14. Sofia
CHAPTER 14
Sofia
Grace stared with mock horror at the misshapen gingerbread man she’d attempted to draw with piped icing before popping a gumdrop into her mouth. “That’s it,” she said, throwing up her hands. “I’m retiring from gingerbread house decorating.”
“You can’t retire,” Holly countered, expertly piping intricate swirls onto her own gingerbread house. “Not until you’ve redeemed yourself from the mess you made of the cookies at my birthday party last year.”
“That was art,” Grace deadpanned. “Abstract art.”
Robin snorted from her corner of the table. She was focused on adding delicate candy windows to her own gingerbread creation, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. “You’re lucky Joan’s watching the kids. Abby would be giving you the side-eye for eating all that candy instead of decorating with it.”
I smiled at the thought of Abby helping Joan wrangle the little ones at the inn so the four of us could hang at Robin and Jack’s house in our Christmas pajamas. Grace’s oldest daughter had turned into such a sweet helper, always eager to take charge of the little ones in their growing family.
“She’s really good with them,” Holly said, arranging a line of gumdrops along her gingerbread roof. “Even though I’ve heard she’s wondering when she’ll be old enough to join our girls’ nights instead of being counted as one of the kids.”
“True,” Robin said, leaning back in her chair and stealing a piece of chocolate from Grace’s bag. “But I told her it’s not an age thing, it’s a generational thing.”
We all chuckled at that, and then Grace lifted a finger. “Can I make a suggestion for the next girls’ night?”
“Please do,” Robin replied.
“Can we just pop some popcorn and have a cheesy holiday romcom marathon? It’ll save me from embarrassing myself with my icing art, and I’ve seen some of the ones they’re advertising for this year and a few of them actually look good.”
“That would be great. And speaking of cheesy holiday romcoms,” Holly said, sitting up straighter, “we need to plan a day for our annual dress shopping for the Gingerbread Ball. The clock’s ticking.”
Robin looked up from her masterpiece. “I can’t believe it’s that time already.”
Holly grinned. “Don’t act like you’re not excited. You love seeing Jack in a tux.”
I forced a smile as Robin made a joke about loving Jack in a tux almost as much as in his police uniform, trying to focus on my icing instead of the conversation. The Gingerbread Ball. Last year, I’d been so excited for it, counting down the days until I’d get to go with that guy who turned out to be a walking red flag in a tailored suit. My bad.
“I don’t know,” I said, keeping my voice light. “I think I might sit this one out after last year.”
All three of them turned to stare at me like I’d suggested canceling Christmas.
Grace held up a hand. “No way. Last year doesn’t count. The whole thing was snowed out, remember? I’ve never gotten to go to the ball that no one seems to shut up about, so I’m not missing this. And neither are you.”
“She’s right,” Robin said, leaning back in her chair. “This year, everyone’s going to go all out. You can’t miss it.”
Holly tilted her head at me. “You’re not worried about anything like that happening again, are you?”
“The snow?” I asked lamely, knowing that wasn’t what she meant. She gave me a look that said as much, so I sighed. “Ya never know.”
“This year is going to be different,” Grace said firmly. “You’ll have us, and you’ll have a good time. No snow. No drama. No bad guys.”
Robin gave me a sly grin. “Are you hoping Hudson will ask you to go?”
My cheeks flushed, and I busied myself with adjusting a crooked gumdrop on my gingerbread roof. “Hudson?”
“Oh, come on,” Robin said. “The sparks between you and Hudson? They’re practically visible. He’s protective, charming, and let’s not forget gorgeous.”
“Ooh, maybe she’s hoping Jamie will ask her,” Holly piped up. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“No, I’m not?—”
“But…” Grace cut in, “you also don’t stop talking about your pen pal. He’s sweet, he makes you laugh, and you practically glow every time you get a new letter.”
My head snapped up. “Hush!”
“Oh, come on,” Robin said with a laugh. “We all know you’ve been daydreaming about your pen pal. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“It’s weird to have butterflies for a guy when I don’t even know what he looks like. He could be ninety years old or… married.”
