by Susan Wiggs
Groans erupted, but she ignored them. “It’s simple. I want you each to take one of these envelopes and write yourself a Christmas card.”
“A Christmas card? In summer?”
“To yourself.” She passed around a container of pens. “Put your home address on the envelope. Quit looking at me like that. As least this way, you know you’ll get one card this year. I’m going to collect them all and mail them the week before Christmas. On the card, I want you to write a Christmas wish. Keep it to yourself. This is just for you. Friends and parents, you can do the same thing.”
Balancing the small card on his knee, Charlie began writing diligently, without hesitating. Logan paused, noticing Darcy Fitzgerald writing swiftly, as well. Logan wished for a lot of things, but the only wish that really mattered was the one he couldn’t have—more time with Charlie. All he could do was make sure the time they did have together was perfect.
And that was what he ended up writing on his card—Make Christmas awesome for Charlie.
Charlie sealed his envelope and wrote his address, then tossed it into the basket. Darcy followed suit, then tilted back her head, gazing up at the starry sky. “Hard to think about winter on a night like this,” she said.
“True. What’s your Christmas like?”
She stiffened and brought her gaze level with his. “Ridiculous,” she said. “I have four sisters. Christmas is always chaos. And this year...” Her voice trailed off.
“What about this year?”
“I don’t think I’ll be up for all the madness.”
“There’s an alternative?”
“I could go to an ashram. How about you? Is there a typical O’Donnell family Christmas?”
“My folks like to spend the winter in Paradise Cove, Florida. We usually rendezvous down there. Charlie loves getting together with all his cousins.”
“And how about you? What do you like?”
The question took him by surprise. It had been a long while since someone had asked him that.
“What do I like? Family. Friends and food. I want to be with Charlie,” he said. “Actually, I’d love to take him snowboarding, but that’s tough to do in Florida.”
“Snowboarding sounds fun. Is there a ski resort nearby?”
“Saddle Mountain,” he said. “It’s a twenty-minute drive, tops. Some of my best memories with Charlie were made there. I hope it can stay open.”
“Financial troubles?”
“Not that I know of. It’s been privately owned by one family for years. Now the owner’s retiring, so he’s looking for a buyer.”
“You should buy it.”
He turned slightly to face her. “You’re a mind reader. I had the same thought, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility if I could get a group of investors together. Most people think it’s a crazy idea.”
“Some of the best ideas are the crazy ones.”
He grinned. “I like the way you think.”
Bags of marshmallows were being passed around. Logan found a stick for himself and one for Darcy. “So, how long have you known India?” he asked.
“Freshman year of college. Glee club and ski club.”
Bennington girl, then. He tried not to generalize, but it was hard not to do when every single Bennington girl he met came from the same cookie-cutter mold. “So you sing and ski.”
“More like a squawk and snowboard.”
“You like snowboarding?”
“Yeah. Especially on a bluebird day. Or any day, really. I love to ride the way other people love to breathe.”
A jock, he thought. Dang. He loved girl jocks. “And after college?” he asked, more and more interested.
“I took a few wrong turns,” she said, her gaze sliding away. “So...Avalon. Gorgeous. But tiny. How did you end up here?”
“Charlie’s mom.” He gestured at his pride and joy, who was currently jamming several marshmallows on the end of his stick. “I moved here to be near him. The irony is, his mother remarried and moved away. Now I’m still here and I only get Charlie for summers and holidays. It’s tough.”
“Sorry to hear it. Kids are life’s biggest complication, aren’t they?”
“And its biggest perk.”
She chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.”
He tried to toast the marshmallows slowly, but they burst into flame. He blew on them and offered the end of the stick to Darcy. “Crispy critter?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She took a whole marshmallow into her mouth in a motion he found ridiculously sexy. “Delicious,” she said.
He liked talking to her. There was something easy about her, something genuine. “Tell me about life in SoHo.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “I moved recently, to a little walk-up—emphasis on little—and I work on Madison Avenue.”
