Chapter 1 Clem
clem
THE FOLLOWING DECEMBER
My car drives down Main Street slow as molasses, not caring how leisurely I’m traveling nor if I’m holding up traffic. However, I’d probably get a better view of the lights if I walked.
Yes, that’s a much better idea.
Speeding up, trying to ignore the first view of my handiwork, I pull into the first parking lot I find, kill the engine, and snake my arms into Willa’s winter jacket. You’d think I’d have my own by now, but call me thrifty. Not like she wears the damn thing.
I secure the wool cap on my head and stuff my hands into borrowed gloves.
Dax’s borrowed gloves. A pair of my own is on my list, but it’s so far down, it might as well be the caboose on the holiday train.
I blame living in chaotic turmoil for the last eleven months for all of my problems. Of which there are many, several I’m packing down for the next ten minutes to enjoy the spectacle of lights adorning Main Street.
Did I ever think I’d win this silly competition? Not in a million years.
Was I shocked as ever, almost as when I found out my husband had another wife? One million percent.
At Willa’s insistence, I entered on a whim, not thinking I’d have any chance of winning.
Not since Merritt Nicholas won over thirty years ago has a newbie to Winterberry Junction won the Christmas lights contest. Had I known I’d win, I would have gone bigger.
More extravagant. Though that might have decimated the win.
Stepping out of my new-to-me van, I tug the coat tighter around my body, almost wishing I had worn heavier pants.
Snow pants even, if I had some. Not that there’s snow on the ground at the moment, but Vermont is fucking cold to this southerner, even without the white stuff on the ground.
I seriously should have reconsidered my life’s plan when I had the chance.
I scurry to the sidewalk, taking in the lights on the first building I come to.
The theme is so simple, another reason I figured it would be the downfall. But apparently, the committee and the townsfolk of Winterberry Junction disagreed.
“A small-town holiday.” That was my starting point. In an alternating pattern, multi-colored lights adorn some buildings, giving the show more of a festive feel, while other buildings make use of white and yellow lights to make it cozy.
Each building has its own set of decorations to showcase the unique features of the particular building. My favorite is the old country store, decorated as if we stepped back into the 1950s.
Lights span across the road, “jumping” from one side of the street to the other.
A gingerbread family waves from the bakery. I don’t hide my snicker as I pass.
As I make my way down one side of the street, my smile grows wide, the brilliance of the plans I first designed on paper carried out in real life, mesmerizing.
No, astonishing.
Radiant.
The colors, the designs, the ambiance—all of it spectacular. I’m always proud of what ideas my creativity unleashes, of what art I create, but nothing as fabulous as this. It’s too bad I’m only allowed to win once. There are so many ideas already flowing for a future display.
Perhaps I could enter under one of Willa’s names . . .
Not even the notion of never seeing my design take shape again can ruin my high. No raining on my parade tonight or any other night the illumination will be up. I plan to come back with the boys later tonight and every night until it comes down.
I had to see it for myself first, revel in the splendor, stroke my ego the first time.
“Damn, girl. This is some amazing work.” The words voiced to no one but myself, I pat my back.
I’m on the other side of the street now, still in awe of the majesty of the design. I had to do hours of research to contemplate submitting an entry. I’d say those hours were well worth the sleepless nights and early morning wake-ups.
Not to toot my own horn, but man, is this spectacular.
Thinking back to last year’s display, mine puts it to shame. If only in my head. It’s nothing I’ll admit out loud to another soul. Not even the girl I shared a womb with. This secret I’m taking to my grave.
“It’s truly gorgeous. Stunning, even. I’m not sure how you pulled off the elves.”
I spin at the sound of my brother-in-law’s voice. Beckett’s there, taking in the sights with awe in his eyes.
“From one winner to another, I thank you. It’s amazing, if I say so myself.” Oops. A little boasting is okay, right?
“It’s really something, Clem. The people of Winterberry Junction are going to love it. Hopefully, they’ve all gotten over the fact that a transplant won.”
I inwardly cringe at his statement but don’t let the feelings out. I’m good at that. An expert, one might say.
“Again, thank you. This outsider and warm-weather dweller appreciates the support.”
“Did the boys see it yet?”
“Nope. Needed a moment. Is that weird?”
Beckett chuckles, the sound comforting. “Nope.” He leans in closer. “Did you cry?”
“I mean, it’s a luminous masterpiece and all, but I’m not much of a happy crier. Was I supposed to?” Before I let him answer, I gasp. “Oh my god. You did, didn’t you? Why does that not surprise me?”
