Page 11 of Christmas Charms
I think I was just intent on believing that seeing Aidan again after all this time was a non-event. Certainly not anything meaningful or fated. But the longer I go without mentioning it, the more important the encounter begins to feel.
Maya studies me, and when she speaks again, her voice has gone soft. Serious. “What exactly happened back then? You never talk about it beyond the bare minimum.”
“The night before I left for college, he surprised me with an engagement ring. We’d already planned on dating long distance since I’d gotten a scholarship at MassArt in Boston and he was staying to study at the local college in Owl Lake, but we’d never discussed marriage before.” I glance down at the bare ring finger of my freshly manicured hand.
I can still picture that ring with perfect clarity—antique, rose gold with a small emerald-cut center stone, surrounded by a decorative halo of tiny diamond chips. It looked like it could have been right out of one of the classic movies we loved so much—absolutely breathtaking. Even after four years of working at Windsor, and even after having Audrey’s infamous pink diamonds placed around my neck, that modest vintage ring is still the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever set eyes on.
“I just sort of…panicked.” I shook my head. “We were so young. In love, yes, but going in completely different directions. I’d lived in Owl Lake my entire life. I was excited about moving away and seeing the world. He knew my plans. All I could talk about was getting my degree and moving to New York or London or Paris, like Audrey Hepburn’s character inSabrina. I wanted to start my own jewelry line someday. I loved him with my whole heart, but promising to marry him would have changed everything. Does that make sense?”
“Of course it does. You were practically kids,” Maya says.
“I asked him if he could just hold onto the ring and ask me again later, when we were older. When we wereready. He agreed, but after I left Owl Lake, things just…ended. I think he was crushed that I’d said no, and I felt too guilty to face him again. I’ve hardly been back to Owl Lake at all since I left. My college internship kept me insanely busy, even during the holidays, and you know how crazy it gets at Windsor.”
“Wow, that’s such a sad story.” Maya reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “But it’s ancient history and it certainly doesn’t have anything to do with Jeremy. I don’t want to hear another word about you being punished for it. You’re one of the kindest people I know. No one deserves to have their heart broken, least of all you. You deserve to be happy, Ash. You still deserve the Christmas of your dreams, with or without Jeremy.”
“Ha.” I stand to throw away our now-empty ice cream carton and put our spoons in the sink. “That ship has most definitely sailed. Or, more accurately, that plane will be taking off for Paris in about eight hours. Without me.”
“So does this mean you’re staying in New York for the holidays? I know you’ve already asked for the time off, but you know how chaotic Windsor gets this time of year. They might give you some hours if you ask. You could come with me to my mom’s on Christmas Day, like you always do.” Maya grins hopefully at me, and then my phone chimes with yet another incoming text.
I freeze right where I’m standing.
“Do you think that could be Jeremy?” Maya asks, wide-eyed.
Both of our heads swivel toward my phone, sitting innocently on the kitchen table in its protective silver glitter snowman case.
“You look,” I say. “I can’t bear it.”
What if he’s had a change of heart? Although, at this point, what could he possibly say that would convince me to climb aboard a flight to France?
Just kidding! Idowant to marry you.
Not likely. Such an about-face would probably take a Christmas miracle. I’m not sure I even want him to change his mind, anyway.
“It’s a picture of your parents.” Maya holds up my phone for inspection. My mom and dad, all bundled up in winter gear at a Christmas tree farm, grin at me from the tiny screen.
My stomach tumbles. “My mom’s been texting me all day. She’s afraid my phone won’t work overseas, and she doesn’t want me to miss Christmas at Owl Lake.”
But I’m not going to be in France for the holidays anymore, which means I don’t have a single legitimate reason not to go home. My vacation days from work are already booked, and my packed suitcase is still sitting by the door. I could beg to get back on Windsor’s Christmas schedule, but if my family found out that I had the time free and deliberately chose not to come home, they would definitely be hurt, and that’s the last thing I want.
Besides, it’s not like I’ve been actively trying to avoid Christmas in my hometown in recent years. Other things have simply gotten in the way. I need to show the management team at Windsor that I’m a devoted employee if I ever hope to get promoted, and devoted employees work on Christmas Eve. A trip to France was about the only thing that could drag me away from the charms counter on the busiest shopping day of the year.
You’re not going to Paris anymore, remember?
The truth is finally beginning to sink in.
Maya’s eyebrows lift. “I’m guessing you haven’t told your folks about you and Jeremy yet.”
I shake my head. “No, not yet.”
We’ve been broken up for less than two hours. I don’t feel like reliving the humiliating pizza dinner again—not yet. There will be time to explain later. Maybe it will seem less mortifying if I tell my mom and dad what happened in person, over a warm cup of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and a dash of cinnamon, the way my grandma used to make it. Maybe the perfect way to get over heartbreak is to spend Christmas Eve taking dinner to the old firehouse with my parents and then to wake up in my childhood bedroom on Christmas morning. Maybe a trip back home for the holidays is just what I need.
It’s not Paris, but it might be the next best thing.
Owl Lake, here I come.
With only ten days to go until Christmas, Grand Central Station is a complete madhouse the following day. The annual holiday fair is in full swing, with booths stretching from one end of the station’s historic Vanderbilt Hall to the other, selling everything from original artwork to toys and craft items. Shoppers, commuters and tourists alike weave through the crowd carrying colorfully wrapped packages and parcels decorated with ribbons and bows. In between announcements for departing trains, Christmas music plays over the loudspeakers, and even though everyone has places to go and people to see, the mood in the station is festive. It almost feels like a party, albeit a party to which I am a surprise guest with no plus-one.
I arrive at Grand Central bright and early and manage to snag the very last ticket on the evening train with a stop at Owl Lake. I should be home by bedtime. Since my hometown is such a small village nestled far upstate in the shadow of the Adirondack Mountains, only a few trains per day run from Manhattan to Owl Lake’s tiny railway station. There are about half a dozen stops at various points in between, so when I drag my suitcase—still stuffed with everything I so lovingly packed for Paris—onto the train, most of the seats are already taken. I make my way down the aisle until I finally spot an empty window seat next to an older woman wrapped in a pretty red cape with her snow-white hair swept up into a magnificent bun.