Holly snorted delicately. “First of all, Joan would never match you with someone like that. Second, I happen to know your pen pal is a very handsome man.”
My brows shot up. “How could you possibly know that?”
Holly leaned back in her chair, folding her arms smugly. “Because Joan gets chatty when she has a little spiked eggnog. And I’m very persuasive.”
Grace sat up straighter. “What exactly did she say?”
“She admitted—” Holly paused for effect, grinning as we all leaned in. “That she and Ida were actively matchmaking Sofia with her pen pal. It was something we all figured, I know, but she looked so proud of herself as she told me how good of a match they’d set up. She also mentioned that Ida was the one who’d picked the guy.”
The words hit me like a jolt of electricity. My stomach twisted, a mix of excitement and disbelief swirling in my chest. Ida was the one who’d picked the guy? Did that mean?—
No. It couldn’t.
My mind raced as Grace leaned forward. “It has to be Hudson,” she announced.
The room felt too warm, like the heat from the fireplace was pressing in on me. Hudson? My pen pal? It didn’t add up. My pen pal’s letters were light, playful, and hopeful—so different from how Hudson carried so much brooding, protective intensity in every glance and every word. Could he really be both? How was that possible?
I blinked, my heart pounding. “But…”
Grace grabbed my hand. “Think about it. It makes perfect sense.”
“Does it?” I asked, my voice coming out more breathless than I’d intended. “Because I’m not seeing it. They’re very… different.”
“How so?” Robin asked.
I tilted my head from side to side as I thought it over. “My pen pal is… light. Funny. You guys know all about that since apparently I’ve mentioned it before.”
They laughed, and Grace winked. “Sure have.”
“But Hudson is… darker. Not in a bad way… He’s got more of a dark humor, I guess. Every time we’ve interacted, it’s been kind of emotional. On my part, mostly, because he seems to always be there when there’s some Dane drama going on. But even before that, our first real conversation felt deep on both sides, in a way that my pen pal letters never are.”
There was a beat of silence as my friends processed this, but the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Hudson couldn’t be my pen pal. There was nothing wrong with his intensity or depth, but it was so different than what I read in the letters that no part of me could meld them into the same person.
Unless, of course, he was completely full of it either in real life or in his letters. And if so, which side of his personality was real? The whole thing made me feel a little sick.
“Maybe you should test it,” Robin suggested. “Say something in your next letter that would make it obvious if it’s Hudson.”
“Like what?” I asked.
Grace tilted her head, thinking. “Mention a story that Ida’s told you and see if he reacts. Really, you could probably just mention Ida in general. Tommy said she raised him, so it’d be weird for him to not respond to something about her, right?”
“Unless he was actively trying not to reveal himself, which I’m pretty sure everyone is doing, right?” Robin countered.
Holly grinned, adjusting the sleeves of her Christmas pajamas. “Or just ask him if he’s Hudson. Easy peasy.”
I rolled my eyes, but my mind was already racing, piecing together how I could phrase a question that wouldn’t seem too obvious—or too desperate.
Before I could say anything, Holly’s phone buzzed on the table, signaling that she had a text. She glanced at the screen and frowned. “Speaking of Joan… she’s got more news about that guy Dane was arguing with the other night.”
“What did she say?” Grace asked, her tone wary.
My whole body had gone stiff at the abrupt change in topic. When I’d first heard about Dane arguing with someone outside the grocery store, I hadn’t known what to think. I wasn’t sure I even wanted more details.
“Apparently, someone overheard the guy telling Dane, ‘there’s nothing you can do about it,’” Holly said, air-quoting the words. “But nobody knows what ‘it’ is.”
A chill ran through me. What could Dane be mixed up in this time? And who was this stranger, coming to Snow Hill to deliver cryptic messages?
The room fell quiet for a moment, the festive atmosphere dimming just slightly. I picked up a gumdrop, rolling it between my fingers as unease settled over me. Dane’s presence in town was bad enough, but the idea that he was dragging someone else into his mess made my stomach turn.
