Page 60 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
They’d been together for nearly a decade.
One night.
One night had changed everything.
THIRTY-EIGHT
MEG
Meg decided to swing by the lodge for a snack instead of heading to her cabin. The morning had gone long, and she was suddenly famished. It was nearly two, and since the party didn’t start for hours, she had time to kill.
There was also the issue of Matt’s mysterious gift and the letter, which felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket.
Should she burn it?
Maybe.
The lodge was bustling with families and couples enjoying the cozy Christmas atmosphere, warming up near the roaring fire with mugs of hot chocolate and sugar cookies fresh from the oven. A group of carolers dressed in Victorian costumes gathered near the large arched windows, harmonizing vintage songs.
Meg headed for the bar and found a secluded spot with a gorgeous view of the snowy landscape. She ordered a bowl of chicken corn chowder and a beer and retrieved the festive package from her bag.
The wordsTo Megs, Merry Christmaswere written in red and green Sharpie on the craft paper.
She untied the bow and used the edge of a knife to peel back the tape on the box from Matt. He had obviously wrapped it himself. The folds were precise and neat, as seamless as the work of a Hollywood plastic surgeon.
She set the paper and bow to the side and opened the box.
Her jaw went slack when she looked inside.
It was a Christmas ornament.
The most beautiful ornament she’d ever seen.
And one with a meaning that sent her head spinning.
Matt had given her a Christmas snowy owl.
Its dainty features and soft, cream-downy feathers hung from a silver chain.
She held it to the light, thinking of Gam. What had she said about the meaning of a snowy owl flying into your life? Wisdom, enlightenment, and a shift in perspective.
How did Matt know? Or was it bigger than them?
Got you, Universe.
Message received.
Loud and clear.
Meg gently tucked the ornament back in the box and drew in a long breath for courage. It couldn’t get much clearer than this. Now was as good a time as any to rip off the Band-Aid and read his letter.
The letter was smudged and smeared with blue ink. Words were crossed out like he’d taken a stab at what he wanted to say and then gone back and started all over again.
Megs,
Let me start by saying I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.
I never pictured we’d end up like this—on opposite sides of the country, not speaking. I hate not being a part of your life. Ihate not knowing what you’re up to, how you’re feeling, and getting to hang out with you. Watching you on the screen feels flat like I’m only seeing a tiny part of you—the part you let everyone see.
