They said goodbye and headed back to the street, both quiet as they digested the lack of new information.
Outside, the light hit just right—sharp and golden against the mountain backdrop. Cindy tucked her hands in her coat pockets and looked down Main Street, where a group of carolers were warming up in the park and a few kids were running around in the snow.
It was festive and fun, but her heart was heavy. As if he sensed that, Jack put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “We tried.”
“I just hate the thought of MJ waiting for something that might not come.”
“She’s tougher than she looks,” he said gently. “But I know what you mean.”
They walked a few steps in silence, passing the art galleries and boutiques decked in fairy lights.
Finally, Cindy exhaled, shaking off the heaviness. “All right, Mr. Secret Errand Man. What’s next?”
Jack’s grin returned. “This is the fun part!”
“Everything is with you.”
He laughed, liking that. “This one is special, though. Come on.”
As she slipped her hand through his and they continued down the street, the tension that had been coiling quietly inside Cindy for weeks seemed to ease. For the first time in a long time, she felt exactly what she’d been craving—peace, contentment, and full-body relaxation.
“I needed this,” she said on a sigh.
“You need to work less,” he replied.
She slid him a look. “Is this history repeating itself, only with role reversal?” She asked the question lightly, but it wasn’t light, not by any means.
Jack’s obsession with skiing, then his job at ESPN, was acknowledged by both of them to be the crack that broke their foundation and led to their divorce eleven years ago.
“We can’t let history repeat itself,” he said softly.
“We won’t.”
His eyes flashed slightly, and she braced for a comment about her laser focus on building Snowberry Weddings, but he just turned a corner and guided her down a side street where the buildings crouched closer and the sidewalks didn’t get quite the snow cleanup that Main Street did.
Cindy recognized a few independent shops that had survived the years—the cobbler who still could fix anything with laces, the record store enjoying a resurgence of vinyl popularity.
Jack slowed in front of a storefront trimmed with tin cut-outs of snowflakes and a carved wooden sign that had been there as long as she could remember: Hearth & Hollow. The name was painted in cream, the ampersand fat and cheerful.
Cindy let out a laugh of delighted surprise. “No way, Jack Kessler. I haven’t walked into this store in…decades.”
“But we used to love it, remember? We always came here to get special keepsakes for Nicole when she was a little girl.”
“I remember,” Cindy said gleefully, letting him open the door for her.
A bell chimed with a warm note of welcome. Inside, the little shop smelled like cedar shavings and orange peel. Shelves climbed from the floor to the pressed-tin ceiling, crowded with handmade toys, carved ornaments, old-world puzzles, and an artful clutter of snow globes—tiny cities, tiny deer, tiny skiers mid-swoop.
In the back, behind the register, an ancient lathe rested like a retired workhorse, and beside it, a glass cabinet glowed with snow globes that were custom-made to commemorate special occasions or replicate beautiful homes.
“Hello there, Jack Kessler!” sang a voice from somewhere between the nutcrackers and the papier-mâché stars. A woman popped out—a small, spry creature with a silver braid as thick as a rope and spectacles perched halfway down her nose. “Yes, before you ask, it’s ready. This must be Cindy. I’m Marta.”
“Hello, Marta,” Cindy said, shaking the hand the woman offered. Jack had been coming in here without her?
They chatted about weather and tourists and skiing, then Marta held up a finger to ask them to wait. “Should I wrap it, Jack?”
“Yes, please,” he said, a glint in his eyes that Cindy simply couldn’t read.
The woman disappeared into the back and Cindy eyed her once and future husband. “What are you up to, Jack?”