Later that night, the warmth of the girls’ night lingered as I made the short walk back to the inn. I’d wound up having fun after the topic of conversation veered away from Dane. Thank goodness. I would’ve hated it if he’d managed to ruin a good girls’ night.
But as for the topic of Hudson being my pen pal… I still didn’t know how to feel about that. If Hudson was my pen pal, it would make sense in some ways. Maybe that was why we felt a connection already. After all, we were actively building something on paper from the first days we were in town, and then continuing that connection in person.
But like I’d told the girls: they were almost too different. How could he not let any of the depth and pain from his past that I could see in his eyes bleed onto the page? Did that mean his letters were superficial and fake?
Then again, what did that say about me? It wasn’t like I’d opened up to my pen pal about the stuff going on with Dane. In fact, I’d avoided it. I’d talked about anything and everything I could that would keep things fun and sweet between us. Protect the escape that our letter exchange provided. I didn’t think that made me superficial or fake, so could I really think the same of him?
I shook my head as I reached my room. None of that mattered. We could be totally wrong. Get a group of women together with wine, candy, and gossip and there were bound to be theories running amok that made no sense. The last thing I needed was to pin my hopes on the wrong man, and the idea of Hudson and my pen pal being one and the same was almost too good to be true.
I pushed the door open with a sigh. The soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table greeted me, and for half a second, I let myself relax as I stepped inside, already looking forward to a hot shower and a book before bed.
But then, as I actually got a good look at my cozy space, my stomach bottomed-out.
I froze, staring at the wreckage before me. The bedspread was crumpled and half on the floor. My suitcases were overturned, clothes spilling out like someone had gone through them in a hurry. The nightstand drawer was open, its contents scattered across the floor.
And my books… oh, my poor books. They were tossed in every corner of the room, some of them laying open while others had been mercilessly ripped apart.
My heart pounded as I moved to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle. Who would do this? Why? It wasn’t like I had anything in here worth stealing. I didn’t keep cash, I wasn’t much for jewelry unless you counted the cheap kind that had a rocker edge, and my books—while cherished by me—weren’t first editions by any means.
And then… I saw it.
On the floor by the window was a piece of paper, the edges curled like it had been crumpled and then smoothed out again. The creases were torn a little on the edges due to being opened and re-folded so many times.
I bent down slowly, my fingers trembling as I picked it up. My eyes scanned the familiar handwriting, and my jaw dropped as I realized it was my own. This was one of the letters I’d sent to Dane while he was in prison.
I remembered writing this one, sitting on the fire escape of my old apartment in Philly, hoping my words would convince him to change. To be better. The naive hope in those sentences made me sick now. It was from two years ago, and though I’d never stopped to wonder if he’d kept them or thrown them away, I couldn’t wrap my mind around seeing it now. And yet, here it was. In my room, after someone had broken in and trashed the place.
My vision blurred as panic crept in, my chest tightening with every shallow breath. This wasn’t a robbery attempt. This had to be Dane. Had he left this letter on accident, or was it supposed to be some kind of twisted message?
How many times had I told myself Dane wouldn’t cross a line like this? How many more lines would he have to cross before I stopped pretending he was still the person I once cared about?
For the fist time, I had no urge to deal with my Dane problems alone. This was worse than anything he’d ever done to me—including the emotional warfare. Not only did I want help after this, but I had a feeling I needed it, and there was only one person I wanted to get it from.
My hands shook as I turned and bolted out of the room.
Crossing the hall in three quick strides, I banged on Hudson’s door with more force than I intended. “Hudson?” I squeaked out, barely above a whisper. I couldn’t manage anything louder. “Hudson, are you there?”
The door opened almost instantly, and there he stood, his hazel eyes sharp as they took me in. His expression shifted immediately, his hand shooting out to steady me as I swayed.
The concern written on his face made something in me snap, and I let out a shaky breath, holding up the letter as if it explained everything. It obviously didn’t, but Hudson didn’t waste a second. He grabbed my arm gently but firmly, pulling me into his room and shutting the door behind me.
Then he turned to face me. His whole body was tense and on high alert, his jaw set as he studied my face. “Sofia,” he said, his voice low and deadly calm. “What happened?”