s not a little thing.”

  “Just starting to wonder if being here is doing any good.”

  “Give it time. Leigh and Winnie will come around. When Drew gets home, he’s going to be fresh off his honeymoon. I would guess that translates into a darn good mood. What better time for a reunion?”

  Her assurance was an anchor for his soul. Unexpected and sincere. “You’re avoiding your family?”

  She unfolded her napkin and dropped it in her lap, then laced her fingers primly on the tabletop. “I believe we were talking about you.”

  “Yes. Well.” He was out of words. Too struck by the surprising comfort of his own honesty and Rylan’s heartfelt response in return. He hadn’t meant to lay out his background, his mistakes, like place settings on the table. But Rylan had handled his vulnerability as if it were fine china.

  Better yet, as if seeing the cracks where he’d been broken, the lines where he’d attempted to glue himself back together, made him something valuable in her eyes.

  “I’m, um . . . ” He coughed to clear his throat. “I’m surprised a waiter hasn’t been by to take our order. Maybe I should go looking for Leigh.”

  There. Words. A whole string of them. But before he could cobble together any more, Leigh herself appeared through the swinging door leading into the kitchen. She spotted them instantly.

  “I’m so sorry. Have you been waiting long? Seth’s on vacation and I’m in charge. Our head cook decided to have a baby this week and another one has the flu. So there’s a newbie back there trying to single-handedly feed half the town. Two waiters called in tonight because they both had a car accident—with each other. Just a fender bender, but—” She cut herself off with a shake of her head. “Sorry. Freak-out over. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Colin’s focus swung around the restaurant. Not one empty table. “You’ve only got one cook tonight?”

  “Yes, and I swear he doesn’t know the difference between rare and well-done.” Her joking tone was a poor mask for the fatigue in her eyes. “Three people have already sent back their orders.”

  It wasn’t fair to Rylan—not any of it. The lack of welcome they’d received at the farm. The un-Christmassy weather. The fact that so far his creativity had done little to assist her.

  And now, after assailing her with his woes, he was about to ditch her. But for once, he could do something to help his sister. He’d volunteer to help in the kitchen. “Sorry, Ry—”

  “We can help.” Rylan interrupted him, not a hint of reluctance in her voice as she stood. “I’m more of a baker than a cook, but I definitely know the difference between rare and well-done.”

  Leigh’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

  Rylan stood by his chair. “What are you waiting for, Colin? Come on.”

  He’d witnessed her impatient foot tapping during every single class for the past three months. Never had he found it as charming as he did tonight.

  He rose. Student. Teacher.

  And for tonight, it seemed, co-chefs.

  Chapter 6

  Rylan’s arms hadn’t felt this heavy, her body this bone-tired since the days of rising at four a.m. to open her bakery.

  Two full days of running The Red Door’s kitchen ever since Wednesday night and she was exhausted. Drained and wonderfully, inexplicably exhilarated.

  The steam of the industrial dishwasher heated her cheeks and her stomach rumbled. Had she eaten anything for dinner tonight? Colin had shoved a plate with a burger and fries at her at some point, but she didn’t remember taking a single bite. The enticing smell of the raspberry and chocolate cake they’d served to their last customer half an hour ago clung in the air.

  It’d given her an idea for a French crepe cake. She’d never made one before. Mostly because crepes were crepes and cake was cake and why risk ruining two perfect things by putting them together? But certainly Colin would tell her that was an uncreative way to look at things. Maybe if they could finish up here soon—

  “It’s not fair!”

  Winnie pushed through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the restaurant, her flip-flops slapping against the Tuscan tile floor. She’d heard poor Leigh try to talk her daughter into sensible winter footwear last night. Apparently it’d only prompted another show of defiance because tonight Winnie also wore a tank top.

  Leigh straggled in behind the girl. Her usual braids hung limp and loose around her face, like the apron around her waist. “Winnie, everybody else is helping out. Is it so much to ask for you to help clear a few tables?”

  “Will you pay me like an actual employee? Or at least give me a better allowance?”

  “You know I don’t have the money to—” Leigh broke off at the sight of Rylan standing by the dishwasher. “Rylan, you shouldn’t be doing dishes. You and Col have cooked the past six me
als. That’s plenty.”

  Winnie dumped her backpack on the massive stainless steel counter in the middle of the room. An array of copper pans and utensils clattered overhead.

