Chapter 1
One
NOAH
I step back from the window and slide it closed. The young couple, obviously on a third or fourth date, grin as they sit on a nearby bench and lace up their skates. I watch them for a moment, trying not to feel alone in my trailer of solitude. Being by myself has not been a problem for me. Loneliness doesn’t creep in often. Being by myself means there’s no one around to criticize me or judge what I’m doing, and I like it that way.
So why do I suddenly ache for someone to look at me the way that pretty lady looks at her date?
I draw in a breath, and the familiar scent of leather, sanitizing spray, and cold metal fills my nostrils, a comforting reminder of the routine I’ve carved out for myself.
I glance at my watch—4:55 p.m.. Right on schedule, as always. The predictability of it all settles around me like a well-worn blanket, bringing a sense of peace that I’ve come to rely on. Outside, the sun is right on the horizon, painting the ice and snow in shades of pink and salmon. Twinkling lights strung between the bare branches of the trees wink on, and the scent of pine and cinnamon wafts from the direction of the Christmas market stalls. They’re all bunched together at one end of the park, like friends huddled against the cold. I prefer it out here where no one stops by who isn’t here on business.
The clock strikes five. The frozen pond stretches out before me, its surface a mirror reflecting the gray winter sky. It’s alive with the scrape of blades and the laughter of skaters. I itch to draw this moment. These people don’t know that they are part of a winter landscape in my head—an image that will capture the laughter and the feeling of a small-town winter’s day. It’s the moments of connection I want to capture. The way the happy couple cling to one another. The daughter looking up at her father with trust and a dash of hero worship. The boy checking over his shoulder as he races to the finish line. All of it can be transferred to one drawing. I glance under the counter where I keep my sketchbook. If no one else needs skates, I might be able to get it done before—.
“Another day in paradise, eh, Noah?”
I turn to see Sam, my best friend since second grade and part-time employee, sauntering up to the trailer. His firefighter tee shirt and hoodie are hidden beneath a puffy winter coat, but I know he has one on. I don’t think he’s bought his own clothing since he started at the fire station. He works one day at the station and then one day here so I can have some time off. The schedule makes it possible for me to do the office work, grocery shop, and keep my house clean. The first few winters I owned the rental trailer, I barely had time to sleep from the moment the pond iced over to the spring thaw. Sam was looking for another job and, well, it all worked out.
“You know it,” I reply, offering a smile of my own and a fist bump. “Ready for the afternoon rush?” I plan on sticking around and sharpening skates while he helps customers.
Sam leans against the counter, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “About that... I was thinking we should close up early today and head to the Tree Lighting Ceremony.”
I shake my head, already feeling the uncomfortable prickle of anxiety at the thought of joining in with the crowd. I think they even sing carols or something. It’s not that I have a bad singing voice, it’s that I’m much more comfortable on the outside watching in rather than being a part of things. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Someone needs to keep the rental booth open for the late-night skaters.”
“Come on,” Sam persists, his voice taking on a cajoling tone. “When was the last time you did something spontaneous?”
The word “spontaneous” sends a shiver down my spine. I force a chuckle, trying to keep my voice light. “Spontaneity is overrated. I’m perfectly content right here.”
Sam sighs in resignation. The reason we are friends, and will be until the end of time, is that he knows when to push and when to let up. Then his eyes light up with an idea. “Tell you what, I’ll go grab us some cocoa from Alexis’s stand. It’ll warm us up for the night ahead.”
At the mention of Alexis, Sam’s cheeks flush slightly, and I grin. “Ah, I see your true motives now. Go on then, Romeo. Maybe you’ll finally work up the courage to ask her out.”
Sam wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Hey, somebody around here should be having some romance, and Alexis is the sweetest-looking thing in Benton Falls.”
I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t let her beauty make you forget how to speak this time.”
He laughs at himself. He’s been tongue-tied around that woman since I’ve known him. One day, he’ll figure it out. He unzips his jacket so the firefighter logo on his hoodie shows. “Am I good?” He brushes his fingers through his hair.
“You’re great. Good luck, buddy.”
