Page 8 of Snowy Secrets

So, here I was, facing the imminent departure of my tiny dictator with a mix of dread and disbelief. Apparently, I was supposed to use this time to "get my life together”, whatever that meant. But honestly, the thought of a week without Ginny's sticky kisses and chaotic charm is enough to send me into a full-blown panic. Who am I without my partner in crime? A sleep-deprived, pajama-clad shell of my former self, that's who.

"Good God," I say, my voice thick with dismay. "I've become just the mom I didn't want to be. I have no life outside of parenthood!"

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Mille points out reasonably. "It's supposed to be this way when they are this little, but it needn't be so…confining, you know?"

I nod bleakly. Idoknow.

"So," Millie chirps, her voice suspiciously chipper, "I had this brilliant idea. Why not book a cozy cabin near your parents’ place for the holidays? You can find yourself, rediscover yourinner goddess, and maybe even remember what it feels like to pee without an audience."

"Nope," I declare, leaping up and brushing crumbs off my leggings. "Absolutely not."

"Well…" Millie twiddles her thumbs nervously, "I may have already booked it for you."

"You WHAT?"

"Okay, look," she pleads, "it's the holiday season, Bells. And I know you want to be around family. I'm going away with Luke. If you don't go home, you'll be sitting here alone for the entire time. And pretty as your place is, you deserve something better right now."

"No," I say, shaking my head stubbornly. "I'm not going back to Whispering Pines."

"The cabin I've found on AirBnB is cute. It's not all that far from your folks’ place, and it’s owned by Marcus. You remember him, right?"

One more of Dad's best friends. God knows I'd had enough of those, too. "Millie, I…"

"It faces the Riverview Woods, and there's the promise of snow. Think of the novel you're writing, the setting, the knowledge that if you miss Ginny too much, you can just drive down to your folks' place. Isn't that…better than this?" she wordlessly gestures around her at my beautiful, empty home.

And she's right, though I hate to admit it.

I drop back down on the couch and fling my head back. I realize I don't have the energy to oppose my best friend, and even if I did, she'd wear me down eventually. "Friends don't usually book holidays for their friends, you know?" I mutter with my palm covering my eyes.

"Well, there's friends, and then there's me. I'm more of your caretaker at this point," she deadpans.

Damn her, she has to be right all the time.

I push to my feet and give her the most serious look I can muster. "What ifheis there?"

She shrugs sagely and offers me an enigmatic little smile. "IF he is, it's high time you got your closure. If he isn't, it won't matter."

A little part of me, the part that's not buried under a mountain of laundry and goldfish crackers, whispers, "But what if he still has that ridiculously charming smile? What if he still smells like cedarwood and campfire smoke? What if…?"

Okay, fine. Maybe I'm ateenybit curious.It's for the sake of my emotional well-being, I tell myself. It's purely a scientific experiment to confirm that my heart is no longer going to turn into a palpitating mess at the mere sound of his name.

"Fine," I huff, flopping my arms down beside me. "I'll go."

"Thank you."

4

BELLA

Burgundy velvet hugs my curves like a long-lost lover's embrace. I look a hell of a lot sexier than my usual mom-iform of yoga pants and stained tees. It's a dress from another era, B.G. (Before Ginny), when I was a wild child with a penchant for dancing barefoot under the moon, my laughter as carefree as my lack of responsibilities.

Tonight, B.G. Bella is making a reappearance, if only for a little while. I don't usually have cravings for returning to this Bohemian way of living. Most of the time, all I want to do is hug the young thing I was eight years ago and tell her life will get better in unimaginable ways, even if it will also be harder. But on this particular occasion, Ginny is away at her best friend's place for the night. We're driving down to Whispering Pines tomorrow morning. I'm feeling…let's just say I'd like to have one responsibly irresponsible night.

I move away from the wardrobe and toward the mirror. There is a portrait ofDianthe, Lady of the Hunt, fastened to the wall above the mirror’s golden frame. Don't ask me. A few days ago, Ginny became convinced she was a wolf-cub and wouldn't listen to any other stories except those involving, well, wolves.While reading to her, I learned about free, wild, beautiful Diana—and honestly, I was impressed. The latest book I was writing was a shifter romance, and it feature a lot of werewolves. In a split-second decision, I decide I won't be Bella tonight. I will pretend to be a fierce, otherworldly like the heroine in the book.The mirror now reflects a woman with smoldering eyes and a soft, lush smile. Damn, I look good—and I only say this because, on most days, I just settle for looking like a functional trainwreck.

My eyes mist over slightly. Don't get me wrong, I love being a mom. It's the most difficult and best thing I've ever done, and nothing else will ever come close. My own mama used to tell me life would change in unimaginable ways, and the ground would shift beneath my feet. I didn't get it then, not until I held my baby in my arms.

Mom herself was asked all the time if she wanted to have a son as well as a daughter. She always laughed and said that she was perfectly happy with just a daughter. She chose to raise me with her full, fierce heart. She made me strong, gave me wings, but told me to be mindful of never hurting others along the way. I've tried to follow her words for most of my life, and I think that they have helped immensely in raising Ginny. My daughter will grow up with a life of unabashed freedom, but I'll be damned if she doesn't learn to be responsible about not hurting herself and others—as far as it is possible.

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