Seaside Christmas Wishes (Christmas Seashells and Snowflakes)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
E vie’s heart quickened as she drove over the bridge to Belle Island. The familiar shoreline came into view, a mix of sandy beaches and weathered docks that stirred a bittersweet ache in her chest. She hadn’t visited in years. Now she was returning to a place that held so many cherished memories but without her beloved Nana—the woman who had made them all possible.
She rolled down the window and let the salty breeze tousle her hair, carrying with it the scent of sea grass and sun-warmed sand. Evie took in a deep breath and let the sensations wash over her. It was as if time had stood still here, preserving every detail of her childhood summers spent exploring the island with her grandmother.
She drove through the familiar—yet not so familiar—streets of the town. How many years had it been since she’d been back? Ten? Fifteen? More? Her life had gotten so hectic and it had gotten harder and harder to make time to come visit.
Her grandmother had visited her often, though. They always had the best time together. Until the last visit. The one when Nana had gotten sick and ended up in the hospital. She’d died there, never getting the chance to return to her beloved Belle Island.
As she drove around the island, the Christmas decorations declared the town’s enthusiastic embrace of the season. Twinkle lights in the store windows. Wreaths and bright red bows hung on the lampposts. The festiveness mocked the heavy sadness that clung to her every moment.
She turned onto Nana’s street and as the cottage came into view, she slowed the car. The weathered blue shutters, the white picket fence that was always kept freshly painted, the creaky porch swing—it was all exactly as she remembered. But, of course, now it was all different, changed. The warmth of her grandmother’s presence was missing, leaving the cottage feeling hollow despite its familiar exterior.
Evie pulled into the driveway, the crushed shell crunching beneath her tires. Once parked, she grabbed a bag from the back seat and headed up the porch stairs. Her hand trembled slightly as she inserted the key into the lock. The metal was cool against her skin as she turned the key, hearing the familiar click of the lock, and pushed the door open.
The scent of lavender and old books surrounded her the moment she stepped inside. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the entryway. Her grandmother’s favorite shawl hung on the coat rack as if waiting for Nana to return from a quick errand. Framed photographs lined the walls, moments frozen in time—her gap-toothed grin on her sixth birthday, and Nana’s proud smile at her college graduation.
Overwhelmed, she leaned against the doorframe, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. The realization that her grandmother was truly gone hit her anew, the pain as fresh as the day she’d sat by Nana’s side, watching her last breaths.
After a moment, she straightened and began to move through the cottage. Each room held an overwhelming amount of treasured memories. In the kitchen, she ran her fingers along the worn countertop where she and Nana baked countless batches of Christmas cookies. The old recipe box still sat in its place of honor, filled with handwritten cards bearing the secrets to Nana’s culinary magic.
The living room was stuffed full of memories of cozy evenings spent reading on the couch—Nana had instilled in her a love of reading—or playing board games during summer storms. Her gaze lingered on her grandmother’s favorite armchair, the floral upholstery faded but still inviting. She could almost hear her grandmother’s laughter and picture her settled comfortably in the chair, her ever-present knitting bag nestled at her side. She swore she could hear the needles softly clicking together as Nana’s fingers moved in the familiar, almost hypnotic rhythm of her latest knitting project.
As she turned from the front room and made her way upstairs, each creaky step echoed through the quiet house. She paused at the door to her old room, hesitating for just a moment before pushing it open. Inside, it was as if she had never left. The same quilted bedspread, the shelf of well-loved books, even the collection of seashells she had gathered over countless summers—all were exactly as she had left them years ago.
She sat on the edge of the bed, running her hand over the soft fabric of the quilt. The room felt smaller now, yet it still held the same sense of safety and love that had always defined her visits to Belle Island. As she looked around, taking in every familiar detail, a mixture of grief, nostalgia, and an unexpected sense of homecoming swept through her.
She dropped her bag in the room and crossed the hall to her grandmother’s room, her heart catching in her chest. The same chenille bedspread stretched across the bed with the same faded throw pillows resting against the headboard. She wandered over to the dresser and picked up the bottle of Nana’s favorite perfume. She sprayed some on her wrist and inhaled, closing her eyes and getting lost in the familiar scent.
She sucked in a deep breath, steadying herself as she left the room and headed back downstairs. Memories of sliding down the smooth banister as a child flashed through her mind as she trailed her fingers along it. When she reached the bottom, her glance caught a crisp white envelope sitting on the hall table.
The return address bore the name of her grandmother’s lawyer. She picked up the envelope, its weight feeling far heavier than it should. She slid her finger under the flap, tearing it open carefully.
Inside, she found two folded sheets of paper. The first was a formal letter from the lawyer, but it was the second that made her breath catch. She recognized her grandmother’s elegant handwriting immediately. Her eyes welled with tears as she unfolded the letter and began to read:
My dearest Evie,
If you ’ re reading this, it means I am gone. I hope you ’ ll forgive me for the surprise, but I wanted to leave you with these words, knowing they ’ d reach you when you needed them most.
First, let me say how proud I am of you. You ’ ve grown into a remarkable woman, full of strength and kindness. I ’ ve watched you blossom from afar, wishing I could be there for every moment, but knowing you needed to spread your wings. As I always said, we end up in life where we ’ re supposed to be.
I know coming back to Belle Island without me here will be difficult. This place holds so many memories for both of us. But I hope you ’ ll find comfort in those memories, and perhaps make some new ones.
The cottage is yours now, my dear. It ’ s been in our family for generations, and I can think of no one better to care for it. I hope it can be a special place for you, just as it has been for me all these years. A place where you can come and rest and heal when you need to.
There ’ s so much more I want to tell you, but I ’ ll save that for another letter. For now, know that I love you, always have, and always will. You were named after me, but you ’ ve made the name Evie entirely your own.
Take care of yourself, my sweet girl. And remember, no matter where you are, a piece of Belle Island will always be with you, as will I.
All my love,
Nana
Her vision blurred as tears spilled onto her cheeks. She clutched the letter to her chest, her grandmother’s words wrapping around her almost as if Nana was here hugging her.
She reread the letter, hearing her grandmother’s voice in her head as clearly as if she were standing right beside her. Dashing away her tears, she looked around the entryway with fresh eyes. The cottage wasn’t just a cottage filled with memories. It was so much more. It was a gift, a legacy. Nana’s love and spirit infused every nook and cranny.
She walked to the living room window, gazing out at the familiar view of the shoreline. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. A lone blue heron stalked along the shoreline with long, ambling steps. As she stood there, letter still in hand, Evie felt a small shift within herself. The pain of loss was still there, but alongside it was a sense of belonging, of being where she was supposed to be. At least for now.