“Sure you are.”She doesn’t sound convinced.“We’ll be there soon,” she adds, sitting up straighter as we crest a hill.“Just over this ridge.”
Suddenly the valley opens before us, and I see Silverbell Hollow in all its glory.Nestled between protective mountains, the town looks like it belongs in another century—a cluster of historic buildings with a church spire rising in the center, wisps of smoke curling from chimneys, the whole scene dusted with snow.Christmas lights twinkle even in daylight, and I can make out the massive tree she mentioned, standing tall in what must be the town square.
“Welcome to Silverbell Hollow,” Olivia says, and there’s a mix of pride and apprehension in her voice.“Population eight thousand, five hundred.Give or take.”
I slow the car as we begin our descent into the valley, taking in every detail.“It’s like something from a painting.”
“Wait until you see Main Street,” she says, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.
We follow the winding road down into the valley, and soon we’re entering the town itself.Signs welcome us to Silverbell Hollow, “Where Kindness Rings Louder Than Any Bell,” and I catch Olivia smiling at the slogan.
As we drive through Main Street, I slow down to take in the spectacle.Every lamppost is wrapped in greenery and strung with the tiny silver bells that Olivia mentioned.They chime in the breeze, filling the atmosphere with a pleasant sound.Storefronts compete for the most elaborate holiday displays—animated reindeer, mechanical elves, miniature Christmas villages.Wreaths adorn every door, and garlands stretch across the street, bearing oversized ornaments that glitter in the sunlight.At the center of town, a massive Christmas tree dominates the square, decked in so many ornaments and lights that it sparkles even in the daytime.
“Quaint,” I murmur, though I’m more impressed than I let on.
“You have no idea,” she says with a small smile.
“Where to next?”I ask, as we reach the end of Main Street.
“Turn right on Maple, then left on Sycamore,” she directs.“My parents’ house is about halfway down the block.”
We turn onto a tree-lined residential street, and Olivia’s posture changes, her shoulders tensing.The houses here are modest but well-maintained, with large yards and front porches adorned with the barebones of Christmas decorations.
“That’s it,” Olivia says softly, pointing to a house with light blue siding and white trim.A wreath made of pine cones and silver bells hangs on the front door.A plush snowman family stands sentinel in the front yard.I park in the driveway behind an aging white Ford F-150 with “Hartley Plumbing” emblazoned on the door.
“Dad’s home,” Olivia murmurs, and there’s a note of both longing and dread in her voice.I reach over and take her hand, surprised when she doesn’t immediately pull away.Her fingers are cold despite the car’s heating.
“Ready?”I ask.
She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and nods.“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Before she can reach for the door handle, I stop her with a gentle squeeze of her hand.“One more thing.”
“What?”She looks at me, wariness in those hazel eyes.
I lean in and brush my lips against her cheek, just at the corner of her mouth.Not quite a kiss, but close enough to be intimate.“For luck,” I murmur against her skin.
When I pull back, her eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, and I resist the urge to close the distance again, to capture her lips properly this time.But this isn’t the airport bar.This is the beginning of my plan, and I need to play it exactly right.
“Shall we?”I open my door, letting in a rush of cold air that seems to break whatever spell has momentarily settled over us.Olivia nods, composing herself.I come around to her side of the car, offering my hand to help her out.She takes it, her touch light but present.
“One month,” she reminds herself under her breath.
“One month,” I agree, but for very different reasons.
As we approach the front door, I can smell something baking.Olivia hesitates at the steps, taking one last deep breath before climbing onto the porch.Her hand finds mine again, fingers intertwining with a grip that’s a touch too tight to be casual.
She raises her other hand to knock, then seems to reconsider, reaching for the knob instead.The door opens to warmth and light and the sound of something sizzling in a pan.
“Mom?Dad?”Olivia calls, her voice higher than usual.“I’m home!”
There’s a crash from what must be the kitchen, then quick footsteps, and suddenly a woman appears in the hallway—light brown hair streaked with gray, warm hazel eyes that widen at the sight of us, flour dusting her apron.
“Olivia!”she exclaims, rushing forward to envelop her daughter in a tight hug and spin her around.“Oh my goodness, you’re here early!We weren’t expecting you until this evening!”Over her mother’s shoulder, Olivia’s eyes meet mine, wide with something like panic.I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile.
Her mother pulls back, holding Olivia at arm’s length.“Let me look at you!Still too skinny.Doesn’t that fancy boss of yours—” And then she notices me, standing just behind her daughter, and her sentence cuts off abruptly.Her eyes widen further, darting between Olivia and me with growing confusion.
“Mom,” Olivia says, her voice strained but determined.“This is Alex.Alexander Castellano.My...boyfriend.”
