I welcomed the change of subject, even though the Christmas market was another reminder of how much our community had shrunk over the years. What used to be a major event that drew visitors from surrounding towns was now mostly a gathering for locals trying to maintain traditions that fewer and fewer people seemed to care about.
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “Brom’s going to stay back and keep an eye on the lodge. Stacy wants to take Alder and Aspen into town so they can play with their friends. I figured I’d go along to help wrangle them. I was going to put up a few flyers as well. Just in case people forgot we were out here.”
“That sounds nice,” Mom said. “It’ll be good for you to get off the property for a while, spend some time with people your own age. You have been on this farm far too long. I blame us for that. We should have done better.”
“Mom, you make me sound like a hermit,” I said. “I’ve been off the farm plenty. I like it here.”
“I just worry we might have held you back.”
I knew why she was going down this road. She was thinking about the demise of our way of life. She was probably thinking I couldn’t make it in the real world.
I knew I could.
Mom launched into a spiel about her latest obsession, knitting. She set down her teacup and her whole face lit up.
“Oh, that reminds me! I joined the knitting circle at the community center,” she said, practically bouncing in her chair. “We’re making baby blankets for the new mothers at the hospital in Albany. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Dad and I exchanged a glance. Mom had never been much of a crafts person. She had always been too busy running the lodge to sit still long enough for needlework. But apparently retirement was changing that.
“That’s great, Mom,” I said, trying to match her enthusiasm. “How’s it going?”
She grimaced. “Well, that’s the problem. Everyone else in the group has been knitting for years. Decades, some of them. And here I am, fumbling around with these needles like I’ve never seen yarn before.” She picked up the Christmas stocking she’d been mending and held it up as evidence. “Look at these stitches! They’re so uneven. Mrs. Wickman—you remember her from the post office—she can knit an entire row in the time it takes me to do three stitches. And don’t even get me started on Pearl. That woman’s fingers move so fast it’s like watching magic.”
I could hear the frustration creeping into her voice. Mom had always been competent at everything she touched. Seeing her doubt herself over something as simple as knitting felt wrong.
“I’m worried I’m going to ruin the whole project,” she said with a sigh. “These blankets are going to new mothers, Sylvie. They should be perfect. What if my section unravels? What if it’s so obviously amateur that it ruins the whole thing?”
“Mom,” I said gently, “I’m sure your knitting is fine. And even if it’s not perfect, the thought behind it is what matters. Those new mothers aren’t going to care if your stitches are a little uneven.”
“You should see what the other ladies are producing. Beautiful, intricate patterns that look like they belong in a boutique. And then there’s my contribution, looking like a kindergartner’s art project.”
Dad cleared his throat from his recliner. “Gigi, you’ve been at this for what, two weeks? Cut yourself some slack.”
“Three weeks,” she corrected. “And I should be better by now. I used to pick things up so quickly. Remember when I taught myself to use that new reservation system for the lodge in one afternoon?
I did remember. Mom had always been the type of person who could master anything she set her mind to, usually faster than anyone expected. It was one of the things that made her such an amazing mom.
As she spoke, I found myself thinking about Kent. Would he want to come to the Christmas market? The thought of showing him around town, introducing him to more of our community, was surprisingly appealing. Maybe seeing Northwood at its most festive and charming would help him understand what made this place special, what made it worth investing in.
I didn’t mention him to my parents, though. The possibility that Kent’s family might be interested in some kind of business partnership or investment was too fragile, too uncertain to share yet. I learned the hard way not to get my hopes up too quickly or let myself believe in solutions that might turn out to be mirages.
But I couldn’t help the flutter of excitement in my chest when I thought about what his presence here might mean. He seemed genuinely interested in the property today, asking thoughtful questions and even helping out with the tree disaster. And whenhe mentioned that his family was always looking for investment opportunities?
I pushed the thought away before it could fully form. I needed to be smart about this. Get to know him better, understand what he was really looking for, before I started counting on anything.
“The market should be lovely this year,” Mom was saying. “I heard they have some new vendors coming in from Albany.”
“Mmm,” I murmured, only half listening as I mentally debated whether to ask Kent to join us. What was the worst that could happen? He would say no, and I’d go to the market with Stacy and the kids like originally planned.
Or he’d say yes, and I would get to see whether Kent Bancroft could appreciate small-town Christmas magic when it wasn’t attached to a business opportunity.
CHAPTER 14
KENT
I’d been surprised when Sylvie invited me into town earlier in the evening, but I was eager to go. I wanted to understand what Northwood was really all about. It wasn’t just about seeing what my dad wanted to destroy. I wanted to see the community that meant so much to her beyond just the tree farm and lodge. She had hyped it up.
What I hadn’t anticipated was finding myself crammed into the back seat of Stacy’s SUV between her two kids, who were currently belting out what had to be the most annoying Christmas song ever written at volumes that could probably shatter glass.
