Page 53 of Christmas Charms
And my apartment that doesn’t allow pets,I think, reaching down to scratch Fruitcake behind his ears.
“I know, buddy. You’ve been so patient today. We should pack up and go for a little walk, hmm?”
He scrambles to his feet, and the patron at the table next to us smiles. Dogs are welcome pretty much everywhere in Owl Lake, and Fruitcake’s fan club seems to be growing by the day. I suppose if I had to, it would be really easy to find him a new home. But just the thought of telling him goodbye makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Maya and I will just have to find a new place to live after the holidays. Someplace pet friendly and available immediately—in the most expensive city in the United States. That’s possible, isn’t it?
Only a person with a magic charm bracelet could believe in that sort of Christmas miracle.
I sigh, gather my binder in my arms and take my empty coffee cup to the front counter as Fruitcake trots beside me at the end of his leash. We bid goodbye to the barista and then make our way outside. A frosty wind sends ripples through Fruitcake’s golden fur, but the cold air on my face feels good. I lift my gaze to the sky, where stars twinkle against the deepening darkness. Yet another thing I’ve forgotten since I’ve been away—the breathtaking beauty of a starlit sky.
My gaze flits toward Enchanting Jewels again, and Fruitcake cocks his head at me, tail wagging like a pendulum.
“Don’t even think it. There’s not a single charm on my bracelet shaped like a jewelry store,” I mutter, and then my phone rings, so I turn my back on the quaint jewelry shop and answer it.
“Hey, Ash.” Aidan’s voice come through the line, and I feel like I’m in high school again. We used to spend hours on the phone back then. We actually talked instead of texting.
“Hi.” My smile creeps into my tone, and I tell myself to calm down. Aidan isn’t about to ask me to prom. This call is sure to be parade-related.
“I just got off duty and I’m about to deliver a load of donated toys to a church up in North Pole. Pastor Mike, the head clergyman up there, is a friend of mine. We’ve got several boxes of things for the community served by his chapel. I’m pretty sure your dad once told me you always loved North Pole when you were a kid.” He lets out a low laugh that sends shivers coursing through me.It’s just the cold air,I try to tell myself.Sure it is.“I figured it’s been a while since you’ve been there, so I thought you might want to tag along.”
He’s not talking abouttheNorth Pole, obviously. North Pole, New York, is a tiny hamlet only fifteen miles or so from Owl Lake, best known for its Santa’s Workshop theme park. The park has been around since the 1940s, so it’s not sleek or modern by today’s standards. I haven’t quite thought of it like this before, but I suppose it could be considered vintage.
“I’d love to,” I say. I haven’t been to North Pole since I was probably ten years old, and I’m sure what Aidan is suggesting is more of a glorified errand than a date, but I’m tingling with anticipation, all the same.
The feeling goes away when reality sets in and I remember my dad’s concerns from last night. I still need to remind Aidan that I’m going back to the city right after Christmas.
“I’ll come get you at the lake house in ten minutes?” Aidan says.
“Actually, I was just leaving the coffee shop if you want to pick me up here.” I glance down at Fruitcake, who’s regarding me with his melting puppy dog eyes. “Fruitcake is with me, though.”
“Fruitcake is more than welcome to tag along,” Aidan says.
We hang up, and I’m struck by how happy he sounded. Even though he’s moving straight from his shift to more work in a volunteer capacity, I can sense a change in him. He’s letting down his guard and letting life in. I can feel it. I just wish I didn’t have to remind him that I’m leaving so soon. The timing is admittedly terrible. But maybe I’m overthinking things. I’ve never told Aidan I was staying in Owl Lake for good. He knows I’m committed to my job—so committed that I ran myself ragged trying to get into Manhattan for days on end. He can’t possibly be surprised to hear I’m going back once Christmas is over.
Minutes later, I’m once again sitting in the passenger seat of an OLFD vehicle. We’re in the small SUV again, and the back of it is piled high with cardboard boxes containing Christmas gifts collected by the firefighters and the toy parade. The community church we’re visiting in North Pole will be distributing them to families on Christmas morning.
I’ve never thought much about the way the toy parade works and the mostly anonymous role the fire department plays in getting so many presents into the hands of children who might otherwise never have a gift to open on Christmas morning. There’s very little public attention given to the organizers—and that’s deliberate. The firefighters truly want to keep the focus on the children. I think it’s one of the things that makes the toy parade’s charity mission so special.
I take a sideways glance at Aidan as he maneuvers the SUV onto the state highway that leads to North Pole. He’s relaxed, with his elbow propped on the armrest, casually holding onto the steering wheel with just two fingers.
I smile to myself and burrow further into the soft leather seat. “Thanks for asking me to come along. You’re right. I haven’t been out this way in a long time.”
Fruitcake’s head pops between us from the back seat, panting softly, and he almost looks like he’s grinning. Aidan gives his chest a sweet pat, and before I know it, the dog’s chin is resting contentedly on Aidan’s shoulder. They look so cute together that I have trouble forcing my next words out.
“Aidan, you know I’m still going back to New York after Christmas, right?” I focus intently on the dashboard in front of me because I’m not sure I can take it if Aidan slips back into character as the cranky action hero who first found me at the Owl Lake train station.
A quiet moment passes between us. The only sounds I hear are the crunch of the snow beneath the tires as Aidan pulls into the church’s parking lot and Fruitcake’s happy sighs.
The vehicle rolls to a halt in front of a small country chapel with a tall white steeple rising into the velvety night sky. Beyond the church, in the distance, I can see the carousel at the amusement park spinning round and round. The poles are painted red and white like candy canes, and instead of carousel horses, the children are sitting on pretty painted reindeer. They move gracefully up and down as the carousel spins, and it almost seems like they’re flying.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aidan says, and there’s an unexpected tenderness to his tone that squeezes my heart so hard that I press the heel of my hand against my breastbone to try and ease it.
He knows I’m leaving. He couldn’t possibly forget, but it’s okay. I can tell that any hard feelings that lingered between us are gone, which should come as an immense relief. Somehow, though, the fact that my departure is a given hurts even more.
I’m a mess, basically. Why does being back home seem to get harder every day when it should be getting easier?
“Absolutely,” I say, swallowing hard.
