Second Chance Holiday (Spruce Crossing Christmas Book 2)

8. Christian

The next three days whiz by as Christmas approaches, and I prepare to inform my friends and loved ones about my move to California while Spruce Crossing explodes in its usual festivities around me.

All the décor is out now, the brilliant bright lights lining all the major streets, the park jampacked with snowmen and snow forts at every angle. All the shops are alight with frosted characters on the windows. The countdown is on to Santa’s arrival, but I can’t get on board with the spirit, my nerves raw and shot as the days pass.

I’ve been putting off informing anyone, except Violet Whitaker, because I need to put my house on the market, but I trust her enough to keep the sale a secret for now. But I can’t put it off forever. The house needs to be packed up, and movers need to be secured.

My mom needs to know. Mason has to hear that I’m going, not to mention my staff who will need proper severance packages. I’m sure another vet will take my place and offer them jobs as soon as they arrive, but until then, I’ll need to tide them over with something.

Ava should learn the truth from me, too.

Today, I wait for the real estate agent impatiently, glad I’ve closed the clinic for emergencies only to deal with my other issues.

“I need to tell you something,” Violet confesses, sliding into the booth when she arrives at the Daily Grind, snow falling off her shoulders and onto the wood tabletop.

The coffee shop is bustling with the usual morning crowd, the din almost unbearable as I strain forward to hear her. I got here right at opening to find a booth and ordered us both a coffee, but I’m far too jazzed up to drink much more than I’ve already consumed.

I reach for the manila folder in front of her, but she stops me. “Christian.”

My eyes dart upward. “What?”

“I have to tell you something.”

I cock my head. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me there’s a problem with the house. I thought you said we’d have no issue selling it.”

“Oh, no. No, it’s not the house,” she promises. “It’s… I told someone that you’re leaving.”

I grimace and drop the folder, flopping back in the booth.

“It was the one thing I asked you not to do,” I remind her, exasperated.

“She won’t say anything,” Violet promises.

My eyebrow shoots up. “She?”

“Ava Norwood.”

The blood drains out of my face. “What did you tell her, Violet?”

She cringes, catching my displeasure. “I told her you were putting your house on the market because you got a job offer in California.”

“Oh, Violet!” My voice is so loud, I silence half the nearby tables, but I barely notice as I slip out of the booth and leave the paperwork with the real estate agent. “I have to talk to her.”

“I’m sorry, Christian! I’m sure she won’t say anything! It’s Ava!” Violet calls out after me, but I don’t turn around as I rush out of the coffee shop, forgetting my jacket as I move. By the time I remember it, I’m already down the street, but I don’t bother going back for it.

The bells chime over my head as I enter Sweet Treats, announcing my arrival, and to my relief, Ava is standing behind the counter when I enter. But there are customers in the store. I wait impatiently for my turn as she deals with them, her head deliberately turned away from me.

The small tree is now decorated with Amanda Norwood’s familiar wood and glass decorations, the ornaments I’ve recognized from over the years draped from the pine branches prettily.

She finally found them, I realize, turning to smile at Ava, but she’s still not looking at me.

“Hi, Dr. Hargrove!” Carlie calls out, wandering into the front from the kitchen.

I give her a terse smile. “Hey, Carlie. How’s Lucky doing?”

“Oh, she’s great. She’s due for her annual shots. I’ll have to bring her to you soon.”

I nod, my head dropping as I catch Ava’s narrowed gaze, like she’s waiting for me to confess the truth to Carlie.

“Can I get you something, Dr. Hargrove?” the young baker asks.

“I’m just waiting to speak with Ava for a minute,” I say, but Ava shakes her head as she closes the cash register, and her customers turn away.

“I don’t really have time right now, Christian.”

“Two minutes. Please, Ava,” I plead.

She frowns and eyes Carlie. “Can you handle the front, Carlie, please? I have to work on my recipe for the competition.”

“Of course,” Carlie chirps.

Ava spins and marches toward the back, leaving me staring after her, but a second later, she pops her head over the swinging doors, eyebrows raised. “Are you coming?”

I exhale and follow her back, relieved that she didn’t dismiss me. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

Ava smirks lightly. “I’m not twelve, Christian. I just don’t have a lot of time right now for a conversation. If you want to talk, you’ll have to do it while I’m working—sorry if that sounds rude. But I’m kind of on a time crunch now.”

“I could help you—if you’d let me,” I offer quietly.

