Page 21 of Christmas Charms
“I truly was planning on coming right back,” I say.
He sneaks a sideways glance at me, and my heart gives a little squeeze. My stupid, stupid heart. “I believe you.”
I cannot be attracted to Aidan Flynn. I have far more important things to worry about at the moment, not least of which is the fact that I just broke up with the man who I foolishly believed was about to ask me to marry him. The butterflies zipping around my insides are just nerves, nothing more.
The ride to my parents’ lake house is quick, especially since we’re pretty much the only vehicle on the road. Dad wasn’t kidding when he insisted that the storm had shut down the entire town. Several of the local businesses seem to be open, but people are out walking from place to place instead of driving. The sledding hill behind the fire station appears to be the hottest spot in town.
“How’s your mom?” I ask. “And Susan?”
Aidan’s sister used to be one of my closest friends, and I suddenly miss her so much that her absence in my life feels like a physical ache, deep in my chest. Why is coming home always so hard?
“They’re both great,” he says without elaborating.
Okay, then. I was hoping he’d tell me about the twin nieces I’ve already seen in dozens of pictures (thank you, Facebook), but I guess we’re past the point of sharing personal details about our lives. The ache in my chest is beginning to feel more like a chasm.
We arrive home in a matter of minutes, and I quickly realize that Aidan may have turned off the siren, but he left the engine lights on. They sweep across the snowy front lawn in dancing rays of red and gold. The effect is oddly beautiful.
“When did your parents get a dog?” Aidan says as his mouth curves into a smile at long last.
Fruitcake is sitting by the front door in the same spot where I first found him last night. He cocks his head when he sees me, as if he’s been waiting there for me his entire life, tail wagging like a pendulum.
I shake my head. “They didn’t. He just sort of keeps…appearing.”
Aidan turns toward me and regards me with sudden interest, like he might not have me quite as figured out as he’d thought.
You have no idea, I almost say.There might be a magic bracelet stuck on my wrist.
I can’t tell him that, obviously. It sounds completely nuts. But despite the years stretching between us, he’s still the person I most want to confide in. I don’t know why. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, since the moment I woke up on the train in Owl Lake,nothinghas.
“I found the dog right there on the porch last night, or maybe he found me. I’m not exactly sure which. I should probably try and figure out who he belongs to.” I really should get right on that, especially since I’m apparently stuck here for the time being. There’s got to be a logical explanation for his presence. Golden retrievers don’t just materialize out of thin air. “He doesn’t have a collar or ID tags, so I’ve been calling him Fruitcake.”
Aidan arches a brow. “Fruitcake?”
“Christmas and all,” I say by way of explanation, leaving out the part about my recently nutty life.
“Cute name.” Aidan smiles again until he seems to realize that he’s no longer scowling at me and his lips straighten into a flat line. “I should probably be getting back to the train station.”
“Right, of course. Thanks so much for the ride.” I start to climb down from my seat, but Aidan hops down and opens my door for me before I manage to do it myself.
The gesture is so reminiscent of the many times he brought me home after a date back in high school that my cheeks grow warm. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, but when I climb down to the snowy ground and look up to meet his gaze, his expression is still a complete blank.
“Thanks again,” I say, doing my best to ignore the disappointment I have no business feeling. Then I turn to go, anxious to get inside and put an end to this uncomfortable encounter.
“Hey,” Aidan says, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn around to face him, and his gaze shifts to Fruitcake for a second and then back to me.
“I can ask around about the dog, if that helps. One of the guys at the station is bound to have heard about a missing dog.” Aidan shrugs. “You know how small towns are.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that,” I say.
It’s been years since I’ve been home, but yes, I do know how small towns are. Much like those eyes of his, bluer than the bluest of Christmases, there are certain things a girl never forgets.
No matter how long she’s been away.
Chapter Seven
The house is thick withthe smell of warm sugar and vanilla when I stomp the snow from my boots and let myself in. By my side, Fruitcake’s nose twitches. My stomach rumbles, and I pause in the entryway to take a deep inhale.
