Chapter 10 Cindy #2
As she slipped her hand through his and they continued down the street, the tension that had been coiling quietly inside Cindy for weeks seemed to ease. For the first time in a long time, she felt exactly what she’d been craving—peace, contentment, and full-body relaxation.
“I needed this,” she said on a sigh.
“You need to work less,” he replied.
She slid him a look. “Is this history repeating itself, only with role reversal?” She asked the question lightly, but it wasn’t light, not by any means.
Jack’s obsession with skiing, then his job at ESPN, was acknowledged by both of them to be the crack that broke their foundation and led to their divorce eleven years ago.
“We can’t let history repeat itself,” he said softly.
“We won’t.”
His eyes flashed slightly, and she braced for a comment about her laser focus on building Snowberry Weddings, but he just turned a corner and guided her down a side street where the buildings crouched closer and the sidewalks didn’t get quite the snow cleanup that Main Street did.
Cindy recognized a few independent shops that had survived the years—the cobbler who still could fix anything with laces, the record store enjoying a resurgence of vinyl popularity.
Jack slowed in front of a storefront trimmed with tin cut-outs of snowflakes and a carved wooden sign that had been there as long as she could remember: Hearth & Hollow. The name was painted in cream, the ampersand fat and cheerful.
Cindy let out a laugh of delighted surprise. “No way, Jack Kessler. I haven’t walked into this store in…decades.”
“But we used to love it, remember? We always came here to get special keepsakes for Nicole when she was a little girl.”
“I remember,” Cindy said gleefully, letting him open the door for her.
A bell chimed with a warm note of welcome.
Inside, the little shop smelled like cedar shavings and orange peel.
Shelves climbed from the floor to the pressed-tin ceiling, crowded with handmade toys, carved ornaments, old-world puzzles, and an artful clutter of snow globes—tiny cities, tiny deer, tiny skiers mid-swoop.
In the back, behind the register, an ancient lathe rested like a retired workhorse, and beside it, a glass cabinet glowed with snow globes that were custom-made to commemorate special occasions or replicate beautiful homes.
“Hello there, Jack Kessler!” sang a voice from somewhere between the nutcrackers and the papier-maché stars.
A woman popped out—a small, spry creature with a silver braid as thick as a rope and spectacles perched halfway down her nose.
“Yes, before you ask, it’s ready. This must be Cindy. I’m Marta.”
“Hello, Marta,” Cindy said, shaking the hand the woman offered. Jack had been coming in here without her?
They chatted about weather and tourists and skiing, then Marta held up a finger to ask them to wait. “Should I wrap it, Jack?”
“Yes, please,” he said, a glint in his eyes that Cindy simply couldn’t read.
The woman disappeared into the back and Cindy eyed her once and future husband. “What are you up to, Jack?”
“You’ll see. Let’s look around. Maybe we’ll find something for Nic again.”
They scanned the shelves and racks, holding hands like they had when they were young parents, eyeing wooden puzzle boxes, handmade puppets, and a cuckoo clock so elaborate it took her breath away.
Marta reappeared, her arms cradling a box wrapped in pearl-white paper with a red-and-white baker’s twine tied in a bow. A tiny wooden snowflake dangled from the knot. She set the box on the counter with a satisfied pat.
“This one is exquisite,” she whispered. “Fritz put love into it.”
Jack just gave her a smile. “You have my card on file.”
“Then you’re all set, Jack.” She dropped the wrapped box into a small shopping bag with the logo printed on the outside, holding it out to Jack by the handles. “Enjoy and accept my true congratulations, love birds!”
Cindy thanked her, deeply curious about all this, but trusting Jack to let things unfold in his time.
Which he did, but it took a while. They walked hand in hand to Kaneo, a gorgeous Mediterranean restaurant and bar they had grown to love.
Inside, it was busy but without a wait for a lunch table. The hostess recognized them and snagged them a two-top near the window. As they sat, Cindy looked around the lovely restaurant, inhaling the scents of basil and rosemary that permeated the place.
A young server with an earnest smile and a mop of curls brought hot bread and a cheery greeting.
“Happy almost-Christmas,” he practically sang. “We’ve got a spiced carrot soup today that will make you believe in miracles.”
“Two?” Jack said, glancing at Cindy for agreement.
“Yes, please. Soup sounds amazing.”
As they waited for their order, the box sat on the table between them, silent and bright.
Cindy chewed her lip. “If I shake it, will it jingle?”
“Probably not the best idea,” Jack said, amused. “You like that store.”
“I love that store. It’s the same and not the same. Like us.”
“Well, the floorboards creak like my bones,” he said with a laugh, then slid the box closer. “Open it. Happy almost wedding day.”
Sucking in a soft breath, she lifted the box from the bag. Her fingers went a little clumsy around the twine, oddly excited.
“I don’t have a gift for you,” she said.