“Advertising?” He ate the rest of the melting marshmallows, liking the burned sweetness.
“Good guess. And you’re right.”
Their shoulders brushed. He felt it again, that pleasant sting of attraction.
She looked up at him, her expression slightly quizzical.
“So, listen,” he suggested, “after the kids are all tucked in for lights out, you want to go paddling?”
She laughed. “In the dark?”
“A moonlight paddle on Willow Lake. Since it’s your first time here, you don’t want to miss the lake by the light of the moon.”
“Just the two of us?”
“Up to you. We could invite India along, or not...if you’re sufficiently over your broken heart.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said easily. “You sound like fun, Logan. And as for my heart...” She sighed. “Do we ever get over it? Or just through it?”
“Good question.”
“And?” She gazed at him in a way that made him glad he’d suggested the after-hours paddle.
“And I don’t know.”
Wow, he thought. There was definitely some potential here. “I’m glad India brought you to see the place,” he said. “My family’s always trying to fix me up.”
“Do you need fixing?”
“Depends on who you ask. You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”
She laughed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Except maybe—”
“Dad. Hey, Dad, check it out.” Charlie burst between them, brandishing a long stick with a marshmallow on the end. “Me and André are having a marshmallow war.”
“With flaming marshmallows,” André declared, bending back his stick, with a burning marshmallow on the end.
“Cripes, you can’t be doing that.” Logan grabbed the stick. “This stuff burns like napalm.”
“We’ll aim for the water,” Charlie said. “Da-ad.” He’d started a movement. Now a whole group of kids were catapulting marshmallows.
“Damn it,” said Logan, “I swear, Charlie... Excuse me,” he said to Darcy, and went to confiscate the weapons. By the time he finished and had the kids marching off to their cabins, Darcy had stood up, her shoulder bag in hand.
“I’m just going to call it a night,” she said. “Thanks for the offer, though. Maybe some other time.”
Great, thought Logan. Just great. “Say, the Pavilion bar is open for adults after lights out. How about we get a drink after—”
“Dad, guess what?” Charlie came running over. “Eugene wants to tell ghost stories again in the cabin tonight. Really gory ones.”
“You hate ghost stories.”
“Right. That’s why I need you to pull cabin duty tonight.”
“No can do,” said Logan.
“Dad, it’s my last night with you.” Charlie played his trump card early.
Logan felt torn—a familiar sensation. When you were a singl
e dad, you felt pulled in a lot of different directions. “You and André can hang out. You don’t have to listen to the ghost stories.”
“Dad—”
“Hey, Logan,” said Darcy, “I’d better get going. We’re heading back to the city in the morning.”
No, don’t let her go. “Then how about we—”
“It was nice to meet you,” she said. “You, too, Charlie. See you around.”
Logan watched her go, then swung back to face Charlie. “Dude, couldn’t you see I was busy?”
“Hitting on some lady? Yeah, I could see that.”
“And still you interrupted.”
“I’m worried about the ghost stories.”
“I’m worried about your manners.”
Charlie gazed at the ground. “Sorry, Dad. I just really want you in the cabin tonight.”
Logan was a sucker for his kid. He hoped like hell he wasn’t a pushover. Hoped he wasn’t spoiling Charlie. The truth was, Charlie had a true horror of ghost stories ever since his cousin Bernie had told him the tale of the bloody toe last summer. The kid had suffered from nightmares for weeks afterward, and to this day still slept with his socks on.
Turning, Logan watched Darcy Fitzgerald as she walked along a lighted path toward the parking lot. For the first time in ages, he’d actually felt something strong and true, just talking with her. But one of the first things she’d told him was that she wasn’t into kids. It was just as well they hadn’t started anything, he told himself.
Copyright © 2014 by Susan Wiggs
ISBN-13: 9781460389829
Starlight on Willow Lake
Copyright © 2015 by Susan Wiggs
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