I’ve gotten to know my sister’s husband fairly well over the few years she’s been with him, even more so since making Winterberry Junction my new residence in July, in time to submit a proposal for the lights competition.
It won’t be permanent until the divorce is finalized in a couple of months, but I’m itching to make it happen.
“Just a few,” Beckett admits freely. “I won’t tell anyone if you do.”
“Appreciate it, but I’m good. It’s not who I am.” At least anymore.
“Where are the kiddos?”
“With Shania. I told her I’d be gone an hour.” I check the time on my watch. “Still have a few minutes to marvel at the brilliance. Where’s my sister?”
“Lost in her book.”
I should have known. Now that she’s writing again, I’d surmise that happens more often than not.
“We still on for dinner?”
“Yep, then I’ll drive the boys by on the way home to show off my award-winning creation.”
“Didn’t peg you as cocky.”
“Am I not supposed to be proud of this?” I wave my arm in the air, spinning a full circle, admiring the show.
Beckett holds up his hands. “I’m kidding. It’s amazing. Far superior to the other entries.”
I point a finger his way. “I knew you were on the committee. Your poker face is devious.” Almost as good as your brother’s, I don’t add aloud.
“I’m not allowed to divulge that information until the winner is announced. It’s part of the rules. You’ll see next year.”
As if I’m not lit up enough, his words excite me more. “I get to be on the committee next year? Gosh, that lessens the blow of never being able to win again.”
Beckett makes a “so-so” motion with his hands. “Ah, a little. Still think it’s dumb we can’t enter again. I already have ways to supercharge a different display.”
“Yeah, same,” I agree. “But rules are rules, and fair is fair.” My shoulders slump, but not too far because it’s hard to be depressed surrounded by all this awesomeness.
“Well, I better get back to save Willa from herself. I’ll see you later.” He pats me on the shoulder, not waiting for a response. Which is fine by me. I’m going to soak up the genius every second I can.
An hour later, the boys and I are off to Willa and Beckett’s house. I chortle every time I drive onto their road—Reindeer Road. It’s so fitting for this town, even more so for Beckett. As for Willa, well, she’s growing into it the longer she lives here.
I love this for her. The life she’s building with Beckett in this Christmas-loving town. She deserves everything and more Beckett does and gives her. She’s finally at peace, and I couldn’t be happier for her.
“Oh, cool. Dax is here. He owes me five bucks.”
Atlas’s comment drags me from my head. “What do you mean he owes you five bucks?” My swindler is going to make his mama rich one day. Long as it’s all legal, I probably won’t even ask questions.
“‘Member when he bet me I couldn’t spell Rudolph?”
“No. I must have missed that.” A bet Dax probably thought he’d win, but not with my guy.
I park in the driveway next to Dax’s familiar truck. Seeing it makes my heart flutter, but it’s nothing compared to when I catch sight of him through the window inside. He’s got his niece Isla in his arms, pretending she’s a plane. Her smile is huge, and I bet she’s laughing.
He’s so the non-quintessential bachelor around the kids.
I hate how my heart squeezes. He’s not even a dad but loves his two nieces with his whole heart. Hell, I’ve even seen the way he is with Jace and Atlas. So different from Keith.
Ugh. At the thought of my soon-to-be ex-husband, I groan. More than I hate that he’s such an asshole, I hate how the father I thought I chose for my kids isn’t the man I assumed he was.
As if the signs weren’t there . . .
I dismiss the thought. If I wallow in the past, I’ll go down a dark road, one I’m not allowed to traverse. Not as a woman, and certainly not as a mom.
“Let’s go inside.” At Atlas’s suggestion, we do that.
As we walk toward the front door, Dax’s gaze snags mine. His smirky smile is almost as brilliant as the lights on Main Street.
Why couldn’t Beckett’s brother be an ugly troll?
Better yet, why couldn’t he have only sisters? Much as I’m becoming friends with Heidi and Autumn, they certainly don’t set my lady bits aflame.
I’ve barely gotten rid of one headache of a man in my life. I don’t need another. No matter how attractive he is—a combination between Zach Braff and James Roday Rodriguez—nor how sexy everything about him is.
Nope, after Keith, I’ve sworn off all men.
Once inside, my kids run off. They’ve been here enough to feel as comfortable as if it were our house.
Dax greets me with that wicked grin. “Clementine, glad you made it.”
Damn this man.
Even my own rules are meant to be broken, right?