Page 63 of Christmas Charms
A tear drips onto the screen of my phone as I type out my answer.
At the train station, but I’m on my way. See you in a few minutes.
I sniff and shove my phone back into the pocket of my coat. No doubt Susan thinks I’m engaged to Jeremy, just like everyone else in town. After all, news travels fast in Owl Lake. It’s a wonder she still wants to spend Christmas Eve with me.
“Come on, Fruitcake, let’s go. Enough wallowing.” I give my dog one last squeeze and scramble to my feet.
I’ve lost the charm bracelet, and I’ve somehow lost Aidan, all in the scope of a few hours. This isn’t the way I expected my magical Christmas to end, but there you have it. If I ever run into Betty again, we’re going to have aseriouschat.
Still, I know there’s a lot to be grateful for. I have my family, I have my dog and I have the memory of very nearly the most perfect holiday a girl could wish for, even if the ending wasn’t what I’d hoped so desperately for it to be.
But my wrist feels unsettlingly light without the comforting weight of the silver charms. I feel untethered, like I could float away. So I tighten my grip on Fruitcake’s leash as we make our way from the platform to the front of the train station, where the old grandfather clock towers over Owl Lake, just as it always has.
The station is eerily silent. With the departure of the last train, there’s no reason for anyone to be here. The parade is over, and the crowd of people that lined the streets earlier have all gone their separate ways to celebrate the holiday with their own special Christmas traditions. Merry Christmas, to one and all.
Snowflakes swirl down from above, and the night is so quiet, I can hear them land all around me in soft little wisps. Flutter, flutter, flutter. I take a step, but then I pause, because another sound breaks the silence—it’s faint at first, barely audible. But it builds and builds, just like the sudden pounding of my heart. I peer into the darkness, and my breath catches in my throat as the lights of a fire engine sweep into view.
It’s the ladder truck, and it’s heading this way.
Fruitcake goes completely still, on high alert with his ears pricked forward and his big, bushy tail held high. The closer the fire truck gets, the more animated he becomes, until he’s prancing gleefully at the end of his leash as it rumbles into the parking lot of the train station and comes to a stop at the curb just a few feet away. Fruitcake pulls away from my hold, running up to wait by the driver’s side door. The truck is still decorated with twinkle lights for the parade, and a row of light-up candy canes line the top of the cab.
I shield my eyes with my hand and squint at the windshield, but I’m almost afraid to look. Please tell me that’s Aidan behind the wheel of the big red truck, and please tell me there’s not a burning building behind me that I’m woefully unaware of. The very thought that he might be here…forme…seems too good to be true, the ultimate Christmas wish. There aren’t enough charms in the world to represent how badly I want it to be the case.
But when the fire truck door swings open and my gaze settles on the hands that belong to the uniformed man gripping its edge, my knees buckle. I know those strong, capable hands. They’re the hands of a man who can steer a car using only two fingers. Cradle a sleepy puppy in a single palm. Loosen a necktie with one swift tug.
Gather packages outside of FAO Schwartz on a crowded, fated morning in December.
Aidan.
If I say his name, I know I’ll break down. Still, the fact that he’s here has to be a good sign, right?
When he reaches the bottom step of the fire truck, he pauses to look at me. One glance is all it takes for me to see that he’s come here with his heart on his sleeve. His eyes are full and alive, brimming with equal parts hope and vulnerability. The joy that swells in my heart is almost crippling. I press my fingertips to my lips to stop myself from crying out loud. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life—not just for me, or for us, but for him.
Aidan is here, and at long last, he’s ready to put his heart on the line.
He jumps down and rushes toward me with Fruitcake hot on his heels. Longing whispers through me, and then he’s just an arm’s length away, close enough for me breathe in his evergreen and campfire scent. Close enough to throw my arms around him and kiss him silly, which I nearly do. But there are things we need to say first—things I’ve been waiting to say for eight long years, even if it took me all this time to realize it.
“Ashley.” Aidan inhales a gulp of air. He’s out of breath, as if he’s sprinted all the way here from the end of the parade route—which he basically has, albeit with the help of an emergency vehicle.
And it dawns on me what the text from Susan was all about. She wasn’t simply wondering where I was. Aidan must have asked her to help him find me. No one else in Owl Lake has any idea I’m at the train station.
“Please don’t go,” Aidan says. “Please.”
When his voice breaks on his final word, something inside me breaks along with it. Not my heart this time, but any last lingering bit of my resistance. We belong together, Aidan and me, no matter what Betty’s magic bracelet seemed to think.
I shake my head. “I’m not going anywhere. I was only here to say goodbye to Jeremy.”
“Goodbye?” Aidan says, and the unspoken question mark floating between us nearly makes me cry.
“I’m not marrying him, Aidan. I can’t, not when I—”
“Don’t say it.” He cups my cheek, presses his forehead to mine and a shiver courses through me at his touch. “Please don’t. I need to be the one to say it first.”
I nod, and my lips begin to quiver in earnest.
Aidan reaches to still them with a brush of his thumb. “I’m in love with you, Ashley. I don’t want to spend the next eight years wishing I’d had the courage to tell you how I feel. I’vealwaysloved you, and I want to build a life with you. Whether that life is here or in Manhattan or Paris doesn’t matter. I lost you once, and I don’t want to lose you again.”
At this, my mouth curves into a blissful smile. Fruitcake lets out a contented sigh. Aidan is offering to give up his entire life here in Owl Lake, just so we can stay together. But he doesn’t belong in the city. Aidan belongs right here, and I can’t imagine him living anyplace else. He’s as much a part of our hometown as the firefighter’s crest stitched onto his coat, right above his heart.
