Chapter 11 Rory
Chapter eleven
Rory
Afire crackles in the brick hearth of the old house. Framed photos line the mantel, mixed in with holiday decorations. And Aunt Mae’s directing operations from her seat on the couch, a walker parked within reach.
“Careful with the corner pieces,” she says, pointing toward the edge of the village we’re setting up on a side table. “The church steeple is delicate.”
I cradle the ceramic piece, extra attentive to my hold. “Got it.”
Tabitha lifts the general store with careful hands, holding it up to the light from the fire. “The church goes in the back left. Then the general store next to it.”
“You’ve done this before,” I observe, setting down the piece before unwrapping a tiny bakery.
“Every year since I was seven.” She reaches for the bakery, and our fingers tangle. Neither of us pulls back immediately.
From her chair, Aunt Mae makes a small noise that sounds like a hum of approval. “That’s it, dear. Just like always.”
“Where does this one go?” I hold up a bookstore.
Tabitha clears her throat. “Front right. Next to the lamppost.”
We work carefully, her directing and me following the instructions. The space forces us close. Every time she stretches to position a building in the back, I’m aware of the curve of her waist. When she leans across to adjust the town square, her hair brushes my jaw.
“The skating pond goes there,” she murmurs, so close her breath warms my neck. “And be careful with the skaters. They’re loose.”
My hand is steady as I set down the tiny figures.
“What are you going to do about Storytime with Santa tomorrow?” Aunt Mae asks, her voice careful. “With the storm and all.”
Tabitha’s hand stills on the schoolhouse she’s unwrapping. “I’m going to cancel it. Probably should have sent out the notice this morning.”
The finality in her voice makes me look up.
“Mr. Patterson can barely walk with his cane,” she continues, with a sigh. “I can’t ask him to trudge through snowdrifts. Even after the storm passes.”
“What if you waited until after Christmas?” Aunt Mae asks.
Tabitha shakes her head. “You know it wouldn’t be the same.”
Aunt Mae murmurs in agreement. “The magic is in the timing.”
“What’s Storytime with Santa?” I ask.
Aunt Mae answers when Tabitha doesn’t. “A charity event that collects books for the children’s hospital. I started it twenty years ago when Tabitha was just a girl and was so sick one winter she had to spend Christmas there.”
“Once we started, Starlight Bay rallied around the idea.”
“It’s been an annual town tradition ever since.”
I watch Tabitha adjust a tiny pine tree, her movements precise.
“It’s something I look forward to all year, and I—” She stops, shakes her head. “I hate the idea of canceling it.”
The defeat in her expression does something to my chest.
“Beautiful,” Aunt Mae announces, surveying the completed village.
Tabitha manages a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll make it up to the kids, somehow. Maybe create something extra special next year.”
With that, she turns away, stopping to adjust the throw blanket on the back of the couch, making sure it’s within Aunt Mae’s reach. Tabitha’s still taking care of everyone else even when she’s disappointed.
Her generous spirit. A refusal to give up even when she’s clearly hurting.
“Maybe, there’s another way,” I offer before I can help it.
Both women’s eyes snap to mine.
“What do you mean?” There’s a flicker of hope in Tabitha’s eyes.
“Tell me about the event. What exactly happens?”
“Santa reads stories to the kids in the bookstore,” Tabitha explains. “Families bring book donations for the hospital. We serve hot cocoa, take photos…”
My brain’s already working the problem like a tricky course layout. “So the key parts are Santa, the stories, and collecting donations.”
“And the community aspect,” Aunt Mae adds. “Families coming together.”
“Right.” I’m piecing it together now, thinking about reading to Sophie. And my virtual meeting with Hays this morning. “What if you didn’t cancel? What if you just moved it online?”
Tabitha blinks. “Online?”
“A livestream. You know, families tune in from home—which would be safer, anyway. And it will give people something to do. You set up a donation page, maybe even a wish list feature for specific books the hospital kids want.” I’m gaining momentum now.
“You could probably reach more families than you ever could in person.”
“But we don’t have a Santa,” Tabitha points out, her mind working through the logistics.
“You have me.”
She’s silent for a beat as her eyebrows lift.
“You’d play Santa?” Her voice is careful as if she’s afraid to believe it.
“I could play the part, read the books, wear the suit.” I shrug, but the truth is, I’d do a lot more than that to put the light back in her eyes. “I’ve had practice doing different voices for Sophie.”
“Your niece,” Aunt Mae says with a knowing smile. “Tabitha mentioned you read to her over FaceTime.”
I look at Tabitha, who frowns at her aunt, but I press on. “If you want to try it, we can test the tech tonight, then promote it on social media. You said you had a way to get the word out.”
“The Starlight Bay Community page,” she says, nodding.
“Why not then?”
Tabitha stares at me as if I’ve just offered her the world. “You’d really do all this?”
“For you?” The words come out before I can filter them. “Yeah.”
Aunt Mae clears her throat delicately. “Well. I think that’s a wonderful idea. Don’t you, Tabitha?”
“I—yes. If you’re sure.” Tabitha looks at me with an expression I can’t quite read. Gratitude mixed with something deeper. “Thank you, Rory.”
“I think this calls for a treat,” Aunt Mae says, reaching for her walker. “Tabitha, dear, would you grab the tin of butter cookies from the top shelf?”
Tabitha heads to the kitchen, and I follow, watching as she surveys the cabinet. The tin sits on the highest shelf, just out of comfortable reach. She stretches up on her toes, and her sweater rides up, revealing a strip of skin at her lower back.
“Need help?” The offer comes out rougher than intended.
“I’ve got it.” But she glances back, catches me staring, and something sparks between us before she reaches for the stepstool tucked beside the refrigerator. She retrieves the tin without issue, but when she turns to climb down, I’m there to steady the stool. Our eyes meet. Hold.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
Back in the family room, Aunt Mae accepts the cookie Tabitha hands her then directs her next question at both of us. “You’ll come for Sunday dinner when this clears up?”
“Of course,” Tabitha says.
Aunt Mae’s gaze lands on me. “Both of you.”
There’s a beat of silence where I should probably point out I’ll be in Texas by then. Instead, I say, “If I’m still in town, I’d be happy to.”
Aunt Mae’s smile could power the entire eastern seaboard. “Wonderful. Tabitha makes an excellent pot roast.”
“Aunt Mae—” Tabitha starts, but the old woman waves her off.
“What? I’m just being hospitable.” She reaches out to pat my hand, her touch surprisingly strong. “Thank you for clearing my walk. And for helping my girl here figure out her Santa situation.”
Her girl. The possessiveness in those two words, the obvious affection, does something to my chest. It makes me think about roots that go deep and matter. Everything I’ve never had and never thought I wanted.
“No problem,” I manage.
“We should probably head back soon,” Tabitha says, glancing toward the window where gray skies are already darkening. “Before it gets worse.”
“Of course, dear.” Aunt Mae’s still smiling as we gather our things. “Drive safe. Or walk safely, rather. And Rory? Thank you again. For everything.”
The walk back is quieter than the trip over, both of us lost in our own thoughts. But when we reach Tabitha’s building and climb the stairs to her apartment, I can’t stop thinking about the way Aunt Mae looked at us. As if she’d already decided I belong at her table.
And it’s then I decide to text Hays. To ask him to set up an interview for the day after tomorrow.