She says nothing, her hands deep in the dough, head down as wisps of dark hair fall over her high cheekbones.

“You heard about my move,” I sigh.

Her chin juts up, and she looks at me, a spark of sadness glinting in her pretty brown eyes. But it’s gone as she refocuses her attention on the dough again.

“Congratulations,” she says with no emotion. “It sounds like a big step for you.”

I lean a hand against the stainless-steel countertop and watch as her skillful fingers move through the concoction, pulling and twisting until she forms the rolls from the dough.

“I wish you hadn’t found out that way,” I tell her honestly. “I would have liked to have told you myself.”

Ava turns and slides the pan into one oven, shutting the door with her slender hip. She wipes her hands on her apron and meets my eyes expressionlessly.

“You don’t owe me anything, Christian,” she says flatly. “I don’t know why you think you do.”

I’m taken aback by her coldness. “I just want you to know that I thought about this, and it’s the best thing for me.”

“I’m sure it is,” she agrees. “Is that all, Christian? I really am busy.”

Rebuked, I blink and nod, straightening myself. “Yeah. Sorry I bothered you.”

I turn away, half-expecting her to call me back, but she doesn’t, and the rejection only digs the knife in deeper.

“I really wish you all the best,” she says as I leave, but I can’t bring myself to turn around. “I wish things had gone differently for us.”

I want to tell her they still can, but how? I’ve accepted the job. The house is going on the market. The best thing for everyone is for us to go our own ways.

I guess that’s the end of that. It’s over before it ever really started again. Just like the last time.

My momand Mason don’t take the news any better, just different.

Mom bursts into tears, which last most of the afternoon. Between her sobs, she reassures me she’s “fine,” and I deserve to have a life of my own outside of Spruce Crossing.

When I go over to Mason’s house, he is less forgiving.

“I came here because of you,” he reminds me.

“And you got everything you wanted out of this place,” I counter. “You have a successful restaurant, a beautiful wife…”

He stares at me across the coffee table, his untouched beer sweating between us. “Is that what this is about? A woman?”

I scoff loudly. “No. Obviously not. I don’t even know what that means,” I grumble, Ava’s impassive expression etched in my mind’s eye now. She really hadn’t cared if I came or went. That bit of time we spent together meant nothing to her.

“Then what?” Mason presses. “Where is this coming from, Christian? You never mentioned wanting to leave before. You’ve always spoken so highly about Spruce Crossing—and rightfully so. This place is amazing.”

“Did I not tell you how much they’re offering me?” I demand.

Mason scoffs at me. “And when that money loses all its appeal, and you realize you’re all alone in a city where you have no one, then what? Don’t tell me you’re doing this for money. I know you better than that.”

My head turns to look out the window into Mason’s large snow-covered yard, and I inhale.

“I’m here living in my family’s shadow,” I mutter, more to myself than him. “Nothing here is mine. It’s all the Hargroves’.”

Mason leans forward, dropping his forearms on his thighs to peer at me. “Then make it yours. You own the clinic. Make it Christian Hargrove’s.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s easy for you to say. You just rolled in here and started your legacy from scratch.”

My phone rings on the table, and I reach for it, fully expecting to see my mother’s name. But to my surprise, it’s the sheriff’s department number. A tingle of dread swipes down my spine.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Hargrove?”

In the background, the scream of sirens echoes through the speaker. Without realizing it, I’m on my feet. “Yes?” I rasp as Mason also stands. I glance at him, my blood running cold.

“This is the Spruce Crossing Sheriff’s Department.”

“What happened?” I choke. “Is it my mom? Is she hurt?”

“What happened, Christian?” Mason demands, rushing to my side.

“No, Dr. Hargrove, it’s not your mother, but you need to get to your clinic immediately.”

Confusion overwhelms me. “My clinic?” I repeat. “Why? What happened?”

“Please come immediately.”

The phone goes dead, and my arm falls to my side as I gape at Mason. “What’s happening?” he asks again. “You’re white as a sheet, Christian.”

“I need to get to the clinic,” I stutter. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it sounds bad.”

“I’ll drive,” Mason suggests, grabbing his keys off the table, and I gratefully allow him to lead me out of the house, toward his SUV.

I barely remember getting into the passenger side, my mind a mess as I try to make sense of the phone call I just received. Without thinking, I pick up the phone again and dial out.

“Who are you calling?” Mason demands as he backs out, but Ava answers before I can respond to him.

“Christian?” she says warily.

“Are you at the bakery?”

