Chapter 3
“What do you think, peanut?”
I steal a glance at my daughter, my heart warming at the wonder and excitement filling her expression as we meander along the lakefront area of Holley Ridge, the annual Christmas Festival in full swing.
“This is amazing.” Maggie’s gray eyes sparkle as she takes in all the sights, sounds, and smells surrounding her. The air is filled with the scent of freshly baked goods, hot cocoa, and pine from the Norway spruce towering nearby.
As we weave through the crowd, it seems the entire town has come out for the annual tree lighting ceremony, as I expected would happen. After all, it’s a tradition around here. I just hope it continues to be.
Parker, my best friend and the woman who now runs the property, is also going through some financial issues.
She hasn’t let that dampen her spirit, though. Instead, she’s confident she’ll find a solution to her problem because she manifested it.
Maybe that’s what I need to do.
At this point, I’ll try anything so I don’t end up homeless.
So my daughter doesn’t end up homeless.
A voice in my head reminds me that there’s one thing I could do that would help me earn more money, but I quickly silence it. I’m not that desperate. Not yet, anyway. Like Parker says, if there’s any time a miracle is possible, it’s during Christmas.
I just hope I find my miracle before I’m forced to live out of my car.
Or worse.
“Auntie Parker! Auntie Parker!” Maggie’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I watch as she darts toward a tall blonde woman, her arms outstretched.
Parker gracefully crouches down, sweeping her into her embrace. “Hey, Magpie.”
Maggie’s expression turns serious. “Grandma says no one should call me that. She says my name is Margaret, and that’s what people should call me.”
Parker glances my way, and I roll my eyes.
While I try to limit Maggie’s exposure to my parents, on rare occasions, they remember she exists and stop by unannounced to see her. Afterwards, I always regret it, but I foolishly keep holding onto hope that they’ll realize what’s important and want to have a real relationship with her.
“What do you want to be called?” Parker asks.
Maggie’s face lights up. “I like it when you call me Magpie.”
“Then I proclaim you Lady Magpie of Holley Ridge.”
Maggie squeals as Parker sets her on her feet.
“It looks beautiful, Parker.” I give my best friend a quick hug.
“Thanks, Haley.”
We stroll through the rows of festive booths, each one adorned with twinkling lights and decorations, where dozens of local businesses sell various holiday-themed items, from decorations, to cookies, and even wine.
“How’s the apartment hunt going?” Parker keeps her voice low so Maggie can’t overhear.
“Not great.” I heave a sigh. “The downside of living in a small town. There aren’t many rentals to begin with, and what is available is way over my budget. I’m not exactly raking it in as a dog walker and cocktail waitress. At least not enough to compete with all the snow bunnies who come in for the winter season to ski.”
“From what I understand, Beckham Lawrence still has his townhouse he rents out. You could always see if it’s available.”
I dart my wide eyes toward her. “Beckham Lawrence? Are you crazy? Absolutely not. There’s no way he’d do me any favors, like rent to me, especially when I wouldn’t be able to pay him anywhere close to what he can get for a short-term rental.”
Not to mention, our history is strained, to say the least.
“You’ll never know if you don’t ask,” Parker sings, gesturing at the booth directly in front of us. Then she disappears into the bustling crowd, presumably to give her speech before the main event — lighting the towering Norway Spruce by the lake.
“Mama! Mama! Can I have some juice?” Maggie grabs my hand and drags me toward the booth in question, my heart rate picking up the instant Beckham’s dark eyes lock on mine.
A charcoal beanie covers what I know to be a full head of dark hair, his square jawline sporting a bit of scruff. He’s wearing his usual attire of jeans, henley shirt with the sleeves pushed up, and work boots.
Even as a teen, Beckham was tall and muscular. His physique has only become more built over the years, all broad shoulders and defined muscles. A pang squeezes my chest at the reminder of why he’s as muscular as he is now. While working the fields at the vineyard certainly had something to do with it, it’s not the only reason.
“Mama?”
Remembering where I am, I snap my eyes away from Beckham. “That’s juice for adults, sweetie.”
“Actually, I’ve got a little something special for you,” Beckham says in his raspy voice, throwing a wink at my daughter.
Turning, he opens one of the coolers and grabs a juice box. It doesn’t escape my notice it’s the only one, as if he brought it just for Maggie.
Which makes no sense, considering Beckham acts as if he can’t stand the sight of me.
“Thanks, Mr. Beck!” Maggie says appreciatively when he hands her the box with the straw already inserted. “I like your pretty pictures.” She points to the tattoos covering his forearms.
“Thank you,” he responds with a chuckle.
I’d be lying if I said the throaty sound doesn’t make my girly bits flutter a little.
There’s something about Beckham’s laugh that makes me forget the strain that’s existed between us for over a decade now. We used to be friends. Hell, we used to be more than friends.
In the blink of an eye, it all imploded.
“What’s that one of?” Maggie presses, oblivious to the long line of people hoping to taste some of the wine Beckham spends hours perfecting as the head winemaker of the local vineyard.
A feat, considering he’s only thirty-two.
Then again, he’s worked at the vineyard since the day he turned sixteen, with the exception of the year after he graduated high school. He started out handpicking clusters of grapes during the annual harvest. Now he’s the one responsible for the finished product.
“It’s an old pocket watch, like the one my father gave me.”
“He crossed over the rainbow bridge, right?”
“Umm…” Beckham glances my way, obviously unsure how to respond.
“Humans don’t cross over the rainbow bridge, sweetie,” I chime in. “That’s for animals.” I look toward Beckham. “Belinda lost her cat a few weeks ago. It’s her first exposure to death.”
“Then he’s in haven?” Maggie asks eagerly.
“Yeah. My dad’s in haven.” He smiles, not bothering to correct her mispronunciation of the word.
“Do you miss him?”
Sometimes I wish my kid wasn’t so inquisitive. Especially when her curiosity keeps me in Beckham’s presence longer than necessary.
“Every day,” he replies softly.
“Let’s not bother Mr. Beck anymore,” I say, noticing his forlorn expression. Regret squeezes at my chest, considering the role I played that prevented Beckham from being there when his father passed. “Auntie Parker’s about to light the tree. Plus, you don’t want to miss out on seeing Santa. Do you?”
Maggie’s eyes instantly brighten. “I’m going to tell him all about the Barbie camper I want.”
I do my best to keep my expression even, my stomach churning at the idea that I won’t be able to get Maggie most of the items on her wish list. It doesn’t matter how many times people have told me it doesn’t make me a bad mom if I can’t get her everything she wants.
Just once, I’d like to be able to give her the Christmas she deserves. The Christmas I always dreamed of spoiling my kid with.
“Santa has millions of boys and girls to get presents for, sweetie. Maybe ask him for something a little…smaller,” I suggest, even though I really want to ask her to pick something that’s more affordable.
The excitement in her eyes flickers out, her smile turning into a frown. But instead of throwing a fit like some kids would, she lowers her head and says, “Okay.”
As I turn from the vineyard’s booth, I can’t help but feel like I just shattered my daughter’s dreams. It’s not the first time. And it won’t be the last. But I still hate feeling like I’m a failure.
“Thanks again,” I say to Beckham, then usher Maggie through the crowd.
After a few feet, I steal a glance over my shoulder and see Beckham’s gaze trained on us, his expression unreadable.
He’s the last person I want to ask for help. He’s the last person who’d want to help me.
I have to remind myself it’s not just about me anymore, though.
It’s about Maggie.
I need to swallow my pride and try for her.
Even if I’m the reason he spent a year of his life in prison.