Page 63 of Please Send Snow
“I think so too, buddy,” Jake tells him, taking his hand.
Dylan uses his other hand to grab mine, and for a moment the three of us stand there, hand in hand, enjoying the happy sight of a lovingly decorated Christmas tree like we’re a real family.
It’s the kind of moment a girl could get used to, if she’s not careful.
“I hope you two are ready for one more surprise,” Jake says at last, his deep voice breaking the friendly silence.
Half an hour later,we’re back at the lodge, standing by the old red barn and watching Michael climb into the carriage.
“Ready for you, Mr. Stone, Miss Foster, and Mr. Stone,” he says, his eyes twinkling.
Jake gives me a hand up into the carriage and I feel light as air, not just because it’s effortless for him to help me up, but because I’mhappy.
I told him what carriage rides at the lodge meant to me last night, and he listened, again, then did his best to recreate it.
Dylan gets helped up next and he squeezes himself right beside me.
And finally, Jake swings up onto the carriage and settles in on the other side of Dylan.
“Everyone comfortable?” Michael asks.
When we all nod in agreement, he pulls out a blanket and drapes it over our laps. It’s thick and warm and Dylan shivers with delight as he snuggles in, exactly the way I used to when I was his age.
Michael climbs up to the front and clucks to the horses. They move forward, their bells jingling, and Dylan laughs with delight as we head slowly up the mountain.
All day the air has been crystalline and the taste ofsnow has been dancing on the tip of my tongue. So far though, not a flake has fallen.
Dylan and I wrote another letter to Santa this morning, and as usual, he asked for snow. His dad might be able to buy all the ornaments, and half the town while he’s at it, but there’s no way he can give his son this one gift.
I’m starting to think maybe Dylan’s Christmas wish just isn’t in the forecast. But as the path curves I feel a tiny frozen kiss on my cheek, and then another.
“It’s snowing,” Dylan chirps, amazement ringing in his voice.
“Is it?” Jake asks.
“Just flurries,” I say. “But it counts.”
“It workedagain,” Dylan cries out.
He’s obviously talking about his letter. But this is the first sign of snow.
“What do you meanagain?” I ask him.
But he’s too busy sticking his tongue out trying to catch a stray flake to answer, and for the second time today Jake Stone is laughing without holding back. The joyful sound rings out through the trees and the shimmering air, and I feel too happy to remember what I was asking in the first place.
This is it.
This is the happiness my parents felt when we were all together—I just know it. This is what my dad meant when he said Angel Mountain would take care of me.
As the trail curves in and out of the trees, Dylan gets quiet and the next thing I know, his little head is resting on my shoulder.
“He had a busy day,” Jake says softly, his eyes on his boy.
“He had awonderful day,”I add. “Thank you for doing all of this for him. And for me too.”
“I would do anything for you, Maddie,” Jake says, his blue eyes locking on mine.
And I don’t even look away, because I’m ready for this now—ready to throw my heart wide open to him.
