Chapter 4
four
. . .
Jemma
The woman in the mirror looked nothing like Mrs. Claus.
Not the jolly, apple-cheeked version from the storybooks, or even the TikTok-perfect one with flawless makeup, a flirtatious smile, and more cleavage than any person who lived north of the Arctic Circle should display.
Frostbitten nipples probably hurt like a bitch.
No, this Mrs. Claus wore long johns under a black wool skirt, sturdy boots, a red sweater, and a puffy white parka that actually would be appropriate in the Arctic.
My Betty White wig—slightly flattened on one side—peeked out beneath a knit cap.
I’d dusted my cheeks with some glittery blush and swiped some frosty green eyeshadow over my eyelids in a doomed attempt to look festive.
Suffice it to say, I was not a vision.
I tilted my head, eyeing the makeshift costume and terrible makeup, wondering—for one absurd second—what Charlie would think when he saw me. I immediately rolled my eyes at myself.
“You’re a grown-ass woman,” I reprimanded my reflection. “Not a lovesick teen. Get a grip.
From downstairs, Eli’s voice drifted up the stairs. “You almost ready, Mrs. Claus? Your sleigh awaits.”
“Coming,” I called out, grabbing my gloves and purse with one last shake of my head in the mirror.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Eli was standing by the door, his hair sticking up in a way that reminded me of when he was small and I used to try to tame it with spit.
“You look…” He paused, his grin spreading wide. “Adorable. Terrible. Terribly adorable. The makeup is a nice touch.”
“Too much?”
“I mean …” He made a see-saw motion with his hand, lips pursed like he was biting back what he really wanted to say.
Message received.
I pivoted for the stairs. “What was I thinking?”
Eli dashed past me and grabbed my hand, tugging me the rest of the way up the stairs, through my bedroom, and into the small bathroom I’d carved out of a walk-in closet a couple of years ago. He pointed at the toilet. “Sit. Let me fix it.”
I did as I was told. My kid had an eye for color and detail—years of sketching, painting, and watching more makeup tutorials than I’d ever admit to knowing about.
He pulled open the top drawer, took one look inside, and recoiled. “Mom.” His voice was flat, horrified. “Half of this stuff expired before I was born. Stay put. I’ll grab my kit. Yours is clearly from the Reagan administration.”
As he sprinted away, I called out after him, “I was only a year old when Reagan was elected!”
“Bush, then!” came the muffled reply from down the hall.
A minute later, he returned with a large eyeshadow palette, a set of brushes, and mysterious tubes that looked more like art supplies than makeup.
He set them all out on the counter with an exaggerated sigh and turned on the faucet, testing the temperature with his fingertips before wetting a washcloth. “Tilt your chin up,” he instructed.
I lifted my face, my lashes lowering instinctively as the warm cloth brushed against my skin. His touch was gentle as he cleared away my mistakes with soft, careful strokes.
“I should’ve asked you to do my makeup in the first place,” I said. “I just didn’t know if that’d be weird.”
I opened my eyes to see him turning to rinse the cloth, wringing it out before glancing at me over his shoulder, one perfectly sculpted brow lifting. “Why would it be weird?”
Heat crept up my neck. “Because I’m the mom. I’m supposed to be the one teaching you these things, not the other way around.”
He smirked faintly, tossing the washcloth into the hamper and reaching for a brush and tube.“Yeah, well. Welcome to the twenty-first century, Mrs. Claus.”
For the next few minutes, the only sounds were the quiet tap of brushes against the palette and the soft rhythm of his voice as he directed me: “Close your eyes. Relax your forehead. Okay, look up—no, not that much.”
When he finally stepped back, he folded his arms over his chest, assessing his work. “Okay,” he said with a slight lifting of his lips. “You’re done.”
I turned toward the mirror and blinked.