“Sick. Okay. This is the moment.” He rolls his shoulders and takes off at a half-jog. He’s too full of energy to walk like a normal person. Hopefully, the 333 rd time is the charm.
I turn my attention to the walkway in front of the trailer. A light dusting of snow has already accumulated, and I grab the shovel to clear it away. The repetitive motion is soothing, allowing my mind to wander back to the sketch I want to do. I watch the light play on the walkway and note where the shadows fall.
Just as I’m finishing up, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see my sister, Terra’s, name flashing on the screen. With a sigh, I answer.
“Hey, Terra. What’s up?”
“Noah. Just checking in on my favorite brother. How are things at the ol’ skate shack?”
I can hear the affection in her voice, tinged with something else—concern, maybe? “Everything’s fine. Same as always.”
There’s a pause, and I brace myself for what I know is coming. “So... are you bringing anyone to dinner on Christmas this year?” Terra is a state away, and I usually drive to her house for Christmas. It’s more fun to spend the day with my nieces and nephews than to sit alone.
“No, Terra. Just me, as usual.”
She lets out a small huff of frustration. “Noah, you need to get out of there. Ask someone out. Anyone. What about that girl, Olivia? The art teacher?”
I scoff, thinking of Olivia’s vibrant purple hair and the way she always seems to be buzzing with energy. “She’s way too... much for me. We’d have nothing in common.”
“You both like art. You need someone to shake things up a bit. You can’t keep hiding in that trailer forever.”
Her words hit a little too close to home, and I feel my defenses rising. “I’m not hiding, Terra. I’m content.”
Terra sighs, and I can picture her shaking her head. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it for now. But promise me you’ll at least think about putting yourself out there a bit more? I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“No. You just don’t know how miserable you are. I was the same way before I met Greg.”
I let her statement sit in the silence while I worked out a response. Terra and Greg somehow managed to keep that stupid level of newlywed happiness going for ten years straight. They are constantly hugging, kissing, teasing, and flirting with each other in front of everyone else. It was bad enough when they were first married, but I gave them a new-love pass back then. Now, it’s just annoying.
“Why do happily married people think they’re the only happy ones on the planet? Single people can be happy too.” I stow my shovel on the organizer hook just outside the door.
“Because when you’re happy alone, and you find your person, you times that happy by a million.” She sighs like a teenager and I can draw her hugging herself in my head.
“Sure, Terra. I’ve got to go now. Customers to serve and all that.”
“Mom and Dad did it wrong,” she blurts out like this is a huge secret she’s been holding onto all year, only to spoil the surprise 30 days before Christmas.
I gulp. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that they aren’t doing marriage the right way. When I met Greg, I fell in love with him in seconds, and I swore that I wouldn’t turn out like them. So I do the exact opposite of what they would do every single day, every minute. I’m afraid that you think you’re doing that by being alone, but you’re not. You’re side-stepping.
“That’s something to think about,” I conceded. “I really have to go.” There’s a guy coming my way. He’s far enough away that I can’t make out his face, but he moves like he’s young—and peppy.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
The guy swerves off the path and toward a bench, where a plump gray squirrel is perched, its tail twitching expectantly.
Curious despite myself, I watch as the stranger reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a handful of granola. He holds it out to the squirrel, which chatters as he approaches. It reminds me of my sister and me. I only get a few words in among her dozens. The squirrel is my sister, by the way. She walks right up to the man and selects several larger pieces, which she shoves into her cheeks. She’s talking the whole time and gesturing as if telling her life story.
The man listens. I shake my head. He is not listening to a squirrel…is he? I squint and look closer. Yep. He’s bent his head and is paying close attention. He nods and sets the pile of granola on the end of the bench and then brushes off his palms. The squirrel scampers away and then is back in a flash to grab another armful.
I’m not sure I could draw this. It’s too weird. People would think I was crazy—if I ever let anyone see my drawings, that is.
I’m openly staring at the two of them when he looks up and catches my eye. He grins and waves, then starts walking toward me. There’s something about him—a kind of brightness that radiates from within—that I know I could capture in ink. It’s in his eyes.
“Perfect weather for some ice skating,” he calls out as he approaches.