“You are the gift, Cinnie.”
She chuckled at the name only he dared to use—and she loved it.
Pulling at the wooden snowflake, she slid it free and set it beside her water glass. “I’ll hang that on the lodge tree.”
The paper gave with a whisper. Inside was a sturdy keepsake box, matte and white, the lid printed with a faint pattern of snow. She lifted the lid.
Nestled in more tissue lay a snow globe cupped in a ring of pearl-tinted glass, the base brushed silver like winter light.
The scene inside was an entire world. A tiny bride stood beneath an arch—the trellis—her dress a suggestion of satin and lace, her hair—exactly Cindy’s pale blond—lifted by a hint of breeze. The groom faced her, head tipped a fraction as though saying…I do.
Behind them, the artist layered pine boughs and a faint outline of the lodge wall, strung with wee lights. The ground was a crisp sweep of snow, unmarred except for two overlapping heart-shaped prints where they stood.
“Oh, Jack. This is…” Cindy’s throat thickened and tears blurred her vision as she turned the globe to read the small plaque on the base, bearing their names and the upcoming wedding date. “This is exquisite.”
She couldn’t speak for a second. The world condensed to the heavy glass in her hands as she admired the miniature arched trellis that matched the one she would fight to keep in the Starling Room.
“I’m speechless,” she admitted.
Every detail was perfect, from the way the bride’s chin looked stubborn and soft at once to how the groom reached for her, as if to put on a ring.
“Go on,” Jack suggested. “Give them a little weather.”
Cindy tipped the globe gently. Snow lifted like quiet applause, slow and suspended, then tumbled down around the couple, clinging to the arch. The trellis—carved in the same pattern that Owen Starling himself had used—became a lace of frost.
“How did you do this?” she asked in awe.
“Fritz did it, and I gave him pictures.”
“It’s perfect.” Her voice broke. “It’s us. It’s the trellis, and I know I’ve made such a fuss about that stupid thing, and—” Her throat grew thick. “I could cry just looking at it.”
“Don’t.” He reached across the table, palm up. “It’s here forever, where no influencer could boss it away.”
She squeezed his fingers. The earlier conversation about MJ and Matt floated at the edge of her thoughts—how life could be both steadfast and uncertain—and then drifted off like the last flakes settling at the base of the trellis.
Right now, right here, the world had narrowed to this table, this man, this tiny scene of them made into a snow globe.
“I’m going to put it in my new office,” she whispered. “As a reminder of what’s really important. Who is really important.”
“Us,” he corrected, lifting the tissue and box to fold it neatly.
“I love it,” she said, running her finger over the glass with deep, deep joy. Then she looked across the table. “And I love you. Thank you for this gift. Someday, long after we’re gone, I hope Nicole has this in her home and gives it to a daughter of her own.”
His face almost crumpled. “Now you’re going to make me cry. Let’s get through our wedding first before I fall apart as the father of the bride.”
She beamed. “That’s going to be fun, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He smiled, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes. “I love you, Cindy.”
“I love you, too.”
The soups arrived in heavy white bowls, fragrant and velvet smooth. Cindy took a spoonful and sighed. “Whoa, the kid wasn’t exaggerating.”
Jack tore a corner of bread and dunked it. “So, what do we do after lunch? Hooky is only real if you spend the day and do something wild.”
“Okay, Ferris Bueller.”
He laughed, then his eyes sparked. “Let’s hit the ice rink!”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Red’s tale of ice woe made me want to get out there again.”
They ate with gusto and excitement for the next adventure, sharing easy conversation about this town and their past and a future so bright, Jack said—naturally—he had to wear shades.
When the dishes were cleared and the bill paid, neither of them was in a hurry to stand.
Cindy shook the globe once more, just a gentle flick of her wrist, and watched the flakes rise and fall again.
“I’m going to treasure it,” she said. “Not just the globe. This. Us. The lunch, the surprise, the way you still make everything feel like we’re thirty and not sixty.”
“Wait until you ice skate,” Jack joked. “You’ll feel every one of those years.”
On their way out, she slid her arm around his waist and looked up at him. “You know what I’m excited about?” she asked.
“The wedding? Christmas? A new year as husband and wife?”
“Yes,” she said on a laugh. “All of it, the future. For years I’ve felt like I didn’t really have one.
Yes, I had the business, and Nicole will marry and have kids, but it was all…
alone. All me. You’ve changed that, Jack.
You’ve made me a ‘we’ again and…” Her vision blurred.
“I’m so grateful and happy to have you back. ”
“I am so honored to be half of your we.” He kissed her lips lightly and drew back. “But let’s go easy on the ice. We don’t need broken hips on our wedding day.”
Laughing, they stopped at the car to put the snow globe away, then spent the rest of the afternoon spinning and sliding and, yes, falling. In love and on the ice.
Cindy simply couldn’t remember ever being this happy.