Somehow, he’d transformed me. My skin looked luminous instead of tired, my eyes softer and brighter. There was just enough shimmer to make me look festive, but not so much that I resembled one of the ornaments on the tree downstairs.
“Wow,” I murmured. “Eli, this is…”
“An improvement?” he teased.
I laughed, shaking my head. “A miracle.”
He grinned fully then, clearly pleased with my assessment of his skill, and began gathering up his supplies. “Now go be the hottest Mrs. Claus Mistletoe Bay’s ever seen,” he said, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “Maybe Mr. Mayor will finally make his move.”
I leveled him a look that was supposed to shut him up, but only made him grin wider and waggle his eyebrows suggestively.
“Don’t start.”
He cackled, and I followed him downstairs, watching as he donned his coat, wound his scarf around his neck, and stuffed his gloves into his pockets.
“You’re sure you don’t want a ride?” I asked.
“Nope. I’m meeting up with Maggie and Lilah.”
“And Gavin?” I asked in a sing-song voice.
If he could tease me about Charlie, I could damn well tease my son about his new crush.
His face turned red. “Yes, and Gavin.” He dropped his eyes, brushing the toe of his boot over the nicked hardwood floor. “When you meet him, try not to embarrass me too much.”
“Ooh, I get to meet this one?” I leaned against the banister, my tone teasing but my chest tightening a little.
Eli had dated before, but the boys were never out, which meant he often hid those relationships, or Maggie pretended to be their girlfriend so they could spend time together. He’d once told me it was either that or nothing, and my heart had broken for him.
The fact that this Gavin was open to meeting me felt big. Like maybe Eli had finally found something worthy of him.
I hesitated. “Does that mean he’s …?”
He looked up, meeting my eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “He is.”
My throat tightened, the feeling equal parts pride and protectiveness. I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Then I can’t wait to meet him.”
His grin came back, bright and a little shy. “You’re such a sap.”
“Runs in the family,” I said, nudging him toward the door. “Go. Have fun.”
Eli chuckled all the way down the porch steps. “Have fun with Santa!”
Ten minutes later, old Joe McGillicuddy, the lone taxi driver in Mistletoe Bay for as long as I could remember, pulled up in his black Lincoln Town Car.
The drive out to Cade Murphy’s took us along the familiar backroads that stitched the outskirts of Mistletoe Bay together—fields rimed with frost, barns strung with lights, smoke rising in thin threads from chimneys.
And then, just before the turn that led to Cade’s place, we passed the old Slater farm.
The fields were bare now, the cornstalks long gone for winter, but my pulse still stuttered as the road curved past the same stretch where, after Homecoming, everything had changed between Charlie and me.
God, I hadn’t thought about what we used to get up to out here in years. Hadn’t recalled the way the windows of his car had fogged with our mingled breaths, the way he’d learned my body in the dark, and I’d learned his.
The same spot where, months later, we’d calmly discussed breaking up before going off to separate colleges.
I could almost hear the echo of my nervous laughter as I tried to make the ache of our looming goodbye a little smaller.
“I mean, it’s not like you love me or anything,” I’d said, almost as a joke.
But the memory that surfaced next—the way Charlie had gone still, the way his smile faltered—made my stomach twist in the here and now. For one quick beat, I’d seen something raw in his eyes by the glow of the dash. Something that I realized now looked an awful lot like heartbreak.
After a long pause, he’d finally said, “Can you imagine if we’d said that to each other? How crazy would that be?”
We’d laughed, though even then it had sounded hollow to my ears. And then I’d kissed him, and he’d kissed me back, and we’d spent the next hour making each other come.
Pushing that memory aside, my hand came up, pressing against the ache that bloomed beneath my ribs. For years, I’d told myself that we were just two kids living in the now because there wouldn’t be a later. We cared about each other—deeply—but we knew we didn’t have a future.
But what if there could have been? What if he’d been about to tell me he loved me, and I’d laughed it away?
The thought hollowed me out.