I nod politely, feeling the familiar urge to retreat into my trailer. But something keeps me rooted to the spot. “It is nice,” I agree. “Not too crowded. You should see it on the weekends.”
His blue eyes sparkle with interest. I’m not sure I’ve seen blue eyes that shade before. “Is that when all the excitement happens around here?”
I shrug, not sure how to respond to his enthusiasm. “I suppose. If you consider ice skating exciting. The ice games are a big deal.” The firefighters’ fundraiser always brings in record crowds. “You can sign up at the fire station.” I point up the street.
He laughs, a sound full of genuine mirth. If I were to sketch him, I might even add pointed ears and a Peter Pan hat on his head. Except for his five days of blonde scruff, he reminds me of a boy who never grew up.
“I’ve never competed in ice games, actually. Do you think I should give it a go?”
His question catches me off guard. “Uh, well, that’s up to you,” I stammer. “It can be fun if you like that sort of thing.”
The young man nods thoughtfully, then extends his hand. “I’m Will, by the way. Just arrived in town.”
I hesitate for a moment before shaking his hand. “Noah. I run the skate rental here.”
Will’s grip is firm and warm, and I feel an odd tingle run up my arm at the contact. It’s like I stuck my cold hand in warm water. I quickly pull my hand away, unsure of what to make of the sensation.
“Nice to meet you, Noah,” Will says, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. “Say, what else is there to do in this sleepy little town? Any recommendations for a newcomer?”
“Well, there are some good cross-country ski paths in the woods,” I offer. “If you’re into outdoor activities.”
Will nods enthusiastically. “Sounds great. But what about in town?”
The question brings Sam’s idea to mind. “There’s the annual Tree Lighting Ceremony tonight,” I say, surprised to hear the words coming out of my mouth. “It’s quite popular with the locals.”
Will’s eyes light up. “A Tree Lighting Ceremony? That sounds great. Are you going?”
I shake my head, feeling a familiar tightness in my chest at the thought. “No, I’ve never gone before. No sense starting now.”
Will’s brow furrows slightly, and he regards me with a look that feels far too perceptive for a stranger. “Why don’t you try it out? Could be fun.”
Something about his tone—a mixture of encouragement and challenge—makes me bristle. He sounds like Terra, who thinks she knows what’s good for me. I take a step back, ready to retreat to the safety of my trailer. “I’m good, thanks. I prefer to stick to what I know.”
Will’s expression softens. “Sometimes it’s good to step out of our comfort zones, Noah. You never know what you might discover.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Let me show you.” Before I can react, he places a hand on my shoulder. The moment his fingers make contact, the world around me dissolves in a dizzying swirl of color and sound. It’s like those pieces of art where they pour the paint spots and then spin the canvas around.
Suddenly, I’m no longer standing by the pond. I’m a child again, sitting at our old kitchen table, a sheet of paper covered in colorful drawings spread out before me. The smell of my mother’s pot roast fills the air, mingling with the sharp scent of colored pencils.
“Noah, what are you doing?” My father’s voice, stern and disapproving, cuts through the warm kitchen air. “You should be studying, not wasting time with pictures.”
I look up, my small hands instinctively moving to cover my artwork. “I like drawing. Miss Johnson says I’m really good at it.”
My mother’s laugh, sharp and dismissive, joins my father’s frown. “Honey, drawing is a nice hobby, but it’s not something you can make a living from. You need to focus on real subjects, things that will get you into a good college.”
“But—,” I start to protest, only to be cut off by my father’s hand slamming down on the table.
“No buts, Noah. Put those crayons away and get out your math book. I’m not slaving away to put food on this table so you can waste time with crayons.”
The scene shifts, and I’m older now, standing in front of my high school art class, proudly displaying a landscape I’ve spent weeks perfecting. My classmates are clapping, and my teacher is beaming with pride.
My parents stand in the back of the room. My mother’s lips are pursed in disappointment while my father shakes his head slowly. Their silent disapproval drowns out the applause, leaving me feeling small and ashamed for having spent so much time on something that doesn’t hold any value to them.
