Page 110 of One Foggy Christmas
“Thanks. You too.” I wave goodbye to the stranger.
Strangeris the keyword here.
She’s not Sadie, no matter how much my heart and my mind want her to be.
SADIE
I fight my suitcase,trying to get enough leverage to lift it onto the luggage rack. Behind me, a man reaches down, grabbing the case from my hands.
“Let me help you.”
“Thanks.” I turn over my shoulder, smiling at the kind British man. “I was struggling.”
“No problem.”
I glance down at my ticket, checking my seat number on the train. I splurged and paid for a first-class ticket on the Glacier Express. Worth it when you consider I’ll be spending eight hours on here today, traveling through the most scenic snow-capped mountains in the world. Every seat has a good view, but the first-class seats are individual—just two chairs facing each other—and since I’m a single, that seemed like a better option than being forced to sit in a group of four.
My assigned seat is in the middle of the cart, which feels like the perfect spot on this iconic train ride. I shove my bagunder my chair and sit, already enjoying the snowy views out my window even though we haven’t left the station yet.
Switzerland at Christmas is as magical as I imagined. It’s everything I hoped it would be. My eyes drift to the empty seat in front of me, but I don’t allow them to stay. Going into this trip, I knew I’d be solo and was totally okay with that. My mom worries enough for both of us, so I don’t have to. She wanted to turn my trip into a family vacation, mostly because she didn’t like the idea of me traveling alone or skiing for the first time since my accident. Understandable. But she’ll be happy to learn I haven’t actually skied yet. Only got all dressed in my new pink ski outfit and rode the gondola up and down the mountain an embarrassing number of times. Baby steps. Maybe next time, I’ll be able to ski down the hill.
A man passes by in the aisle, his cologne wafting down to me. Flashes of Nash bounce through my head—at the hospital, comforting me the night I slept at the brownstone, our first kiss on the pier by the Christmas tree, building a snowman in Clift Park. The smell of that cologne instantly brings him to the front of my mind.
I glance up, and my breath catches.
The build, the hair, the flannel jacket—it all fits.
My head cranes, and I even lift out of my seat to see if I can see his face better. Each millisecond that I don’t know for certain pounds into my chest through every heartbeat. Hope grows, and I know if it’s not him, I’ll be so disappointed.
His feet stop, and his head turns to the side, checking the seat numbers above the chairs.
I see the stubble and the jawline, and my world stops. An overwhelming feeling I can only describe as complete joy washes over me.
He turns, walking back to my row, stopping to study the number above the chair across from me. Butterflies send mystomach into an absolute frenzy of happiness—something akin to love at first sight, which is crazy considering everything that’s happened between us—everything Ididn’tfeel a year ago.
And now we’re here in Switzerland, at the same time, on the same train, sitting across from each other. My heart pounds with thoughts of fate and meant-to-be, fresh starts and second chances. The idea almost makes me burst into happy tears.
Then it hits me.
What if Nash isn’t alone?
Disappointment seeps in as I quickly glance behind me. There isn’t a beautiful woman anywhere to be found. It’s just us.
I watch as he removes his flannel jacket and shoves it into his bag. Next, he pulls out some AirPods and a book. I move my head to read the title,A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. I can’t help my smile. He pushes his bag under his chair and then sits, looking at me for the first time.
Green eyes widen with wonder, like he’s enchanted or maybe just in shock.
“I’m Sadie Bradley.” I smile, extending my hand to him. “I just thought I should introduce myself since we’ll ride this train together for the next eight hours.”
He stares at my hand before bringing his gaze back to my face. The furrow between his brows says he’s unsure if I’m real or a figment of his imagination, but he takes my hand anyway, surging warmth through my body.
His lips lift. “Nash Carter.”
I love that he decided to play my game too. Our hands don’t drop, just shake over and over between us.
“It’s nice to meet you, Nash.”
“Same to you, Sadie.”