  “Trust me, I don’t mind doing a few dishes. I find it weirdly peaceful.” She should feel guilty for all the time she’d spent not working on her own recipes. But oh how soothing it’d felt just to work in a kitchen. Not to overthink her every move. She hadn’t even looked at a recipe card in two days.

  Well, not entirely true. When she’d woken up this morning, there’d been a recipe card slipped under the attic doorway—blank, but for Colin’s handwriting. Forecast says it’s supposed to snow today. Let’s go sledding tonight.

  Dogged man—still trying to give her the idyllic Maple Valley holiday experience. She’d looked out the window at noon. Not a single flurry in the sky.

  Thing is, snow or no snow, this past week in Colin’s town had done more for her Christmas spirit than she could’ve possibly imagined. There was that snowman-building contest the other day. The Christmas tunes constantly playing in the restaurant’s kitchen. The glow of the town square lights when they locked up at night and walked to Colin’s car.

  There were the people she was actually starting to get to know by name. Mayor Milt, of course, and Leigh and Winnie, but others, too. Sunny Klassen, the owner of the hardware store, and her husband Lenny. Jenessa, the woman who ran the newspaper, and a man named J.J. who more than likely owned the J.J.’s Stables they passed each day on their way into town.

  She’d even met some of the Walkers. Not Seth, the restaurant owner. He was still on vacation with his wife. But she’d met the apparent patriarch—Case Walker—and two of his kids. Kate, the one married to the former NFL quarterback, and Beckett, who’d only recently moved back to Maple Valley after years away.

  One week in this eccentric little town and she knew more people by name than she did in all of Denver. Unless she counted her students. But even then, the relationship rarely inched past student-teacher. She might know their names, but that’s all she knew.

  Except for Colin.

  Of everything that had surprised her since arriving in Maple Valley, he was the biggest surprise of all. He’d worked Wednesday night and all through these last two days with a diligence she’d never seen in the classroom. He’d taken on any and every job with an earnest intensity, from manning the wood stove grill to mopping floors to bussing tables.

  He’s proving something. Perhaps not to anyone but himself. But it was further evidence that she’d been wrong about him all these months. He wasn’t incapable or undisciplined. He’d simply needed a greater motivation, something to spur him into focus and action.

  Something she apparently hadn’t been able to give him as his instructor.

  Why that thought should rankle her so, she didn’t know. It’s not as if she’d ever been on a quest to be a standout culinary school teacher. All the same, how wonderful might it feel to be the spark that ignited someone else’s passion?

  Not Colin’s, of course. Of course. But . . . someone.

  “I don’t think she’s even listening, Mom.”

  Winnie’s voice nudged her back to the present.

  “Sorry, I was being lulled into lala-land by the rhythm of the dishwasher.” And the unlikely trail of her thoughts.

  Leigh propped herself against the glass front of a wall cooler. “I was only saying I wish Winnie would take a cue from you and Colin. You dropped everything to help out here.”

  “I’ve got homework, Mom.”

  “It’s Christmas break.”

  “That doesn’t matter to teachers. They’re a bunch of Scrooges.”

  Rylan would laugh if she didn’t think it’d only further frustrate Leigh. She felt for the woman. She might not know all of Leigh’s story, but she knew enough. Apparently she’d battled addictions off and on, had done several stints in treatment centers. Dealing with a sullen teenage daughter on top of everything else had to be wearying.

  Rylan tried to sound encouraging. “Look, Win, if you want to make clearing tables fun, rearrange the napkin holders and chairs and centerpieces. It’ll drive Colin crazy.” He could call her OCD with her recipes all he wanted, but the man was militant about table arrangement.

  Winnie gave an extended sigh and slid from her stool, disappearing through the swinging door a second later.

  Leigh took her daughter’s place, perching her elbows on the counter and kneading her forehead. “I really don’t know what I’m going to do with her. I thought thirteen was hard, but fourteen? It’s like someone exchanged my sweet little girl with Oscar the Grouch.”

  “She’s a teenager. A little moodiness is pretty normal, isn’t it?” Rylan lifted the dishwasher door, steam clouding around her face. She reached in for a crowded rack of dishes, but yanked her hand back at the heat.

  “I don’t think Win has any idea what normal feels like. Not with the kind of life I’ve given her so far. Things are better now than they used to be, but it’s still far from perfect. I’m working double-shifts half the time. We hardly see each other.”

