Chapter 3
three
. . .
Charlie
The day dawned bright and cold, the kind of crisp December morning that smelled like snow and woodsmoke and promised a perfect evening for the kickoff to Mistletoe Bay’s holiday festivities.
On my way back from Dockside Cafe—armed with a box of danishes and coffee—I’d driven down Main Street to make sure everything was running the way it should.
With the exception of the Dawsons falling ill this year, Santa’s arrival and the subsequent tree lighting had gone off without a hitch every single year, but it was precisely because of the situation with the Dawsons that I felt the need to double-check now.
Tonight had to be perfect or I’d be forever known as the mayor who blew the biggest event of the season.
I needn’t have worried. Vendors were already setting up their stands, and the tree was beautifully decorated. It was the kind of scene that made this town look like a postcard.
And it wasn’t just the town that was buzzing with anticipation.
For the first time in a long while, I felt that old spark of excitement. Not the kind that came from seeing a plan come together, but something richer. Warmer. The kind that hummed beneath your skin.
My marriage to Vanessa had been good. Solid. Built on respect and routine and a deep kind of caring that never needed fireworks to prove itself. And maybe that’s why it didn’t last.
It was safe to say that what I felt now when I thought about Jemma was different. Not the head-over-heels chaos of falling in love for the first time, but maybe a whisper of it.
All week, I told myself I was looking forward to seeing the town turn out for Santa’s arrival and the tree lighting ceremony, but there was more to it than that.
The truth was, I was looking forward to spending time with Jemma in a way that wasn’t about the kids or a PTA fundraiser or one of life’s smaller obligations.
To standing on that boat with her as we sailed into the harbor side by side.
But first, I had a costume to locate.
Up in the attic, I tugged open the box marked “Christmas Stuff—Do Not Toss,” coughing as a puff of dust rose into the air.
And there it was, the old Santa suit I’d bought the year Maggie was born, back when I still believed in picture-perfect family holidays.
I’d worn it exactly twice. The year Lilah was born, their mom had been in Japan for Christmas.
By the next year, we were separated, and the suit had been shoved in this box, buried under lights that didn’t work anymore and broken ornaments I was too sentimental to toss out.
I pulled it out and shook it out, examining it to make sure it was even wearable. Thankfully, it was still in decent shape, aside from a small moth hole at the elbow. I carried it downstairs, found a needle and thread, and settled on the couch to stitch it closed.
I’d just threaded the needle when the front door burst open.
Maggie and Lilah tumbled inside, their cheeks flushed from the cold, arms full of shopping bags.
“Hey, girls,” I said, glancing up from my mending.
They kicked off their boots and collapsed onto the couch across from me, exchanging a glance that immediately put me on alert.
I knew that look. Those overly wide, nearly identical smiles meant trouble.
Specifically, trouble for me.
“What?” I asked warily.
“Nothing,” Lilah said far too quickly.
Maggie leaned forward, setting her elbows on her knees. “When was the last time you had a girlfriend?”
I blinked. “That’s … a very random question.”
“It’s not random,” Lilah countered. “Maisey’s mom got divorced three years ago, and she’s already engaged again. She was out there playing the field.”
“Playing the field?” I repeated, fighting back a laugh.
She flopped back against the cushions with a smirk. “I’m just using language that old people like you can understand.”
I sighed. “This is you getting me back for saying your Uncle Nate has no rizz, isn’t it?”
She chuckled. “Maybe. And you didn’t answer Maggie’s question. If Maisey’s mom found love again, so can you.”
I set the costume aside. “Maisey’s mom joined three different dating apps and went on like a hundred first dates.”
I knew because I had been one of them. Suffice it to say, there hadn’t been a second. A thirty-five percent match on Luke Byron’s dating app should have been enough for Delia to know we weren’t a good fit, but the woman wore me down until I said “yes” just to get her to stop asking.
“She was motivated,” Maggie said.
“She was something,” I muttered under my breath as they shared another conspiratorial look.
Then Maggie dropped a real bomb. “You should ask Mrs. Price out.”
“Jemma?”
“Duh,” Lilah snarked.
“You want me to date Eli’s mom?” I asked, feeling that familiar fizz in my veins whenever I thought about her.
“I just said that, didn’t I?” Maggie asked with a roll of her eyes. “Do you need me to speak up? Is it time to get your hearing checked again?”
Lilah snickered.
“Har, har. Very funny,” I deadpanned.
