His gaze lingers on mine momentarily, but when I don’t immediately reply, he carries on. “I know you’ve just gotten out of a serious relationship, Willow, and I have no intention of rushing you into anything. I’ve held back as long as I could these past two weeks. But . . . the reality is, you’re getting off that train tomorrow in Seattle, and if I don’t say somethingnow, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. The thing is . . . I want to ask you if you might stay.”
I raise my brow. This, of all things, was not what I was expecting. “Stay?”
“The next tour is leaving after the New Year, and I want you to join me. Join us.”
I blink. “What about my job?” Slowly, I begin to shake my head. “I can’t just become unemployed.”
“No, that’s the thing. I’m offering you a job,” he says in a rush, as though he’s thought this all the way through. “You’ve done so much for Dad. I want you to be his health companion. Help with his meals. I’ve already spoken with Mrs.Byrd about it all.” My brow rises, but he presses on. “You could work with her to start creating meal plans for those on board with more restrictive diets. We could start becoming more tailored to those with allergies, lactose intolerances, paleo, keto, sugar-free diets. The sky’s the limit. We could even start advertising with that new feature. In fact”—Oliver puts a hand on his chest—“if you don’t want to pursue anything beyond friendship with me, that’s fine, Willow. The offer still stands. Come on board with us. Come check off all those items on your bucket list. See San Francisco in February. Ride down the South Rim of the Grand Canyons by mule. If you’re not interested in me, just consider the last two weeks the longest job interview of your life.”
I hesitate, and my mouth upturns. “Why do I get the sense that you’re lying about that last part?”
“Not lying. If I have to think about how to woo you underthe flag of friendship later on, so be it. The point is, it’s going to be incredibly hard to win you over when you live a thousand miles away, and I feel like I deserve a fair shot.”
I laugh at how he’s turned this into a victimizing thing, all while my mind runs a hundred miles an hour. No words are coming to mind, just emotions, but I feel my mouth open to respond anyway. Forget what Elodie says. Forget the fact that I am technically in a period of emotional crisis and relationship jail. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my experience with Jonas, it’s that love doesn’t happen on our timeline, no matter how hard we try to force it. Sometimes we just have to take life by the horns and embrace the ride.
Elodie would understand.
And right now, even with all the triggering words of such a drastic decision flitting in and out through my mind, words like “rent” and “salary” and “When-you-tell-Elodie-you’re-leaving-her-and-the-city-and-the-state-she-is-going-to-be-flinging-pans-and-French-obscenities-for-weeks,” the reality is I want this. Of course, I do.I want this.
I’m about to say this, or more likely blurt something to the same effect, when my eyes spot a scene that’s formed behind Oliver’s head.
A taxi has entered the parking lot of the train station below, and out of the back door a man pops out. A tall man slipping on black driving gloves before he shuts the door. In a long black coat. And black boots. Black boots I’d know anywhere.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and moves briskly toward the waiting train.
A moment later, he steps away from it and looks straight up the hill. At me. His eyes lock on mine and there’s no question about it. It’s Jonas.
No.Nonono.Not now, of all moments.
“And I was hoping...” Oliver says, searching my eyes, “you feel the same way.”
“I”—I refocus my gaze on Oliver—“do.” I take one of his gloved hands. “I really do. I think I’ve wanted this since we first met.”
“Me too.” Oliver exhales and laughs. “And I’ll be frank, I’m pretty sure Dad wants this as much as I do.”
I grin, all the while seeing Jonas in my periphery, trudging through the feet of snow up the hill. Determined.
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He sees me sitting in a sleigh with another man, single, obviously having a moment, and doesn’t have an inkling in his mind not to ruin it. He doesn’t care that I look deliriously happy. He doesn’t care that I’m going to have forever etched in my memory the picture of Oliver meticulously working out the details for this evening—the sleigh, the mountains, the question—and then like a big blot of ink stain over my beautiful new cardigan will forever be the reminder of Jonas, coming up this hill to interject himself into the moment.
I just want to capture Oliver and me and this hilltop moment like a snow globe, so that no matter how hard Jonas tries to pry himself in, all he’d succeed in doing is shaking up the globe and making a more enchanted, flurry-driven scene.
Jonas lifts his hands to his lips, preparing to call out,when suddenly something lobs across the field and lands to his left. He stops. Looks at the round hole in the snow by his feet.
He takes another step and stops as another white blob comes lobbing through the air.
The third hits him squarely in the back, and he turns.
And there, at the bottom of the hill beside the big red train, is Ian, standing tall in his green elf suit, a bundle of snowballs in his hands.
The hero.
My mitten goes straight to my gaping mouth, and at last Oliver turns.
Jonas, seeing the crazy elf, starts back up the hill, but Ian starts lobbing them faster. Eventually a second elf joins in. Then a third. Even Mr.Jenkins, looking quite refined in his black suit, lands one on Jonas’s shoulder.
“What on...?” Oliver begins, but I cut him off.
“Kiss me,” I urge, pulling his gaze away with my mittens on his cheeks. “I’d like you to kiss me now, before we have to go down and deal with Jonas and any of that down there.”
