It did get a laugh from Marcus, but it didn’t knock him off his conversational track.
“It must be amazing,” he said. “To get to build the whole world from scratch. I’m always having to deal with what’s already there when I’m working on a building. Building codes. Client demands. The strength of steel.” He laughed. “But if you write the book, you can make the strength of steel whatever you want.”
Molly tramped beside him for a few steps, thinking this over. “I remember feeling that way when I first started writing,” she said. “But sometimes having all that freedom is harder than it might seem.”
“What makes it hard?” Marcus asked.
Molly thought for a few more steps. “I guess,” she finally said, “when you can go any direction at all, it’s hard to choose just one of them.”
“The blank page,” Marcus said. “We have it in architecture, too.”
“It’s strange,” Molly said. “I used to get such a thrill from it. It never felt scary to me. It felt like pure possibility. And I always figured I’d only get more confident as I published more books. But instead, I’m even less certain. There are all these voices in my head, reviewers, my editor, my agent. I’m having trouble finding my own voice. And if I can’t find that, I’m not sure what’s the point of even being a writer.”
She took a deep breath.
“I thought I was just tired,” she said. “After my mother died, it wasn’t an easy time.”
“I can understand that, too,” Marcus said. They were both quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of nature around them, and the soft crunch of snow beneath their feet.
“But I can feel myself getting stronger now,” Molly said. “And I still don’t know what I want to write.”
“You’ll find it,” Marcus said.
“I wish I were as sure about that as you are,” Molly said. “But I’m not. And it makes me question everything. What have I spent all this time doing, if I can’t remember how to be a writer now? And what if I never remember? What will I do then?”
Marcus seemed to know better than to try to give her an answer, maybe because he’d had to face similar questions in his own life.
After a minute, he looked over with a wicked grin. “Okay,” he said. “I know what you should write about.”
“You do?” Molly said, raising her eyebrows to make her skepticism clear.
Marcus nodded, undeterred. “Yep,” he said. “Your next book is about a pair of penguins. They meet in the middle of a big storm, when both of them stumble into the same cave, and then they have to learn how to use snowshoes, because—”
Molly’s laugh interrupted him. “I like the opening,” she said. “But I’m not sure I can do much with the snowshoe premise.”
“Well,” Marcus said, looking very pleased with himself. “I’m glad I could help. Now you at least know one direction you don’t want to go.”
Molly shook her head as they came to the top of the ridge. Below, a whole valley spread out. On the far side of it, so distant that it looked like a toy, was a large complex of buildings, sun glinting from a few of the windows.
“I think that’s where the girls and I are supposed to be right now,” Marcus said. “Starlight Lodge. It looks different from here.”
“Things often look different,” Molly said, “when we get some distance from them.”
“You know,” Marcus said. “When I first visited the Starlight, it felt like everything you could ever wish for.” He turned back to Molly. “But this place turned out to be so special I wouldn’t wish for anything else.”
Molly stared back into his blue eyes, wondering if there was anything more to what he was saying, or if he was just genuinely captured by the charm of the place, and its setting.
“Even sleeping on the couch?” she joked, since she wasn’t sure what else to say. “With the girls upstairs in the attic?”
“I think maybe because of that,” Marcus said.
Discombobulated, Molly glanced away from him, back down into the valley. But this time, she caught sight of something.
“Look at that,” she said. “Is that a car? On the road?”
Marcus squinted, then nodded. “I think you’re right,” he said. “Maybe they’re finally getting them cleared. That’s good news, isn’t it?”
But it didn’t feel like good news to Molly. It felt like the world she’d left behind was starting to close in on her again, even though she hadn’t managed to begin the manuscript she’d come here to finish. And it felt like some other temporary but precious world was being torn away from her—the world blanketed with this beautiful snowfall, and the girls sleeping in their beds, and him.
She glanced from him to the road far below, not sure what to say.
But before she could think of anything, a snowball whizzed through the air and caught him solidly on the back of his head.
Instantly, both he and Molly whirled around, then tottered as their snowshoes got tangled. Marcus caught Molly by both arms to stabilize them.
By then, the sleigh that Luke had been driving, with Addison and Bailey in back, had drawn up farther down the hill, but was still within striking distance for someone with a good arm.
Addison and Bailey had collapsed in each other’s arms, laughing.
“All right,” Marcus pretended to fume, bending over to shape his own snowball. “Which one of you two little scamps did this?”
“Daddy!” Bailey announced. “Luke took us on a sleigh ride!”
“It wasn’t us!” Addison squealed. “It was Luke!”
By the distance of the sleigh, and the solidness of the hit, this was a believable accusation, and confirmed by the mischievous grin on Luke’s lips.
“Girls,” he said, pretending to be hurt. “Now, why in the world would I ever do a thing like that?”
In answer, Marcus fired his own shot down the hill, which smacked with a satisfying thud against the side of the old sleigh.
The big horse that was drawing it lurched off, taking the sleigh around the bend, although the sound of the girls’ laughter echoed through the morning even after they’d vanished out of sight.
