“What is your dream?” I found myself genuinely curious about her answer.
Sylvie sighed and suddenly looked embarrassed. All the cheerful holiday spirit drained from her expression. “The tree farm. I know it’s silly. And simple. And so basic compared to backpacking around Australia or traveling the world or doing any of the things people our age are supposed to want.”
I said nothing, giving her space to talk.
Her voice started to crack, and I could see tears gathering in her eyes. “But next Christmas, I want to be here, with my family, doing what us Northwoods have always done. Whatwe’re supposed to do. I want to help families find their perfect trees. I want to see kids get excited about meeting Santa. I want to preserve the traditions that my ancestors started.”
A few tears spilled over. She wiped them away with the back of her glove, looking embarrassed by her emotional response.
“I know you think I’m ridiculous.” She sighed. “You have all these adventures under your belt, and I’m trying to stay home and do what I’ve always done.”
“That doesn’t sound silly at all,” I said. “And you aren’t ridiculous.”
I’d never been good with crying women. In my experience, tears usually meant someone wanted something from me that I wasn’t prepared to give. My usual response was to either throw money at the problem or make a quick exit. But something about Sylvie’s tears felt different. Raw. Honest. Like she was showing me something precious and fragile that she didn’t share with many people.
I wasn’t sure what to do with the information. So instead of running or trying to fix anything, I just wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against my side. She fit perfectly there, her head tucked under my chin, her warm breath visible in the cold air.
I didn’t say anything because I didn’t trust myself to speak. How could I tell her that her simple dream of staying here with her family was beautiful when I knew that none of this would exist by next Christmas if my father got his way? How could I offer comfort when I was the one who was going to destroy everything she cared about?
The weight of what I was really here to do settled on my chest like a stone. Sylvie’s tears weren’t just about feeling pressured to travel with her friend. They were about the very real possibility that she was going to lose everything.
And she was.
I was the one who was supposed to make that happen. I felt like the worst kind of fraud. I was her destruction waiting to happen.
CHAPTER 17
SYLVIE
The drive back to the lodge was blissfully peaceful compared to our earlier journey to town. The kids were completely wiped out after playing hard all evening and getting so much fresh air. Alder was slumped against his window, half-asleep and mumbling something about wanting hot chocolate for breakfast, while Aspen had gone completely quiet, staring out at the passing snow with the glazed expression of a child who had just enough excitement for one day.
I was grateful for the quiet, but mostly because it gave me the opportunity to steal glances at Kent without being obvious about it. If I angled myself just right in the passenger seat, I could catch glimpses of his reflection in the window. Every time we passed under a streetlight, his face would be illuminated for a brief moment. I found myself getting lost in admiring just how ridiculously handsome he was.
How was it possible for a human being to look that good? Even tired and slightly windblown from our evening at the market, he was gorgeous in a way that made my stomach flip. Strong jawline, those dark eyes that seemed to see everything, the way his hair fell just slightly across his forehead when he wasn’t perfectly groomed. Although I was pretty sure it was athousand-dollar haircut that made him look perfectly messy in the sexiest way.
He’d worn jeans. Designer, but still, he rocked them. I realized I knew very little about him. Like what did he do? Was being rich a job? Did he just kick around the country all the time? I knew he was definitely not used to the small-town thing. The poor man was so far out of his element. But he adapted. He showed up.
It wasn’t just his looks that had me stealing glances. It was the memory of how he’d been with me earlier. He showed a side of himself I would have never imagined existed. When I had broken down in the gazebo and dumped all my fears and worries on him he handled it like a champ. He didn’t try to fix anything or tell me what I should do. He hadn’t dismissed my feelings or suggested I was being silly for caring so much about something as simple as a tree farm.
I could only imagine how silly my troubles must sound to him. He was mega-rich and dealt with billions, not thousands. That was loose change for a Bancroft, from the sound of things. But that didn’t matter to him.
He’d just held me like I needed to be held, given me a steady rock to cling to when I was feeling completely adrift. There had been something so solid and reassuring about his presence, something that made me feel like maybe I didn’t have to carry all the weight of my family’s problems on my own. I hoped he saw how special the place was. We were worthy of an investment. His family had the money. He could save us.
When we pulled up to the lodge, the kids roused themselves enough to stumble out of the SUV and mumble sleepy goodnights. I hugged both Alder and Aspen.
“Thank you for going with us, Aunt Sylvie,” Aspen said, wrapping her little arms around my waist. “That was the best night ever.”
“Yeah, it was awesome,” Alder agreed, though he was swaying slightly on his feet. “Can we go again tomorrow?”
“Oh, buddy, I don’t think any of us can handle that much excitement again,” I told him. “But there will be other fun things coming up. We’ve got plenty to do. We’ll keep you busy.”
“Goodnight,” Stacy said.
“Goodnight,” I told them all.
Stacy quickly ushered the twins up the lodge steps, throwing me a meaningful look over her shoulder that I interpreted as, “we’ll talk about the Kent situation later.” I could tell by the expression on her face she was not happy to leave me alone with him.
I offered her a smile. “Goodnight,” I said again, more of a command than a farewell.