“No,” I whispered to myself with a sniff. “Don’t you dare go there.”
“What was that, Jemma?” Joe asked, his eyes finding mine in the rearview mirror.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just muttering out loud.”
“Hmm,” he hummed, his eyes finding the road again.
With a deep breath, I pushed those memories from my mind and willed my heart rate back to normal.
When we reached Hobson’s Landing, the sun was low in the sky, staining the river pink and lavender. Cade was easy to spot, bearded and broad-shouldered, his gloved hand raised in greeting as I paid Joe my fare and climbed out of the car.
“You ready for your big debut?” Cade called as I approached the dock.
“As I’ll ever be,” I said, stepping carefully across the frosted planks. “Just promise me I won’t end up in the river.”
Cade chuckled. “Not unless you jump. The Graymalkin’s steady as they come. Gotta be, to haul lobster in these waters.”
I smiled, my pulse spiking again when I saw Charlie already standing at the bow, his Santa suit standing out against the fading light as he stared out over the darkening water.
He looked … well, unfairly good in it. Certainly better than I looked in my cobbled-together costume.
The red coat fit snugly across his shoulders, tapering down to a trim waist, and the velvet pants hugged his ass in a way that was frankly indecent for someone portraying a jolly old man.
The kind of fit that told you he’d been working out since he last wore it.
And when he turned and saw me, the smile that spread across his face was pure warmth.
“Hey, Jem.”
“Hey, yourself.” I stepped onto the deck, gripping the railing for balance as the Graymalkin dipped gently in the current. “How’s it feel to step into the shoes of Jolly Saint Nick?”
He gave a sigh, tugging at his fake beard. “Itchy.”
I laughed, scratching at the cheap wig on my head. “Same.”
Cade hopped aboard, settling in at the helm. “All right, you two. Here’s how this works. We’ll follow the channel down to the harbor, nice and slow. Should take about twenty minutes. When you see folks waving, you look merry and wave back.”
“That’s all there is to it?” I asked.
“Yup,” he said as he handed us each a life preserver that hooked around our waists. “Safety first.”
I tugged mine on over my parka and settled it around my middle, stepping into place along the railing as Cade started the engine. The motor’s low hum vibrated through the deck beneath my feet as we eased away from the dock.
The river opened before us, smooth and dark. The air was cold enough to make my eyes water, but I didn’t care. I loved this time of day—the hush before night fell, the lights from town beginning to shimmer in the distance.
Charlie came to stand beside me, close enough that his sleeve brushed mine. He didn’t move away, and neither did I.
For a few minutes, we stood in silence, the only sound the steady churn of the motor and the faint slap of water against the hull. Somewhere in the distance, a gull cried.
I sneaked a glance at him, unable to help myself.
The wind had pulled a few strands of his hair loose from beneath the Santa hat, and the fading light turned his skin the color of honey.
His breath fogged the air between us. He looked content—peaceful, even—but when he turned his head, our eyes met and something in my chest stuttered.
It was a look I remembered, even after all these years. Curious. Searching. A little dangerous in the way memory could be when it refused to stay buried.
Cade called something from the helm about the current, but I barely heard him.
Breaking Charlie’s gaze, I turned back toward the water, hoping the view would steady me. The sky was deepening now, the pinks fading to violet, the first stars winking faintly overhead.
“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” I said softly.
When Charlie didn’t answer me right away, I turned to face him again. He was still watching me.
“Yeah,” he said, his throat bobbing around a swallow. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
I should’ve laughed. Teased him. Said something to break the spell. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Because the way he was looking at me made the hair on my arms stand on end, like the electric charge before a lightning strike.
“Charlie,” I whispered.
He looped his pinky through mine. “I know, Jem.” He squeezed my finger. “I know.”
And maybe he did. Maybe, after tonight, there’d be no more pretending we didn’t both know what this was.
What it could be.
If we were brave enough to let ourselves finally have it.