Chapter 9 Later that Evening…
Everything is perfect.
This thought is, at first, met with relief.
Somehow, in only three days’ time, we’ve managed to pull off the wedding of my sister’s dreams. It’s a chilly evening, the way most evenings are here in December.
The air holds the scent of coming snow, which forecasters have predicted will happen tonight.
Three days before Christmas, so not a moment too soon for the impatient residents of Harmony Hills, for whom the holidays won’t feel magical until the ground is thickly blanketed with the fluffy white stuff.
I glance over at Amelia, who’s standing beside me. Her white dress glows iridescent, thanks to the moon’s ambient lighting. “You look beautiful,” I whisper.
“Thanks, Sissy,” she replies in a hushed tone, smiling easily. Serene and calm—the opposite of how she was this morning, and how I’m feeling right now.
My left eye twitches, like it has been doing on and off since the letter arrived.
The one letting me know I’m currently unemployed.
I was hopeful the pre-ceremony “signature cocktail”—bourbon-spiked eggnog, which I don’t enjoy but managed to choke down because: alcohol —would relax me and the tiny muscles around my eye.
Two eggnogs later I’m full, nauseated from the sugary creaminess, and my left eye remains twitch-happy.
Mom and Dad are in the first row of guests, beside the Livery-Quinn family, and holding hands while Dad clearly fights back tears.
A thrum of worry courses through me, which has as much to do with my sudden unemployment as it does my parents’ clinic.
My already-tenuous smile dims, thinking about my brief conversation with Mom after breakfast number two, when I enquired about the practice.
“It’s business as usual, Libby—lots of work, very rewarding. Now let’s focus on your sister and her big day, okay?” Mom said, telling me it was case closed on that conversation, at least for now.
I sense a shift beside me, as Amelia leans closer to her soon-to-be wife.
She puts up a hand, whispers something to Beckett, who first nods, then grins before tipping her head back and laughing quietly, but enthusiastically.
Beckett’s dark brown hair is styled sleekly to her collarbones, the strands pin-straight, and her lips are painted a gorgeous red hue.
The whole effect is stunning and classy, especially paired with Beckett’s wedding outfit: white, wide-legged pants and a matching cropped wool jacket, adorned with shimmering gold buttons and a high neck.
Once Beckett stops laughing, she presses the side of her head against Amelia’s, and they clutch each other’s hand, beaming smiles on their faces.
It’s as though they are the only two people here, completely lost in each other.
Liam, who’s standing beside Beckett and Chase, the other “bridesman,” looks my way, and I notice tears shining in his eyes.
I pull a tissue from my coat pocket and hold it up, mouthing, “Need this?” He chuckles gently, nods, and reaches behind Beckett’s back as I reach behind Amelia’s to hand it to him.
Our fingers touch, and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
“Thanks,” he whispers, then he makes an animated face and mouths the words too soft as he points to himself.
I hide a laugh behind my gloved hand. I’ve never met someone like Liam, who’s so easily open and unapologetic about it.
It’s inspiring and, in his case, sexy as hell.
Even if he’s not a fan of breakfast foods.
A moment later the tree-lighting ceremony begins, a cacophony of voices echoing through the square as the wedding guests join in. “Twelve! Eleven! Ten! Nine!…”
A countdown starting at ten may be more common, but it has always been twelve in Harmony Hills, as a nod to “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Yet another quirk of this holiday-obsessed town.
I add my voice to the mix, allowing the merriment of the moment to engulf me.
We’re facing the massive town-square evergreen, anticipating the lights illuminating only seconds from now.
Suddenly, it begins snowing—the first few flakes falling as the crowd chants, “Four!”
There’s a brief pause in the countdown, to allow for the surprised gasps that finally the first snowfall of the season is upon us. Liam and I lock eyes again, both of us grinning with the delight of it. A moment later the countdown continues. “Three! Two! One!”
The tree’s lights illuminate, highlighting the rows of tinsel and garland, its branches dripping with ornaments. The falling snow begins sticking to our hair, our coats, the cobblestones under our feet.
“Harmony Hills, you know what this means… It’s time to make a wish, and get ready for it to come true!
” The voice that comes through the speakers set up on either side of the tree belongs to the wedding officiant, who also happens to be Beckett and Chase’s dad, Charles.
A mostly retired veterinarian—Beckett took over her dad’s practice a year ago—he’s holding a microphone and standing on the platform set up for the ceremony.
Amelia turns to give me a wide-eyed look. She reminds me of her six-year-old self now, full of wonder and unabashed delight.
“Can you even believe this is happening?” she asks. “Wish time, Libby.” Then she closes her eyes and tilts her face up into the falling snow.
My eggnog-drenched brain isn’t grasping the moment’s significance, so I don’t immediately close my eyes. Then Charles begins the rhyme as familiar as any other from my childhood.
“Gather ’round, young and old,
A wondrous sight, a tale to be told.
With sparkling lights and branches green,
A special wish for a festive scene.
As snowflakes fall on this glorious night,
Close your eyes; close them tight.
If you believe, just wait and see
What magic comes from the Christmas tree!”