“HEY, HONEY,” AUDREY SAID gently. “Hannah. Wake up. It’s already after noon.”
Hannah rolled over and threw an arm over her face.
She’d gone back to her room to shower after breakfast and, alone with her thoughts, decided to crawl back into bed instead. She had woken up several times already, but always managed to convince herself that the memories that resurfaced each time she did were some kind of bad dream that could be resolved with more sleep.
But the look on Audrey’s face, and the fact it was so late, woke her up for good.
The broken engagement had come as a shock, and like any other kind of shock, it had left parts of Hannah’s heart and mind numb. Even as waves of grief and anger had washed over Hannah in the past day, it still hadn’t felt fully real.
But today, the actual day she was supposed to get married, she suddenly felt it all. It didn’t feel like she was trying to absorb a shock anymore. It felt like this was just what life was like now: strange and painful, with no hint of when that would change, if ever.
As she came fully awake, she groaned and buried her face in the down pillow, hoping that the feathers might block out the memories of the previous day.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “There’s nothing to do.”
Gently, Audrey plucked at her arms. “Honey,” she said, “it’s up to you. But I’ve done everything I could to distract your mom from coming in here. And if you wait any longer, she’s going to be the one waking you up, not me.”
This managed to get Hannah at least marginally upright. “I’m up,” she said. “I’m up. See?”
“How about you actually get your feet on the floor?” Audrey asked.
She gave Hannah’s shoulders an encouraging squeeze as Hannah scooted toward the edge of the bed. But when Hannah began to lose momentum, Audrey lost her patience an
d threw the covers back.
“Ugh,” Hannah said, glaring at her. “You are so mean to me.”
“Yes, I am,” Audrey said.
Hannah groaned again, but this time she got out of bed, and a moment later, Audrey was marching her downstairs.
“It’s not lunch yet,” Audrey said. “But I have engaged in high-level negotiations with the kitchen to secure you sustenance.”
“I’m not that hungry,” Hannah said.
“That,” Audrey told her, “is because you haven’t tasted this fresh bread yet.”
As they came down the stairs, Iris, who was deep in conversation with a strange old man with a pronounced British accent, waved them down.
“Girls!” she said. “Girls! I’ve got your basket here.”
“Thank you, Iris,” Audrey said with a smile, and reached to sweep up the basket, which was covered with a blue-and-white-checked napkin, and was faintly steaming.
But before she could, the old Brit caught hold of it.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “What’s in here?”
“Fresh bread,” Iris said.
“And preserves,” the old Brit added. “I assume these are homemade?”
Iris bridled at this, insulted. “What else do you think they’d be?” she asked.
But the old Brit was looking at Hannah and reaching for what was obviously the most tempting piece of bread in the basket. “You don’t mind if I just . . .” he began, then swiped the piece of bread, slathered it with about half the contents of the jelly ramekin, and popped it in his mouth.
“Heavenly,” he said.
At his appreciation for the quality of the victuals, Iris seemed to forgive him, her indignation relaxing into an indulgent smile.
While the old gentleman was lost in his ecstasy, Audrey took the opportunity to snatch the basket out of his reach.
But when Audrey got Hannah and the basket settled in a nook of the otherwise deserted dining area, Hannah got a taste of what he meant. The bread, the butter, the fresh blueberry preserves: it was better than any bread she’d ever had before—and probably any dessert. And in virtually no time at all, between Hannah and Audrey, half the loaf was gone.
Audrey sat back, satisfaction evident on her face.
But as Hannah brushed at the crumbs at her place, they both caught sight of motion beyond the window.
“Are the roads open already?” Audrey said with a sudden urgency that made Hannah realize that no matter what she was going through, Audrey was carrying her own weight—the disappointment of not getting to see Jared, even though he was stateside.
But before Hannah could answer, the two of them both got a good look at what had just pulled up beyond the windows of the cozy inn: a real-live old-time sleigh, straight off a Christmas card.
“Oh my gosh,” Audrey said. “It’s like we woke up in A Christmas Carol.”
Hannah took a deep breath in response, to avoid saying what she really thought, which was that the world she had woken up in felt about as far as you could get from a holiday fairy tale.
“Look!” Audrey exclaimed, peering through the window. “It’s Luke! And those two little girls! Could they be any cuter?”
Hannah leaned forward to get a better look just as, to her horror, Audrey started tapping on the window to get the attention of the inhabitants of the sleigh.
Luke looked up, yelled something that sounded faintly like “Bobcat!” and waved vigorously, as if Hannah and Audrey were a giant ship, slowly pulling away from port. Then he hopped down from the driver’s seat of the sleigh, helped both girls down, and headed for the house, one under each arm.
A moment later, they heard a burst of squeals and a scamper of feet as the girls hurtled into the house. Then Luke appeared in the entrance to the dining area, grinning.
“Merry Christmas Eve, ladies,” Luke said, with a booming voice.
Audrey giggled.
“Well, Bobcat,” he said. “I owe you an apology.”
“Hey, Luke!” Audrey said brightly.