“So, Mrs. Price?” Maggie pressed. “You should ask her out.”
I’d come to that same conclusion not even two hours ago, but I couldn’t deny I was curious to hear why they thought it was a good idea.
I sat back in my chair, attempting to school my face into a serious expression. “All right then. Give me three good reasons why I should ask out one of my oldest friends.”
“Easy,” Lilah said, holding up one finger. “Number one, she makes you smile.”
“Lots of people make me smile,” I countered.
“Not the way Mrs. Price does,” Maggie said quickly. “It’s different. It’s… ” She squinted and wrinkled her nose, clearly searching for the right word. “Schmoopy,” she eventually settled on.
I barked out a laugh. “Schmoopy?”
“Yeah,” Lilah said, nodding emphatically. “Like, the kind of smile where your face gets all soft and your eyes go all—” she flapped her hands around her face “—gooey.”
“I don’t do gooey,” I protested.
“You so do,” Maggie said, grinning. “And we have proof.”
“Oh, this I have to see.”
Maggie dug her phone out of her hoodie pocket, thumbs flying across the screen before she leaned forward with it turned toward me. “Proof,” she said, her voice triumphant. “Taken last week.”
I leaned forward, expecting something completely harmless, but the image on the screen stopped me cold.
It was Jemma and I standing side by side, laughing at something out of frame. My hand was resting on the small of her back like it was the most natural thing in the world to touch her. Her face was tipped up toward mine, and I—God help me—looked happier than I’d looked in years.
For a second, my throat went tight.
“You see it now, don’t you?” Maggie asked softly.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the photo. “I look…” I sat back, rubbing a hand over my jaw as if that could disguise the sudden warmth creeping up my neck. “I look happy.”
What I looked like was a man in love, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“Exactly,” Lilah said, crossing her arms over her chest with a nod that said “case closed.”
I reached for my mending to give myself something to focus on besides the hopeful look in my daughter’s eyes. “Okay, that was one reason,” I said gruffly. “Two more to go.”
I didn’t have to wait long for the second one to come.
“You know I love Mom,” Lilah began as Maggie shot her a sideways glance that held a tinge of disbelief. Maggie had never quite forgiven Vanessa for leaving us the way she did. “But you never looked at her the way you look at Mrs. Price.”
“How would—” I cut myself off.
I’d been about to ask Lilah how she could possibly remember the way I used to look at Vanessa, but caught myself in time.
I tried not to badmouth their mom—even when the words seemed to burn the back of my throat—but she was two when Vanessa left.
I doubted she had any real memories of us as a couple.
What she did have, though, was a front-row seat to how I looked at Jemma now.
“And reason number three?” I asked, setting my now-mended costume aside.
Maggie hesitated to answer just long enough for me to know she was about to say something I wouldn’t be able to shake off or pretend to misunderstand. “Because you already loved her once.”
My heart seemed to stop beating, and my throat went dry. “Who said anything about love?”
She lifted her shoulder in a small shrug, a casual gesture on the surface, but her gaze was intense.
“Eli and I found her senior yearbook a couple of weeks ago when we were looking for pictures for that time capsule thing they’re making us do at school.
You two were in it—a lot.” Her voice softened.
“And then we saw what you wrote on the last page.”
My stomach tightened. “You read that?”
She had the good grace to at least look embarrassed. “Yeah, Dad. We did.”
“Oh god.”
She glanced at her sister and then back at me, licking her lips. “You told her she was your favorite person and always would be. You told her you loved her.
Time seemed to stop. The only reason I knew it hadn’t was because the clock on the mantel continued to tick loudly, filling the room with its steady beat.
I’d forgotten about that note—or maybe I’d just made myself forget. My seventeen-year-old scrawl, the sincerity of it. The way, at the time, I meant every damn word.
“People say stupid things when they’re kids,” I said finally, because it was the only thing that didn’t sound like a confession.
“Sometimes,” Maggie agreed softly. “But sometimes they say exactly what they mean. What’s in their heart.”
She pushed up from the couch and tugged her sister to her feet. “We’re meeting Eli for the tree lighting. Don’t forget your hat, Santa.”
A minute later, the front door clicked shut, cutting off the sound of my girls’ voices and leaving me alone with my thoughts.
My fingers tapped against my thigh as I traveled back to the afternoon they’d distributed our yearbooks, my shoulders hunched as I tried to hide what I was writing in hers, while Jemma sat next to me writing in mine.