Another shift and I’m in my bedroom, packing away my art supplies. Sketchbooks filled with dreams and aspirations disappear into a box, shoved unceremoniously under my bed. I can hear my parents’ voices drifting up from downstairs, discussing the way my head is always in the clouds and I’m going to end up homeless.
The memories come faster now, a whirlwind of moments where my creative spirit was slowly but surely crushed under the weight of practicality and parental expectations. Each criticism, each dismissive comment, each comparison to more “successful” siblings chips away at my confidence until...
I’m jolted back to the present with a gasp, stumbling backward and away from Will’s touch. My heart is racing, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. The echoes of my parents’ disappointment ring in my ears, as fresh and painful as if they had just been spoken.
“What the heck was that?” I demand, my voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. I want to curl up in a ball and hide. It was bad enough living through those moments spaced out, but to relive them in a condensed version was awful.
Will looks as startled as I feel, his eyes wide with surprise and what looks like genuine concern. “I had no idea. I mean, I didn’t think...”
I’m not listening anymore. Without another word, I turn and practically run into the safety of my trailer, slamming the door behind me. My hands tremble as I lean against the counter, trying to catch my breath and make sense of what just happened.
How could a simple touch have triggered such vivid, painful memories? How did he do that? Was it him, or did talking with Terra trigger something? The questions swirl in my mind.
I find myself reaching under the counter, pulling out the sketchbook I keep hidden there. I flip through the pages with shaking hands. Landscapes, portraits, whimsical designs.
As I stare at the drawings, I can hear my parents’ criticisms ringing in my ears. “Childish fantasies... waste of time... need to grow up and face reality...” Each word is a dagger, reopening old wounds I thought had long since healed.
The sound of Sam kicking the snow off his boots against the side of the trailer jolts me. I quickly shove the sketchbook back in its hiding place.
Sam enters, balancing two steaming cups of cocoa. His brow furrows as he takes in my appearance. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I can tell I’m pale. My face feels drained. My heart is just barely starting to slow down, and my hands aren’t steady. I force a smile, reaching for one of the cups and forcing myself to act normal. “I shoveled the walk fast. How’d it go with Alexis?”
Sam’s face lights up. “Fantastic. We’re going to the tree lighting ceremony tonight.”
“No way.” I shove his shoulder. “Epic. I can’t believe you finally asked her out.”
He blushes deeply. “Technically, she asked me.”
I laugh heartily. It sounds like it’s coming from a different dimension. I watch Sam to see if he notices how weird it is, but he’s grinning too big to pay attention to me. Alexis has him one hundred percent wrapped around her little finger.
“You should come with us,” he said before drinking from his cocoa cup.
The idea sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me. “And ruin your first date with the woman of your dreams?” I scoff. “You two have fun.”
Sam looks like he wants to argue, but a glance at his watch changes his mind. “Alright, but the offer stands if you change your mind. I’ve got to head over to pick her up. You sure you’re okay to man the fort alone?”
I nod. “Go on, I’ve got this covered.”
Sam leaves, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
The encounter with Will, the flood of memories it unleashed, Sam finally getting his chance with Alexis—it’s all left me feeling oddly unsettled. For the first time in years, I find myself questioning the careful routine I’ve built around myself.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I decide to go to the Tree Lighting Ceremony. Not to socialize, not to find romance, but to observe. To sketch. To capture the light and color, and life of the event in a way I haven’t allowed myself to do in far too long. I’m going to really wallow in my aloneness by being in a group of people and not talking to them. I’ll show Terra, Will, Sam, and myself that I’m fine on my own, and I can be happy with nothing more than a freshly sharpened set of sketching pencils.
I set up the skate return bin that we use when one of us has to close up for a while to take a break. I’ve never had anyone steal my skates before. I think most people don’t want to have to store them all year round.
I lock up the trailer, my hand lingering on the door for a moment. As I make my way toward the town square, the first snowflakes of the evening begin to fall, dusting the world in a soft, white glow. Good. The more snow, the fewer people who will venture out, which means fewer people to avoid. I don’t need someone special in my life. I don’t need to try new things like Will said. And I especially don’t need to be a third wheel on Sam’s date. I just need to be left alone. Why is it so hard for people to understand that?