Page 44 of Mistletoe Sky
“Why would he not?” Amelie asked. “It’s all he wants.”
As they worked, they spoke about Hannah and the Christmas Festival Committee, how they’d drawn Willa back into the fold, hoping that the Caraway girls would return and forgive their father.
“I wish they’d come to Chicago and told me themselves,” Willa said.
Amelie chuckled. “Aren’t you Midwestern? Midwesterners never say what they want to say.”
Willa sniffed with soft laughter. It was true that Midwesterners kept things to themselves, never wanting to reveal their cards or admit what they truly felt. But what good did that do? It led to so many misunderstandings. It forced you to live in fear forever.
“Ironically, my fear of losing my job brought me here,” Willa said. “Now, all I want to do is quit.”
Amelie laughed, throwing her head back. “You’re really going to quit? After all those years at the same company?”
Willa winced, thinking of all those missed holidays, sad evenings alone, writing advertising copy, all those meetings, the annoying bounce of Gavin, the money she’d thought she’d wanted until she had it and realized how empty it was.
“Now that I’m here, I can’t go back,” Willa said, reaffirming herself.
“We can go together to get your stuff,” Amelie said. “I’ve never been to Chicago.”
Willa was surprised. “After all your vagabonding? You never made it to the Windy City?”
“That was your territory,” Amelie reminded her. “I covered the rest of the country. But I never wanted you to feel like I was chasing you.”
Willa nodded, feeling both grateful and sad at the same time. She wished Amelie had banged on her door and demanded to be let in. But Willa knew she wouldn’t have let her.
Not long after they started shoveling, Pascal appeared on the porch of his bed-and-breakfast, his own shovel glinting. “The Caraway twins!” he called. “I was wondering where you were, Amelie.” He shot through the snow, dropping down in his boots. His legs were long enough to take him all the way across the street, to the path they’d drawn across the sidewalk. “You’ve done this before,” he said, impressed. “I’m slowly getting the hang of it, after so many winters here.”
Amelie and Willa smiled.
“You’ll get used to it,” Willa assured.
Pascal dropped the shovel and looked from Amelie to Willa and back again, assessing the situation. It was clear that Pascal knew the story their father had told Amelie last night. He was worried.
“We’re going to hand-deliver packages of fudge to people on the island,” Amelie explained, when nobody else spoke. “There are snowshoes in the back room.”
“And it doesn’t look like we’ll have a Christmas Festival today,” Willa said. “We thought we’d bring the festival home to everyone instead.”
Pascal clapped his hands. “That’s a wonderful idea. Oh, but it will take you the entire day!”
“We’re willing to do it.” Willa shrugged. “I need the exercise. And I don’t feel like working at my computer on such a beautiful day.” She gestured at the clear blue sky above.
Just as Pascal was about to say something else, perhaps to offer up his services, a motor sounded from down the road. Willa turned, squinting through the sunlight, just as a snowmobile whipped down the hill and toward the fudge shop. It didn’t take long to realize it was Marius Isaacson: black-haired and bundled up and driving directly toward her. Willa’s heart pounded. It was her turn to drop her shovel, this time with alarm.
“Oh goodness,” Amelie breathed, stepping toward Pascal and drawing her arm through his. “It’s Marius.”
Marius parked the snowmobile and got off, removing his helmet and smiling nervously at Willa. “I just went to check on you at the Rosemary Cottage. I was worried when I couldn’t find you.”
Willa’s heart pounded. It was hard for her to fathom that he’d still wanted to check on her despite the fact she’d resisted his kiss the other night. She swallowed.
“I came here when it started to snow,” she said, her voice soft. “Amelie and I stayed upstairs in the old apartment.”
Marius’s eyes scanned to the second floor. Willa tried to read his expression, to try to fathom what he really felt about her. Did he think she was pathetic? Did he think she was just a potential wintertime fling, one who’d return to Chicago when they were done with each other?
Before either of them could speak, Amelie perked up.
“Marius! Maybe you can help us,” she said.
Marius, Willa, and Pascal turned to look at her. Amelie blushed, as though she’d spoken out of turn.
