Page 27 of Please Send Snow
“Thank you, Dylan,” she tells him, the look in her eyes so fond that I have to turn away.
No wonder he adores her. Anyone would want to be looked at like that.
We bundle up and head out into the cold rain. This time she doesn’t seem as surprised when I open the passenger door for her.
When I start up the car the local station is too crackly, so I turn it off. That seems to happen a lot up here.
“I want music,” Dylan whines.
“Why don’t we sing?” Maddie offers, before I have the chance to get annoyed at the whining.
“Okay,” Dylan says. “A Christmas song?”
The radio up here has been playing pretty much non-stop Christmas music since we got here. I was honestly glad for a little break from it, but I’m not going to ruin their fun.
“How about ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas?’” Maddie suggests.
“I can’t remember all the stuff in it,” Dylan says sadly.
“I’ll help you,” Maddie tells him. “I know every day.”
She starts singing, then he joins in, and it’s pretty cute to hear them. Maddie sounds a little husky but she keeps the tune just right. And Dylan’s squeaky voice is so expressive that it almost makes the song better when he gets one of the items wrong.
More than once I almost start singing along myself without meaning to, but I manage to keep a lid on it.
I don’t sing, especially not Christmas songs.
Dylan is so captivated that we manage to make our way down the whole mountain without him freaking out that the car is going tofall off, so that’s a win. Not that I can really blame the kid about being worried up here. We come from a hilly San Francisco suburb, but this mountain is something else with its narrow windy road and sudden extreme vistas. It’s caught me off guard a few times since we arrived.
By the time we arrive at the outskirts of the small business area that passes for a town here, the rain has stopped. Another small win, but I’ll take it.
We pass a cute little park and enter the street with the shops. I pull into a parking space and take a quick look around at a whole lot of nothing. It’s so quiet here, even during the day, so different from our old town that always seemed to be hopping, day or night.
Maddie is out in a heartbeat, helping Dylan out of his booster and leaving me to scan the storefronts for a shop to take her to. There’s a boutique ski shop, probably a newer place by the looks of it. My ex would have made a beeline to it, so I’m guessing that’s what Maddie will want too.
Interestingly, the town seems to be a hodgepodge of ancient shops that probably cater to the old year-round population, touristy spots for the summer and Christmas crowds, and newer high-end places that probably came in along with the chalets and the Manhattanites.
I know I should pay attention, but watching Maddie shiver as she holds Dylan’s hand, I figure I can do my market research another time.
“Come on,” I say gruffly, heading for the boutique.
Dylan wants to run ahead, and instead of holding him back, Maddie runs with him, her dark hair lifting in the breeze, both of them laughing.
It’s nice. And the air smells like the snow that never seems to fall.
I could get used to this.
I won’t though. This place isn’t my speed. We’re here to get the project going. Then I move on to phase two.
Maddie and Dylan reach the boutique, but she surprises me by going into the thrift shop next door instead.
I’m thrown for a moment, but then I remember thatthriftingis trendy now. All the kids are doing it these days. Orup-cycling, or whatever they call it.
They also have their credit cards stored on their phones or they pay with those online systems. A lost suitcase wouldn’t even slow down their consumption.
But there’s no time to try to unravel the mystery that is Maddie Foster, because they’re already out of sight.
I push open the door, sending the bells over it jingling, and scan the racks until I see Maddie, holding up a sweater to herself.
