Chapter 27
“I figured I’d run into you tonight,” Liam says, his tone playful.
I laugh, too hard, and am then self-conscious. Especially because I’m still holding on to his arms, though his hands have already dropped. I quickly follow suit and take a small step back, so our bodies are no longer pressed together.
“How’s that doing?” I glance at his bandaged hand. I’m grateful to be able to switch into doctor mode for a moment, to focus on something other than those dimples and piercing green eyes.
“All good,” he says, the corners of said eyes crinkling with his smile. “I had a great doctor. Dr. Elizabeth Munro, do you know her?”
My cheeks grow warm, and I’m glad we’re standing in the semi-dark so he won’t notice.
“I’ve heard she’s excellent,” I reply, playing along. My blush deepens. “But it’s easy when you have a great patient.”
Easy, Libby. Stop flirting with Liam Young in Christmas past (even if it feels like the most natural thing).
“So how was the French toast?” Liam asks.
“Delicious. That bread is so cinnamony.”
Cinnamony? Inwardly, I sigh, for I’m as awkward as a second- year medical-school student trying to put in an IV under the scrutinizing gaze of a charge nurse.
“I’ve never understood cinnamon loaf that wasn’t super cinnamony,” he replies. “What’s the point?”
“Exactly. Without the cinnamon, it’s just… bread.” There’s a pause as Liam says, “That’s true,” and my mind scrambles for a segue. There’s only so long you can banter about bread, after all.
Thankfully, the silence is shattered by a series of ringing bells, the sound coming through the ceiling’s speakers. My phone buzzes two seconds later. It’s Amelia.
“Leaving the house in five—this is not a drill!”
“My parents are on their way.” Glancing past Liam into the crowded, noisy main room, I cringe. This isn’t going to be easy.
Liam looks over his shoulder. “Do you have a megaphone?”
“I do not. That would have been a good idea, actually.”
“Come on,” Liam says, reaching for my hand with his bandage-free one.
For a split second I don’t know what to do.
Give him my hand, or pretend like I don’t notice the gesture?
The decision is made for me when his fingers find mine.
His hand is warm, his grip both gentle and firm enough that I know he isn’t going to let go, unless I do first.
We walk back into the main room, hand in hand.
I have the wherewithal to realize that not only should I not be holding his hand, I shouldn’t be holding it in front of the entire town of Harmony Hills.
But by then we’ve made our way to the main stage.
I clear my throat, readying my voice to quiet the noisy crowd.
Liam releases my hand first, to allow us to climb the narrow stairs single file. However, I can still feel the ghost of his grip—the comfort of his hand in mine. My limbs feel wiggly, or what we refer to in the ER—when dealing with an injury like a dislocation or a fracture—as “loosey-goosey.”
After walking to the front of the stage Liam stops and, using the fingers of his good hand, lets out an earsplitting whistle. It’s shrill and so loud I instinctively cover my ears. The room falls silent.
“The stage is yours, Libby.” He invites me forward with the swoop of his hand, like he’s presenting me to the audience after a show.
“Thank you,” I whisper, as I take a spot centre stage. Flutter-flutter-flutter goes my heart, and it’s pounding hard enough I’m sure he must hear it.
Between the last few minutes with Liam, the glare of the spotlight shining in my eyes, and the relentless pounding of my heart, all thoughts drain from my mind. A moment of panic ensues as the entire town watches me, waiting.
Say something… Say anything …
Liam, shifting closer, reaches out and gives my forearm a gentle squeeze. His touch snaps me back into my body. With a deep breath, I refocus on the crowd, pushing out thoughts of the impossibly sweet—and impossibly handsome—guy to my left.
Then I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Merry Christmas!”
My voice is loud—a few decibels below what one might refer to as a proper shout. I’m sweating, and wipe a hand across my forehead. Merry Christmas? Christmas is still days away.
“And to you, Libby!” An equally loud voice says.
Scanning the crowd, I see it belongs to Miss Elsie—Mary Piggins sitting beside her.
That pig has an impressive social life. Miss Elsie, in the front row, nods her head in encouragement.
Then there’s a slight murmur of “Merry Christmas” from a few others in the audience, as the crowd waits for me to continue.
I clear my throat. “First, thanks, Liam, for that most impressive whistle. If we ever need to call Santa’s reindeer, we know who to ask!”
There’s scattered laughter, and a few whistles sound off through the room.
“I think most of you already know me, but I’m Elizabeth… Libby… Munro, and my sister Amelia and I are so glad you’re all here to celebrate the clinic’s anniversary, and our parents.” More cheers from the crowd.