Hannah looked up at him, not sure whether he was teasing again, or serious. “For what?” she said cautiously.
“The sleigh rides,” Luke said. “I’ve been giving them all morning, but I’m afraid you’re the only one who hasn’t gotten one.”
“Well,” Audrey said, ignoring the fact that she obviously hadn’t had a sleigh ride yet, either, “that’s easy enough to fix.”
Luke clapped his hands. “Well, Bobcat?” he asked. “What do you say?”
“Um,” Hannah began, “I’m not sure I—”
“I forgot to mention,” Luke said, “the sleigh rides here at Evergreen Inn aren’t optional. They’re actually a requirement for all the guests.”
Hannah found herself trying to hide a smile. “Required sleigh rides?” she said.
Luke nodded. “Yes,” he said, keeping his voice and expression both dead serious.
“And what are the consequences,” Hannah asked, “if a guest doesn’t go on the required sleigh ride?”
Luke grimaced. “We don’t really like to get into that if we can help it,” he said. “Much easier for all of us if you just come with me now.”
Hannah couldn’t suppress her smile
She looked across the table at Audrey, who grinned back.
“I guess I don’t have any choice, then,” Hannah said, rising.
“I guess not,” Audrey said, looking as pleased as a cat. She watched Hannah follow Luke toward the door.
For her part, Hannah was simply grateful not to be lying in bed in the middle of the day anymore, or trying to figure out what else to do instead.
She couldn’t have guessed, until she got up onto the front seat of the sleigh and felt the delicious slide of the runners as the old horse pulled forward, how much she would love the feel of it: the bracing wind on her face, the crunch and scrape of the snow, but most of all, what it was like to glide through a winter wonderland without being insulated from it behind glass, being blasted by the dry air of a car’s heater.
It was chilly, but the chill woke her up and made her feel alive. And it was so beautiful outside that she barely noticed the cold.
“So you can drive a sleigh, too,” she commented, as Luke steered the old horse through the woods, on a path he’d obviously cut before, with the girls. “So many hidden talents.”
“Wait till you hear me yodel,” Luke said.
“Oh, I’ve heard you yodel before,” Hannah said, even though it was clear that he’d been joking.
Luke glanced at her, bemused. “Oh, really?” he said. “When was that?”
“Remember the time you bet me five dollars you could beat me across the lake at the old quarry?”
“I remember the time you jumped into the lake at the old quarry before anyone even told me we were racing,” Luke said.
“I thought I heard you yodel then,” Hannah said, with a mischievous smile.
“Oh, no,” Luke said. “That wasn’t yodeling. That was righteous indignation.”
Hannah was surprised to discover that the smile on her face now was genuine. And surprised by how easy it was to joke with Luke. She’d tried joking with Trevor, in the first days they’d dated. But after a while, she’d given up. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she was funny. It was that all he ever did was smile and move on. He never picked up a joke and ran with it, like Luke did. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.
“Well,” she said. “If you’ve known how to drive a sleigh all this time, I’m just surprised you never took me out in it when we were kids.”
“It never worked when we were kids,” Luke said. “It was stuck in the back of the barn. Half the time there was hay piled in it. I think Tim only got it fixed up in time for the—”
He caught himself before he said “wedding,” but it was still totally clear to both of them where he had been going.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “Hannah, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
Hannah took
a deep breath, watching the glistening branches of the trees slide by.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Luke glanced away from the path to see her face. “How are you doing?” he asked.
Hannah looked down at her hands, lost in the thick fingers of a pair of gray-and-blue ski gloves.
“I just don’t understand how I got here,” she said in a small voice.
Luke piped up immediately, his voice hot with emotion. “That guy is an idiot,” he said. “Any man in the world would be lucky to have you.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Hannah said.
“I’m not just saying that,” Luke insisted. “I don’t just say things.”
She watched the snow disappearing under the sleigh for a moment, realizing that for as long as she’d known him, this had always been true about Luke. And that it hadn’t ever been true about Trevor. He was brilliant at saying the right thing at the right moment. But no matter how long they were together, she never really felt like she knew if he meant it or not.
“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s— You know what I keep wondering?” she asked.
Luke shook his head, deftly steering the horse around a gentle curve.
“I don’t know how I ever wound up with someone like Trevor in the first place,” she said. “When I was a kid, I always thought I’d wind up with someone more like—”
She stopped herself, realizing she’d almost said you.
“Like what?” Luke asked.
“I just think I got carried away with Trevor,” Hannah backtracked, trying to collect her thoughts. “He was just such a force of nature. He needed me so much. And he knew so much about the world. It seemed like he knew everybody. Sometimes it seemed like he knew everything.”
“Yep,” Luke said, in a tone of voice that made it clear he recollected that quality in Trevor, too—but hadn’t exactly found it an attractive trait.
“He knew where he wanted to go in life, and what he wanted to do, and I guess I just—didn’t,” Hannah said. “At least not when we first got together. And then I just started going along with him, what he wanted.”
“What did you think you wanted?” Luke asked. “When you were younger?”
The White Christmas Inn Page 15
