“Oh, Tripp,” Jillian said.
He turned and watched the sleigh approach. The horses were a picture of health, their coats glossy, thick manes lifting in the wind.
“Hi there,” the driver said with a wave. “I’m Samuel.”
Once Tripp had helped Jillian into the sleigh and then seated himself beside her, Samuel lowered a warm blanket overtheir laps.
“Enjoy the ride,” the driver said, clucking to the horses.
Jillian let out a sweet little giggle as the sleigh jerked forward and Trip couldn’t help grabbing her hand and squeezing gently.
A path just wide enough for the sleigh opened up as they left the meadow behind, moving through the snowy trees to the sound of the bells.
Too soon, Samuel brought the horses to a stop in front of a big log cabin.
“It’s like something out of a storybook,” Jillian murmured.
She wasn’t wrong. Warm light glowed from the windows and a swirl of smoke rose from the chimney.
“Welcome to Mia’s,” Samuel said with a smile.
Tripp hopped out, and then helped Jillian down.
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the cabin.
They headed up the narrow path, hand in hand.
Tripp had never done deliveries here, Mia had her own system, and with the winding way to approach the place, he understood why. But he was happy that he hadn’t seen it before. It was fun to experience it for the first time with Jillian.
Her wonder at it all tugged at his heart, and he thought again that it was a shame that with all the caring she did for other people, it didn’t seem like anyone had been trying to make life magical for her.
Mia’s right-hand man, Remi, ushered them in. As he talked to Jillian about the construction of the cabin, with its surprisingly high ceilings and big, roaring fireplace, Tripp took in the space on his own terms.
He knew instantly from the quality of the construction and the service that this was what his brother would callfine dining. But West was a doctor, and he was a little more used to this kind of thing.
As nice as it was, the place also seemed comfortable. Maybe it was the red checkered tablecloths or the framed black-and-white photos of simple Italian scenes that could have been from any time in history. But he didn’t have thatI don’t belong herefeeling that he sometimes got when he went to fancy shops in Burlington.
Before long, they had ordered and they were sipping drinks and sampling the basket of homemade garlic bread that had been dropped at their table.
“Can you believe we’re the only ones here?” Jillian whispered across the candlelit table.
“It pays to eat early,” Tripp told her.
“All school nurses should date farmers,” Jillian said.
Tripp laughed and took another thick slab of garlic bread.
“You don’t like it?” he asked, indicating her half-eaten slice.
“Oh, if I finish that I won’t be able to eat my dinner,” she said. “I don’t want to fill up on bread, even though it might be the best bread I’ve ever eaten.”
“What an idea,” Tripp said, shaking his head.
“You’re a big eater,” Jillian said, nodding.
“Always have been,” he said. “I think it’s all the time outside—works up my appetite.”
She nodded and he couldn’t help noticing how her eyes slid over his arms and chest before she caught herself and looked studiously downat the table.
