Page 68 of Wrapped in You

Don't go.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Ferris wheel operator looked mystified that Sophie wanted off already. Sophie waved her hands and called out to him. "Please, Bob! Let us off!"

"Not me," Cindy said, smiling. "I want to spy on you from above! And look." She pulled a bag of caramel corn from her purse and waved it around. "I brought snacks, too!"

Sophie elbowed her and laughed. She felt as though she was about to float into the sky. "Okay. But if you see me pathetically fail with Derek—again—you have to get off the Ferris wheel and come help me nurse my wounds with another round of mulled wine."

"I'll be ready," Cindy promised.

Sophie bounded off the Ferris wheel and clamped the carriage closed behind her. "Be safe," she hollered back to Bob as he started the Ferris wheel up again, sending her sister back into the sky, where she longed to be.

Sophie was back on the ground, her heart pumping. Directly to her right was Johnny the postman with his wife, who was in her wheelchair, happily eating through a big blue tuft of cotton candy. Johnny leaned down to kiss her blue lips. In front of her were her mother and father, Mary and Joe, playing a carnivalgame with Mike, Isaac, and Beck, of all people. All five of them hollered at Sophie, saying, "Come join us!" But Sophie was on a mission.

"Maybe soon!" she called back as she strode past.

Sophie wove through the crowd, careful not to bump shoulders with anyone, mindful of young children, well aware that everyone was lost in the magic of their own personal moments and probably easily tipped over if she went past them too quickly. Oh, but she needed to find Derek. She needed to be close to him.

But where was he? Time felt spread out and strange. How long had she been looking? He'd been by the burger stall, but now he wasn't anywhere near it. Maybe she'd imagined him? But Cindy had seen him too!

He wasn't a mirage.

Unless Christmas magic was playing tricks on not just Sophie but also Cindy?

Unless Cindy wanted her sister to be happy so desperately that she was imagining things too.

Sophie stalled near the beer tent and the pony tent. She cupped her elbows and peered through the shadows, watching as three twelve-year-old girls rode ponies and giggled together. Sophie fully remembered being twelve at the Christmas Festival. Never could she have imagined it would be her responsibility to make sure the Christmas Festival retained its magic.

He must have gone.

He was on a walk, strolled through the festival, and left.

It was simple.

Easy.

It had nothing to do with me.

Suddenly, she felt someone behind her. Time stood still as her heart pumped, pumped, pumped in her ears. She closed her eyes as, next, through the scents of cotton candy and snow andhot mulled wine and baking dough, she smelled him. It was a smell she'd begun to recognize as singularly his: sandalwood and cologne and something else—something physical, something that could only belong to him.

The Christmas music grew quieter and quieter, and soon, it was as though all she could hear was her breath, her swirling thoughts, and the sound of his voice. "Sophie?"

Sophie turned around. There he was, Director Derek Brownlee, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, his wounded eyes big and open and wet. Had he been crying? Had he been locked away in his cabin, thinking of his wife?

Maybe today was the anniversary of her death.

Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat and gazed into his eyes. It felt just as it had when he'd kissed her that morning on set—like they were the only two people in the world, despite the crowd around them, despite the sound of the carnival rides and the cries of joy.

Derek remained quiet. Was he waiting for her to say something?

Suddenly, Sophie felt exhilarated. She felt as though she could say anything.

"You shouldn't have kissed me," she said. It was the first thing she'd said to him since she'd gone to his cabin with stew.

Derek didn't flinch. He took his hands out of his pockets, and Sophie watched them—his strong and capable hands. Was he going to touch her? What would she do?

He spread them out in front of him and said, "I've been a monster. And I'm sorry."

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