“Libby, close your eyes,” Amelia hisses. She gives me an impatient nod of her head.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but my mind is blank. Make a wish, Elizabeth … I scrunch my eyes tighter, but my attempt to focus is interrupted by a loud grunt, immediately followed by Liam’s voice. “Stay!”
My eyes pop open. I catch a glimpse of a sand-coloured mohawk braided with silver ribbon, attached to a rotund body covered in a red cable-knit pet sweater that reads HAPPY HOLIDAYS, HOLD THE BACON .
As Mary Piggins races past me in her sweater, I feel guilty about the bacon I enjoyed this morning.
Liam, about two feet behind Mary, is attempting to grab the leash that drags behind the quick-moving pig.
Mary runs in circles between guests, remarkably nimble for her shape, and continues to evade capture.
She snorts exuberantly, digging her snout into the snow like she’s shoveling a path through it.
Happy as a pig in… snow? Liam has recruited help, including the brides and many of the adult guests.
He’s giving instructions to form a large circle around the snow-frolicking potbellied pig.
But then Amelia’s long dress suddenly catches on the stone, and it’s clear she’s going to fall. She’s off-balance and steps farther onto the hem, her feet tangling under her. Her mouth forms an O , and there’s a split second of panic on her face as she tries to stop herself from going down.
“Be careful, Amelia! The baby!” The words are out so fast, and I can’t reel them back in.
Elizabeth Mae Munro… What. Have. You. Done?
Everyone looks at me, then in unison heads whip towards Amelia, who has stayed on her feet, thanks to Beckett’s quick reflexes.
“Disaster averted!” Becks kisses Amelia’s cheek, still holding her around the waist. The crowd lets out a collective sigh of relief, and then one little voice rings out.
“Miss Munro, where’s the baby? Is it okay? ”
It’s a young girl, I presume a student from Amelia’s class. Her mouth is turned down into a frown, and her eyes are wide. Amelia reaches out to hold the girl’s hands, before crouching to be at her level. “The baby is fine, Melodie.”
She smiles then, and looks around at the guests—her neighbours, students, friends, and family. The entire town of Harmony Hills, plus me. “I’m pregnant, everyone. Becks and I are having a baby. Surprise!”
The cheer that goes up is epic—it’s as heartwarming as a scene right out of a feel-good holiday movie.
I’m about to join in the congratulatory hugs when something slams into me from the side.
My feet are knocked out from under me, and I hit the cobblestone stomach first, followed by a good knock to my forehead.
There’s a ringing in my ears, and I can’t breathe.
Despite understanding what’s happening ( phrenospasm , or what we call “getting the wind knocked out of you”), panic courses through me.
I roll over to lie on my back. My diaphragm spasms from the hit, and my lungs refuse to fill.
It’s like a vacuum has sucked all the air out of my body; it feels like I’m dying.
I slap my hands against my chest to encourage my lungs to inflate.
Just then a face moves in and out of focus, hovering over me.
Worried green eyes that are so very green—like mistletoe leaves—scan from the top of my head to my hands, which he reaches for and holds tightly.
While he’s handsome as ever, he also looks oh-so-serious. No sign of those glorious dimples.
“Libby! Can you hear me?” Liam kneels next to me in the fresh snow. I want to answer him but still can’t speak.
“Don’t move, okay? I’ve got you,” he says, sounding breathless himself as he takes off his gloves, doubling them up to set under my head. He touches my forehead, his fingers gentle as he cringes.
“You’re going to have a goose egg, but at least the skin isn’t broken.”
If I could speak, I would tell him a head contusion can be more serious than a laceration. His gloves are soft against the hard cobblestone, and I try to thank him. All that comes out is a wheezing sound, which makes the corners of his mouth turn down more. I miss the dimples.
“That’s it. Try to relax,” he says, as I finally take in a ragged breath. “I used to play rugby and have had the wind knocked out of me so many times. It always comes back.”
He smiles now, and the dimples reveal themselves again. Liam’s black wool coat is dusted with snowflakes, as is his thick, wavy hair. The lights from the town square Christmas tree create a halo effect behind him, making the snowflakes on his shoulders and crown of his head glimmer.
A crowd has gathered around us. I’m mortified and can’t believe the ruckus I’ve caused at Amelia’s beautiful wedding—first with my unfortunate outburst about the baby, and then with the knocked-off-my-feet drama.
Mom has her doctor hat on, and I respond to her questions as best I can. “Do you have pain anywhere besides your head?” No. “Can you feel your fingers and toes?” I wiggle them. Yes. “Do you know what day it is?” December twenty-second .
Finally, I’m able to sit up, with Liam and Mom’s help, but I’m lightheaded.
“Too dizzy,” I mumble, and then see Liam’s lips moving while Mom snaps her fingers in front of my face.
I can’t hear what Liam’s saying, and while I see Mom’s fingers snapping, there is no sound except for a loud ringing in my ears. Maybe I am dying?
A moment before I pass out, I have three clear thoughts:
First, How is this the second time in nearly as many days that this pig has taken me out, in front of this guy?
Then, Speaking of… could he be any more gorgeous? (No, he could not.)
Finally, I wish I could erase the last five minutes, oh, and while we’re at it, maybe the past year of my life …