“They’re arriving soon, so we need to be quick. If everyone can form a semicircle in front of the main doors… you can stand in rows, as many as we need… Yes, like that—perfect,” I say, watching as the townspeople move into formation. “Can we dim the lights?”
Miss Betty, at the light switch’s panel, gives me a wave.
“Thanks, Miss Betty,” I say when the lights go down. The room glows with the many holiday bulbs, which twinkle softly through the space. The ambiance is spot-on, the room instantly cozier.
My phone buzzes again. “They’re parking,” I say to the crowd, who are in place now—minus a couple of the kids who wander about, the way young children do.
“As soon as they walk through the door, Miss Betty, if you could put up the houselights, and then we’ll all shout—in unison, ideally—‘Surprise! Holiday cheers for twenty-five years!’?” I take a breath, then ask, “Everyone ready?”
There are murmurs and nodding heads. Then, Amelia’s voice can be heard outside the main doors.
She’s obviously speaking loudly, to give us a few seconds of warning.
The door handle clicks, Mom and Dad walk in, Miss Betty hits the lights, and the crowd shouts “Surprise!” (All together, which is impressive for this number of people).
Immediately followed by, “Holiday cheers for twenty-five years!” slightly less in unison.
Mom slaps a hand to her chest, smiling through the shocked expression on her face, while Dad begins to tear up, clapping his hands together with delight.
Amelia and I make eye contact, and she pumps her fist in the air three times and grins.
I smile at her, taking in the moment, as the crowd engulfs our parents in well-wishes and hugs.
“Mission accomplished,” Liam says, leaning close to my ear, for the room is loud once again. I sense as much as feel his breath on the sensitive skin of my neck, and know if I turn my head, our lips will be in perfect position to—“Did you sign up for the gingerbread house competition?”
“What?” I ask, rattled by my own thoughts.
“The gingerbread competition? Are you doing it?”
This is one of the highlights of chili night, and the whole town takes it quite seriously.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” I reply, still not fully recovered. “The Munros are fierce competitors—we have the trophies to prove it.”
Liam raises a brow. “?‘Trophies’ plural, eh? Should I be scared?”
“Probably,” I reply, and he laughs. “Did you sign up?”
He nods. “Pops doesn’t look it, but he’s pretty competitive about gingerbread decorating. Maybe it’s a Harmony Hills thing?”
“Oh, it’s definitely a Harmony Hills thing,” I say emphatically.
I notice my parents snaking slowly through the crowd, getting closer to the stage, where they’ll accept the gift. Liam notices as well and, before he leaves the stage, says, “See you soon for some friendly competition?”
“Not if I see you first!” My guts contract uncomfortably with my eagerness.
It’s perplexing what Liam does to my nervous system.
Somehow both calming it down and working it up.
I’ve never met anyone who has quite this effect on me.
Normally I’m fairly level-headed, might even be described as “laid-back” by my colleagues.
It takes a lot to get a reaction out of me, good or bad.
As I’m contemplating the nature of our chemistry, Liam jumps the short distance from stage to ground, because Claire and Kirby’s twins are running up and down the stairs.
He pauses to wish my parents well, giving them both hugs.
It stops me, seeing the warmth between them, until I remember that Liam has his own relationship with my parents.
Like everyone else in Harmony Hills, he will have visited the clinic during the time he’s lived here.
Attended events alongside them—from Christmas tree lightings to chili nights to memorial services to other gatherings, like the Harvest Festival and Easter picnic.
In some ways, I’m more the outsider here.
I frown, thinking of all I’ve missed in the pursuit of…
of what, Libby? But I don’t have time to wallow further, because my parents have reached the stairs—the twins having been removed from the steps by Kirby and Claire, who are doing their best to contain their rambunctiousness.
Dad still has tears in his eyes, his cheeks rosy from emotion, and Mom, grinning ear to ear, is one step behind him.
She gathers her long, flowing skirt in her hands as she starts up the stairs.
Then, a billow of fabric gets caught under her shoe.
For one heart-stopping moment I watch as she attempts to regain her balance—her smile replaced by a look of alarm, eyes wide and mouth open.
She’s going to fall! Panic paralyzes me. Suddenly, I understand I didn’t avert disaster by hanging those Christmas lights—I merely postponed it. Maybe you can’t actually change the future, even if you’ve gone back to the past.
I shout, “Mom!,” and my dad turns quickly—but he’s more than an arm’s length away and can’t reach her. My mom falls backwards down the stairs in dramatic fashion, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it this time.