“My mom moved out today,” Willa said, making it sound even more dramatic than it really was (she hoped). “She moved into the apartment over the fudge shop. I’m so angry with her! I’m so angry with my father. How could he let her do that?”
Marius didn’t seem overwhelmed or taken aback. He blinked, as if considering what she wanted him to say and its significance to her.
Before Marius came up with an answer, though, Willa was talking again.
“I mean, it won’t be forever,” she said. “It can’t be forever. She’s our mom, and she’s been with our dad since they were sixteen or something. Younger than us! So she’ll probably regret it.” She was talking too quickly and driving herself crazy.
Marius sighed and turned so that he could watch the sunlight play over the water. “Do you think they’re still in love?”
Willa’s heart seized. “Of course. She said she’s still in love with him.”
“And is he in love with her?”
“Of course!” Willa wanted to leap to her feet but remained stock-still.
Marius wet his lips. “How do we know we’ll stay in love with whoever we marry? I mean, forever is a really long time. In ten years, we’ll only be twenty-seven. That’s way younger than our parents.”
Willa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wanted to shove Marius in the lake.
“What are you saying?” Willa demanded.
“I’m saying that things must get complicated, later on.” Marius sounded wiser than his years. Maybe he’d read about this on the internet. Or maybe his own parents had almost gotten divorced. In any case, Willa wasn’t ready for all this wisdom.
Willa was on her feet, eager to get out of there. But Marius chased her, following her to her mother’s bike.
“Listen,” Marius said, palming the back of his neck, “I’m sorry for saying that.”
Willa couldn’t believe that she’d wanted to kiss him. She couldn’t believe she’d ever felt anything for him. Hot rage bled through her. She got on her bike and said, “They’re just taking some time apart!” With that, she sped off into the late evening, leaving Amelie with their other friends, her heart and legs pumping until she reached the fudge shop once more. From the street, she watched through the window as her fatherand mother made a late-night batch of fudge for tomorrow morning’s tourists, working diligently yet not talking to one another. Willa burst into tears. They couldn’t break up her family like this. They were her family.
Chapter Nine
Amelie
December 2025
Unable to resist the warm glow from inside the bed-and-breakfast, Amelie followed the handsome Frenchman, gripping both straps of her backpack for dear life. She could still feel the shadows lurking on the opposite side of the road, where Caraway Fudge Shoppe waited expectantly, as though it had been closed up since she and Willa had left it behind.
“I get the sense that you’ve been to the island before?” the Frenchman was saying, removing his winter hat and reaching for her coat.
“What?” Amelie felt out of sorts. “I mean, yes. I have. But not for years.”
“Well, you know which fudge is the best, which means something around here.” The man hung her coat and gestured for her to give him her bag, which he locked behind the front counter.
Amelie put her hands on the mahogany wood, inspecting the old, ornate keys that hung near where the Frenchman was standing. Each had a number attached to a keychain and was assigned to a room upstairs. It looked like most of the rooms were empty.
The Frenchman read her mind. “People don’t often stay on the island during the winter,” he said. “They come over for the day, eat and shop, and then go back to the mainland and their cars and their warmth. It means that the island is for us islanders at night. That’s why I started our Jazz Nights.” He rubbed his palms together and shot out from behind the counter, guiding her into the combination dining room-bar, where a jazz quintet was playing an old classic. Not many people were watching; just a few older couples, their eyes glistening as they sipped glasses of white wine. Like everywhere else on the island, the bed-and-breakfast was decorated in a Christmassy style, with garlands, trees, and string lights.
She hung in the doorway with the Frenchman, nodding her head in time to the song. It had been a long time since she’d heard music like this. It reminded her of her grandparents, her great-grandparents, and a forgotten era of American culture. It was funny that a Frenchman had brought it back to Mackinac.
“What do you think?” the Frenchman asked when the song stopped and the few in the crowd applauded.
“It’s wonderful,” Amelie said, surprised at how happy she sounded.
“Should we sit?” He gestured toward a table near the back. Directly behind it was a window that looked out onto the street. The snow had picked up again, coming down faster and thicker than it had all evening. Amelie loved the feeling of being snowed in. It was cozy. It reminded her of being a child, of being tucked in at night by her mother.
The Frenchman grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses and led Amelie to the corner table. By the time he’d poured them two hefty glasses, the jazz quintet had started up again, but quieter this time, allowing members of the audience to turn to one another and talk.
“So,” he said, raising his glass, “to new friends.”