“Yes?” she reveals suspiciously. “Why?”

“I need you to do me a favor,” I mumble. Panic seizes me, and suddenly, I find it difficult to breathe.

Her voice changes. “Anything. What is it?”

“Can you get to my clinic fast and tell me what’s going on? I’m at Mason’s, so I’m five miles away.”

“Stay on the line. I’m going now.”

I hear the ding of her entry bell and the crunch of feet on snow, wind rushing through the phone line.

“You still there, Christian?” she asks, panting slightly.

Mason stops at a stop sign, and I swallow. “Yes.”

I hear the scream of sirens, both on the phone and outside the vehicle, goosebumps rising on my arms. My head turns to look at a deputy’s car zooming past, heading toward my office, and I exhale shakily.

“I’m almost there,” Ava promises in my ear. “One minute. Don’t worry.”

Mason takes the phone from my hand and puts it on speaker. “Ava, it’s Mason Adler. Just tell us what you see when you see it, okay?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the line and silence.

“Ava?” Mason demands, speeding slightly faster down the darkening street.

The fairy lights flick on overhead from the lampposts, and all the Santa fixtures light up with their reindeer. I catch the various decorations out of the corner of my eye, and then I smell it.

“Oh, Christian,” Ava breathes shakily over the speaker. “How far are you?”

“We’re almost there, Ava. What is it?”

“A fire,” I croak knowingly without her telling me, the thick, smoggy air permeating the closed windows of Mason’s SUV.

“It’s a fire,” Ava confirms. “The clinic is burning down.”

Mason pulls up beside a firetruck,and I stumble out of the SUV, finding Ava next to several other onlookers who gawk at the display in shock.

“Is anyone inside?” I have the presence of mind to yell. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Everyone is out,” one firefighter reassures me.

“The animals!” I choke, my mind just as chaotic as the surrounding scene. Wracking my brain, I try to recall what animals were boarding overnight, but a hand falls on my shoulder, and I find myself looking at Ava’s calm, honey-brown stare.

“The animals are all out,” she promises softly, and I feel myself collapse against her.

Ava supports me, Mason flanking me on the other side, and I watch as the firefighters continue to battle the blaze. Helplessly, I shake my head, wondering how this could happen so close to Christmas. I don’t even realize I’ve put the question into words, speaking them aloud.

“It’s the worst time of year for fires,” the chief explains, overhearing my query. “Faulty wiring from Christmas lights, dried out trees go up, unattended candles…”

Dismayed, I stare at him blankly. “No one would be that careless,” I insist. “What was the cause?”

“We’re still investigating,” he says as Ava’s hand tightens around my arm.

“It was an accident, whatever it was,” she whispers. “A horrible, tragic accident.”

“Come and sit down, Christian,” Mason instructs me, guiding me away from the scene. I allow him, the thickness of smoke diminishing as he trails me back toward his car. My head swivels back toward the building, but Ava’s voice is in my ear.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m sorry this happened.”

My head hangs, images of the knickknacks that had survived three generations turned to ash within the walls of the building.

“No, it’s not,” I mutter. “My family’s legacy is gone. It’s really gone.”

“No,” Ava says in tandem with Mason, the pair exchanging a glance.

“It’s not gone, not entirely,” Mason adds. “You’re still here.”

“And you can rebuild if you choose to,” Ava pipes in. “But right now, you just need to take a deep breath and calm down. Let the firefighters do their job.”

I flop onto the passenger side of Mason’s SUV, and Ava crouches at my knees. “Should I call anyone for you? Your mom, maybe?”

“No! Not yet.” Until I know the extent of the damage, I can’t let her know anything. She’s heartbroken enough about my move to San Francisco. She doesn’t need this added burden on her shoulders.

Ava’s hands slip into mine, and I exhale, recognizing that she has things to do. “Thanks, Ava. You can get back to the bakery now,” I mumble.

“Carlie’s there,” she replies. “It’s not unattended. I want to be here right now… with you.”

“You have to plan for the competition on Friday,” I remind her dully.

She doesn’t move, her fingers squeezing mine. “I’m staying with you, Christian,” she says quietly.

I slump back against the leather headrest and let the shock overtake me, frustration and upset rocking my stomach. Ava lowers her head against my trembling arm, stopping my shaking with her nearness. I’m glad she’s here.

“Are you sure?” I ask, giving her another chance to leave.

“Maybe I’m not being clear,” she murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere. So just breathe, deep breaths. We’ll get through this. Together.”