  Enough guilt sagged in Leigh’s voice to pull Rylan from her task. She crossed the room and settled onto the stool beside Leigh.

  “She’s been let down too many times.” Leigh’s voice was a whisper. “I’m sure she’s just in a constant state of waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s why she’s so surly all the time. She’s waiting for me to . . . ”

  To slip back into the addiction?

  “And I can’t blame her because there are days when I’m completely convinced a bottle of Oxycontin would solve everything.”

  Rylan swallowed. I’m in over my head. It’d been one thing being Colin’s listening ear the other night. She’d somehow found the right words, and she’d come away from the conversation remembering how good it felt to talk with a friend. After Brent, after her bakery, she’d been so humiliated she’d pulled away from, well, everyone.

  Bewildering, really, that it was Colin Renwycke who’d been the one to remind her how much she missed simple friendship.

  But Leigh was talking about a potential relapse. That wasn’t the kind of conversation you had with someone you met less than a week ago. She should be talking to Colin or a counselor or sponsor.

  But you’re here. You’re the one in the room with her. Don’t run away from the opportunity to make a difference.

  Again. That voice in her head. The one she knew wasn’t her own. “Leigh, I might know just a little what Winnie feels like.”

  Leigh lifted her head. “You had a deadbeat mom, too?”

  “You’re not a deadbeat mom. No one who has overcome what you have or works as hard to provide for her daughter as you do could be called a deadbeat.” She rubbed her palms over her stained jeans. “And my mom is great. Perfect, really.” Just like Dad and Carolina and Dakota. All wonderful. All successful. In their careers, their relationships.

  It’s why it hurt so much to be around them. Maybe it was childish, but there it was. Holidays had such a bullying way of amplifying all the things that made her different than the rest of them. Bad enough that she couldn’t join in on conversations about a spouse’s quirks or the latest home repairs, babies or kids or school. But when talk turned to work—whether it was Mom and Dad’s CPA firm or Carolina’s medical degree or Dakota’s travel photography—it was only a reminder of her own once-realized dream now lost.

  And the one time she’d brought up the idea of somehow finding a way to open another bakery—Thanksgiving, just last month—there’d been none of the eager questions or encouragement she’d hoped for. Instead, Carolina had said what they’d likely all been thinking: “Didn’t you already try that?”

  Call her a coward, but it was just easier letting the gap grow than continually trying to bridge it, only to be discouraged.

  But this wasn’t supposed to be about her right now. It wasn’t about her family. Leigh was looking at her as if waiting for her to say something helpful
. Why couldn’t she be better at this kind of thing?

  “What I mean is, I’ve been in that place you described, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Years ago, I owned a bakery. And then I lost it.” She took a breath, dredged up her next words from a long-abandoned cavern in her heart. “Just before that happened, I lost a relationship, too. At least, I thought it was a relationship. Brent . . . he didn’t feel the way I. . . well, the point is, I thought wrong.”

  Without the hum of the dishwasher or the muffled voices of patrons, the bustling activity of waiters and plates and oven doors clanging, silence hollowed the room.

  “Two of the most important things in my life were gone. Just like that. That was almost three years ago. And after, it was exactly like you said. I was constantly on edge. I kept people at arms’ length and I’m pretty sure some of them would describe me much the way you just did Winnie. Like someone had gone and replaced the Rylan they knew with a grouch. But it’s just because I was . . . heartbroken, I guess. I kept waiting for the next letdown.”

  Maybe I’m still waiting.

  The thought rolled in like a wave, forceful and impossible to outswim. Was she still shielding herself? Was she still stagnant, stuck in a place of painful caution? Maybe it’s why she’d failed to make any close friends in Denver. Why it was easier to travel to Iowa with a virtual stranger than spend Christmas with her family.

  But no. No, if she was truly stuck, she wouldn’t be working to recapture her dream, would she? “I have something to work toward now. A goal. Maybe that’s what Winnie needs—something new to focus on. Something to get excited about. A hobby to pursue or a gift or skill to hone. Maybe it’s something you could help her with.”

  “The way Colin’s helping you? He told me you’ve got a chance to work in a new bakery. He’s helping you with a recipe.”

  “But only so I don’t kick him out of my class.” She clamped one hand over her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” And yet, she was glad she did. Because Leigh had visibly eased, her weary posture straightened and she was no longer rubbing her forehead.