“Speaking of Beau, as in Beau Hammer, Margo said Mrs. Darling reached out, asking about her availability to plan a wedding reception,” Jess says.
Ella says, “Since you guys didn’t have a public ceremony, we’d all love to celebrate with you.”
“Meddling mothers, am I right?” I murmur.
We chat for a few more minutes while Ella and Jess laugh about their kids’ Christmas wish lists.
Even though Fletch and I have a secret, I feel like these people could become friends. Cobbiton could be home again.
What if I stayed? The thought comes unbidden and settles around me like a warm blanket.
What if this temporary arrangement became permanent? What if I gave myself permission to believe in the very thing I write about?
And what if I left? I’d be walking away from Fletch and a whole life. A community, women who could become real friends. A place where I belong, not just exist on the margins.
I’ve spent so long telling myself I don’t need that kind of connection. That I’m fine on my own, just me and my laptop and my characters. I realize what I’ve been missing. What I’ve been too scared to reach for.
I stare at my ink-stained fingers, thinking of Fletch’s hands—how they bear the subtle marks of his athletic career, telling the story of long practices and intense games. How secure I feel when they hold mine.
The Christmas lights reflect in the jewelry store window, making the case full of wedding bands sparkle and gleam. For the first time in my adult life, I let myself imagine a future that looks nothing like I’d planned—and everything like I’ve secretly wanted.
Maybe it’s time to rewrite my own story’s ending.
CHAPTER 21
FLETCH
I stareat the display case, completely overwhelmed by the glittering options before me. The jeweler, a patient older gentleman named Mr. Stevenson, waits while I browse necklaces, bracelets, and earrings.
“Something special for someone special this Christmas?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Seems to be a theme, this year more than most.”
“Is there anything in particular you know she likes?”
Me. I hope she likes me.
“A stone or style?”
“I’m not sure.”
The soft instrumental version of “Twelve Days of Christmas” plays in the background as I consider my options.
The part where my brothers and I would belt out “Five Golden Rings” comes on. My eyes shift from side to side. From display case to display case.
I’m in the wrong part of the store.
Bree doesn’t need five golden rings. No, just one. From me.
I cross the plush carpet and brace my hands on the edge of the glass, peering inside.
I want to find an engagement ring that reminds me of Bree—unique and elegant, but not flashy. Something a writer would love and that wouldn’t interfere with how her fingers fly across the keyboard. Pucks move fast, but when she’s typing, all I see is a blur. I almost cannot fathom how the ideas in her head find their way through her fingers and onto the page.
All of the engagement rings start to look identical until I spot a vintage-style ring with a modest diamond surrounded by flecks of rubies and emeralds, forming a wreath around the main stone. Even though Bree came back to Cobbiton dragging a sack of coal, she’s now full of the Christmas spirit. It’s on full display given her involvement in the toy drive, participation in the bake sale, and that she traded out theDo Not Disturbsign on the office door for a cluster of jingle bells hanging from red, white, and green ribbons.
Maybe this ring is just the one to symbolize what we have.
