“Austin, it’s Kent. I know we haven’t talked in forever, and I know you probably don’t want to hear from me. But I need to ask you something, and you’re the only person who might have an answer.”
I paused, looking out at the glittering city below.
“How do you walk away from everything you’ve ever known when you realize it’s destroying you? How do you choose to do the right thing when it means disappointing everyone who’s ever mattered to you?”
Another pause.
“I’m in trouble, Austin. Not the kind Dad can fix with money or lawyers. The kind where I’m finally seeing myself clearly, and I don’t like what I see. So if you get this, call me back. Please.”
CHAPTER 49
SYLVIE
It had been a week since Kent disappeared from my life as suddenly as he’d entered it. I told myself no less than a hundred times a day that it was a good thing he disappeared. No one was talking about the offer. No one was talking about the fact it was our last Christmas at the lodge.
It was much easier to just pretend it wasn’t happening. If we dwelled on the negative, it was going to ruin the present. No one actually said that’s what we were doing, but we all just kind of understood.
I was officially in full-blown party planning mode. The Christmas Eve celebration at Northwood Lodge was always our biggest event of the year, but this time it was more urgent. Like we were throwing one last magnificent party before the curtain came down on everything we’d built.
I refused to think about it that way, though. Today was about silver linings and new beginnings and making this the most magical Christmas Eve anyone had ever experienced.
Even when Emmy and I discovered that mice had made themselves at home in our wreath storage box.
“Oh, Sylvie,” Emmy groaned, holding up what used to be a beautiful evergreen wreath adorned with burgundy velvetribbon. Now it looked like it had been through a woodchipper, with bits of greenery scattered across the bottom of the storage container and telltale mouse droppings mixed in with the pine needles. “They’ve destroyed everything.”
I peered into the box, taking inventory of the carnage. Three years’ worth of carefully crafted wreaths, reduced to nesting material for a family of very industrious rodents. The logical response would have been frustration, maybe even tears. We had exactly six hours until guests started arriving for the party, and wreaths were a crucial part of our holiday décor.
Instead, I found myself laughing.
“You know what?” I said, pulling my hair back into a messy bun and rolling up my sleeves. “This is perfect.”
Emmy stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Perfect? Sylvie, the party starts at six. It takes me that long to make one wreath.”
“New wreaths are a chance for new memories,” I said, already mentally cataloging the supplies we’d need. “These old ones were beautiful, but they were from previous years, previous Christmases. Tonight deserves its own wreaths, made with love specifically for this celebration.”
Emmy held her hand to my forehead like she was checking if I had a fever. “Are you feeling okay? Because this level of optimism is honestly a little concerning. Have you been taste testing the eggnog?”
I was feeling more than okay. For the first time since the disastrous situation with Kent, I felt like myself again. Purpose flowed through my veins like caffeine. My hands itched to create something beautiful.
“I’m feeling like we’re about to make the most gorgeous wreaths Northwood Lodge has ever seen,” I said, already heading toward the supply closet where we kept our crafting materials. “And I’m feeling like this Christmas Eve is going to be absolutely perfect.”
Emmy surveyed the supplies I spread across the long table in the lodge’s main room. “Okay,” she said slowly. “This might actually be doable. But only if we assembly-line it.”
“Even better,” I said, already reaching for the wire wreath forms. “We’ll make it a family affair.”
I had a natural talent for wreath-making that I’d inherited from my grandmother, along with her steady hands and eye for proportion. Emmy’s attempts tended toward the enthusiastic but lopsided. Mine came together with an almost effortless grace. I could see the finished product in my mind before I even started. I could envision exactly where each element should go to create the most pleasing composition. If I could get a job just making wreaths, I would absolutely do it.
My first wreath took shape quickly. I finished it with a burgundy velvet bow that I positioned slightly off center, the way my grandmother had taught me.
Emmy watched me work with open admiration. “How do you do that?” she asked, looking down at her own attempt, which resembled a bird’s nest more than a wreath. “It’s like you just think ‘be beautiful’ and the greenery obeys.”
“Practice,” I said, though that wasn’t entirely true. Some people had a gift for music or mathematics. I had a gift for making things beautiful. “Here, let me show you a trick.”
Under my guidance, Emmy’s wreath began to take shape. Her face lit up with pride. “Yeah! I love it!”
I heard them before I saw them. Aspen and Alder. Two little hurricanes that would definitely want to help. I was their age when my grandmother taught me.
“Looks like reinforcements have arrived,” I said, grinning as my niece and nephew walked in.
