“I’m afraid that your father and I never truly showed you what real love looks like. But this Fletch of yours looks at you the way your father used to look at me. Before we, well, Ihaven’t quite figured out what happened and unfortunately, I can’t ask him. It’s too late. We loved each other, but I think there was a limit to it. I don’t want that for you.”
Tears sting my eyes. Mom has never spoken this openly before.
“I’d like to make up for lost time if you’ll let me,” she adds quietly.
Without thinking, I step forward and wrap my arms around her. She stiffens momentarily, then eases into the embrace. We stand there, two grown women learning how to connect after years of careful distance.
When we part, it’s obvious that we’re both emotional. However, in sync, we both wave our hands dismissively. It’s like I’m looking in a mirror, but then the most unexpected thing happens. We both break into happy laughter, hug again, and spend the next hour chatting.
I don’t know what it’ll look like for my relationship with my mother, but this feels like a good start. A fresh one and I’m grateful.
After leaving Mom’s apartment, I don’t head straight to downtown Cobbiton. Instead, I text Fletch to meet me. I have a surprise for us.
An hour later, I’m loading bags from the bakery into my car along with a thermos of hot chocolate from Coffee Loft and Nina’s borrowed portable speaker. Fletch has been planning everything, fixing everything, bringing me chocolate while I write.
It’s my turn to do something special for him.
When I get home, he’s reviewing game footage on his laptop with the dog snoozing at his feet.
I lace my arms around his neck from behind and peck him on the cheek. “How would you feel if I suggested you get dressed in warm clothes and come somewhere with me?”
He looks up, surprised. “Where—what?”
I waggle my eyebrows. “It’s a surprise.” I’m grinning, feeling less like the careful, controlled Bree and more like a woman who takes chances.
I drive us to the community ice skating rink in the original Knights practice space, dubbed the Barn, which has been replaced by the Ice Palace, a state-of-the-art sports complex nearby. With the big doors open on either end, the afternoon sunlight sparkles off fresh ice. There’s a bonfire and kids play in the snow while others skate. It’s our very own version of a visit to the beach or lake.
I set up our impromptu picnic on a bench, queue up Fletch’s favorite Christmas playlist, and hand him his skates. His eyes dance with delight.
“I brought treats when we get hungry.”
“You did this?” His voice is soft with wonder. “This is the real treat.”
“You’ve been taking care of me since I got here. Fixing my house, making me meals, believing in my writing.” I fold his hand in mine. “I wanted to do something just for you. Something that’s about your joy, not my research or my problems.”
The smile he gives me is worth every ounce of effort. When we skate together in the fading light, I realize that loving someone means giving, not just receiving.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” he says when we’re sitting on the bench later, sharing Nina’s gingerbread cookies.
“It’s slightly selfish,” I admit.
“Why’s that?”
“Because now you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
My lips quirk as I resist a smile. “Like you want to?—”
I lean in and drop a kiss on his lips, a perfect conclusion to a perfect afternoon.
He draws me close.
Smiling against my mouth, he says, “You should be selfish more often.”
So I kiss him again.
Fletch hasa hockey meeting that evening and after getting the dog fed and settled, I drive through downtown Cobbiton, noticing how my inner “bah humbugs” have gradually transformed into “ho ho hos.” Storefronts twinkle with fairy lights, and I catch myself humming along to the Christmas music playing from outdoor speakers. I’m starting to sound like Fletch.
