I wonder if she’s found someone to hold her the way she deserves to be held. Or is she alone, like me? That thought hurts me even more. Because the truth is, I’m ashamed. I’m angry that I couldn’t find her, that life seemed to decide that I wouldn’t be enough for her without my consent, and that I’ve made choices that will prevent me from ever being able to earn her love, even after all this time. Being thrown together again almost feels cruel. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, andI’ve become the equivalent of something from the deep ocean washed ashore.
“Well, honey, you look like you could outrun a moose and properly throw something big if you wanted to.”
The voice stops me in my tracks. I turn back to find a woman with silvery hair and fire in her eyes standing behind me. A wicked gleam of amusement can be found in her grin.
“Ma’am.” I nod my head and turn away to keep moving in the opposite direction once more, but I’m no match for this woman. I recognize her. I’ve been warned about her, and though she’s confronted me several times in the grocery store, I’ve somehow avoided being a casualty of her direct antics. Even so, I know her name is Gladys.
She follows behind me. “The love that you’re looking for might just be in this town,” she states with such authority that I almost believe her.
But then I make the most critical mistake of the day: I look back at the dance studio, where Ivy’s form appears in the window again, followed by a whole troop of little ballerinas. Gladys positively beams.
“I thought so,” she quips. “You know, if you would stop being a Scrooge for five seconds, you might realize that it won’t kill you to celebrate the season.”
I don’t love being compared to a crotchety old literary character, but I can’t deny the resemblance.
Gladys continues without pause. “I know you honked your horn at Delores—after she was waiting for some little creature to cross the road, no less.” She dares me to challenge her, a gleam in her eyes.
I . . . did not know that. The driver had stopped in the middle of the road, and I nearly spilled coffee on myself. My irritation had boiled over, resulting in the honk. “I will have to apologize for the outburst,” I reply to Gladys somberly.
With Ivy long ago released from my reality and with Jenna’s betrayal leaving me vulnerable, it’s been my daughter or nothing. My heart feels like stone. Other than my brief interaction with Sparrow today, which wasn’t all that great, there’s not a chance I’ve been considered neighborly in this town for the short stint of time we’ve been here. And I haven’t cared one bit about the impression I made. For five years, Emmy has been the sole joy of my existence, and even I’m aware that, one day, she’s going to grow up. And the emptiness I feel in my loneliness is going to swallow me whole.
“But I’m not celebrating.” My tone is flat and unmoving, but her knowing glare has me confessing the truth. “Christmas is only for my daughter.”
“Well, that’s no way to live, especially given the fact that your daughter will no doubt be in the upcoming Christmas ballet production. And since Ivy is in desperate need of someone to help build the sets, I’m seeing an incredible opportunity here. I feel it in my bones that you are meant to volunteer.”
She gives me a grin, and my mind races through this sudden revelation. Ivy needs help? How the woman before me knows I’m capable of building things is beyond me, but I don’t dare question her ways.
I can’t help Ivy. Now, she knows I have a daughter, so she either thinks I’m married, or with someone, or that whoever came after our brief meeting must mean more to me than she did. I’ll always respect the mother of my child. Yet, in this moment, after seeing Ivy again, it’s so clear to me that what I had with Jenna wasn’t love, even from the start. But I want Ivy to have the very best in this world, which I suspect confirms there was once something that could have been love between us.
“For the record, I tried with her once,” I admit, hitching my head toward the studio.
Gladys hums, a knowing smile on her face. “So you’re why she can’t seem to find someone to hold on to. You must’ve made quite an impression.”
My jaw clenches at the casual way Gladys just told me that Ivy is single. Did she wait for me?
At my reaction, she nods, and I see a hint of compassion overtaking her face, her cheeks reddened from the wind. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but you can’t protect your heart forever, dearest. At some point, you’ve gotta find someone worthy of giving love another try.”
The words make me grimace again, and I resist the stirring in my heart as music from the studio is sent our way on the wind.
“Perhaps for you, she is the worthiest of them all.”
My eyes gravitate back to the dance studio, the warm light pulling me toward it like a beacon. What would it look like for me to put my heart in someone else’s hands again? But not just someone—the woman who once gave me reason to believe fairy tales might be possible. Am I even capable of loving again?
I shake the urge to tell Ivy everything from my mind. “I’m not sure . . .” I begin, looking over my shoulder toward Gladys. But I find that I’m talking to myself, and Gladys has disappeared, taking my courage with her into the darkness.
Chapter Seven
Jace
Isn’t the Christmas Village magical?” The question from a townsperson I don’t know rings clear throughout the space. I’m surprised I can hear her since the noise level at the village is next level. Birch Borough has transformed into a makeshift North Pole to make Santa feel at home.
“I don’t think what you’re feeling is magic,” I retort gruffly toward the voice, not caring that my tone is one step away from feral. I want to rip the advertisement poster for the Christmas parade from the brick wall that leads to the entrance of this Christmas fest. I glance at the woman next to me, sadly realizing that this is going to be the most awkward moment with Ivy I’ve encountered yet. “I’m not sure I’m going to survive this,” I mutter, and she glances up at me but doesn’t speak.
I have no idea why I’m still here.
Her hair is tucked up into the bun I’ve seen her wear more often than not. Wisps of hair frame her face, and I have to admit how much I want to feel their softness between my fingers. She’s wearing a long red coat, and the sight of it brings me back to eight years ago. Leggings hug her strong, defined legs, and a turtleneck sweater and scarf keep her elegant, slender neck warm. Mittens also cover her hands. She’s bundled up against the winter chill, and she looks like a Christmas miracle. How it’spossible that she’s even more beautiful than when we first met, I don’t know.
The biggest difference between now and our first meeting is that Ivy is not smiling at me tonight. In fact, she looks like I’m the last person she wants to see. And it’s killing me.
