Chapter 5
five
. . .
Charlie
Santa and Mrs. Claus’s arrival went off like something out of a Hallmark Christmas movie.
For a few tense seconds, as the Graymalkin glided toward the dock, the generator sputtered out, casting the harbor into darkness. The crowd gasped, but before I could even reach for my phone, the lights blinked back to life and folks erupted in cheers as snowflakes began to flutter from the sky.
Tessa Pope and her documentary crew couldn’t have scripted a more perfect start to the holiday season in Mistletoe Bay.
From there, everything unfolded perfectly—the brass band struck up “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as Jemma and I stepped off the boat and onto the dock to make our half-block trek on foot to Market Square.
There, I flipped the switch on the prettiest tree Mistletoe Bay had seen in years, and it sparkled to life, the air filling with a chorus of oohs and ahhs.
For the next hour or so, I shook hands and sat there as kids sat on my knee and told me what they wanted for Christmas, all the while pretending my cheeks weren’t freezing beneath my itchy fake beard.
Through it all, I kept sneaking glances at Jemma.
She’d slipped into the role of Mrs. Claus so effortlessly that it was hard to remember she was a last-minute stand-in.
She laughed easily with the children, bent low to listen to their stories, and somehow looked radiant in that ridiculous wig.
And every time she smiled, something in my chest sparked to life.
Maybe it was all that reminiscing earlier with that damn yearbook, or that moment on the boat—the brush of our sleeves, the way her pinky hooked through mine before we docked—but I could no longer deny I was mesmerized by this woman.
Eventually, the crowd for photos with Santa thinned, folks drifting toward home or one of the nearby restaurants or shops. I’d just started to remove my fake beard when a familiar voice called out, “Wait! Two more!”
Maggie and Lilah hurried toward me, their cheeks pink from the cold, Eli and another kid close behind. Eli’s grin was wide and bright in a way I’d never seen it before.
“Come on, Dad,” Maggie said, tugging Lilah closer. “We want a picture with Santa.”
I laughed, settling back into the chair as she handed Eli her phone.
“I thought you said just one,” I joked after he’d taken at least ten pictures of us in various poses.
“Have you met me?” she replied with a chuckle, finally stepping away to review the photos.
I glanced at Eli. “You want a picture with your mom?”
He hesitated for a brief second, his gaze flicking to the boy beside him—tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of confident posture that screamed “cocky athlete.” But there was something gentler in the way he looked at Jemma’s son. Protective, even.
Eli shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “Would it be okay if we … if Gavin and I got one with both of you?”
Jemma’s face softened instantly, and I swear my chest did the same. “Of course,” she said, reaching for Eli’s arm.
“Absolutely,” I added. “Come on, you two.”
The four of us squeezed together in front of the tree, our breath clouding the cold air.
When Lilah’s phone flashed, I glanced down to see Gavin’s hand find Eli’s.
He laced their fingers together and lifted his chin a fraction higher, shoulders squaring like he’d just decided to stop hiding from the world.
He met my eyes with an unspoken challenge, or maybe a plea—to see them, to see him, and not look away.
Something in me broke open then. Gavin’s was the kind of display that reminded you people could still be brave and good in this world. That sometimes strength didn’t shout … it simply stood its ground.
Of course I didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Because watching that kind of quiet honesty, that willingness to reach for what you wanted without apology, made something click hard and certain in my chest.
Maybe it was time I did the same.
“Thanks, Mayor,” Gavin said as they stepped away, his voice quiet but steady.
My throat was tight when I said, “You’ve got nothing to thank me for, son.”
Jemma was still watching them walk off when I finally turned to her. “It’s good to see Eli happy,” I said softly. “To have someone claim him like that, out in the open. Maggie told me a little about what he’s been going through.”
Her smile wobbled slightly, pride and emotion tangled together.
“It really is,” she murmured, tugging the wig from her head and shoving it down into the pocket of her parka.
“I was worried he wasn’t going to get to experience teenage love like everyone else does, you know?
Something as simple as holding hands or wrapping your arms around someone can feel so momentous when you’re that age. ”
I nodded, my gaze following the kids until they disappeared into the crowd.
I couldn’t help thinking how lucky I’d been back then—how I never had to hide my feelings for Jemma or pretend they were anything less than what they were.
How I never had to ask my best friend to fake-date my crush so that we could spend time together without raising suspicion.
It wasn’t right, the things Eli had been forced to navigate.
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
The moment lingered between us, gentle and heavy all at once, until my phone buzzed with a text. I pulled it out of my pocket. “I gotta head back on the boat to pick up my car. How are you getting home?”
“I’m not actually sure.” Jemma let out a little laugh. “I guess I didn’t think that far ahead.”
I glanced toward where the Graymalkin sat, its engine idling in the harbor, and lifted my hand in a wave that I knew Cade could see from where he stood at the rail.
I turned back to Jemma. “I know it’s out of your way and the weather is turning to shit, but you could come back with us. I can drive you home.”
She looked over at the boat, her body letting loose a shiver, and for a second, I thought she might say no. It was really damn cold out there on the water. But then her eyes found mine, and she gave a slight nod.
“Sure,” she said. “If you’re sure it’s not a hassle.”
“Jemma,” I breathed out her name. “You’re never a hassle.”
I wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that any extra time I got to spend with her was special. That, if I was being honest, even if she hadn’t needed a ride, I would’ve found some excuse to stretch the night a little longer.
Instead, I gestured toward the dock. “Come on. It’s starting to snow again.”
The wind off the river carried that sharp, metallic bite that always came before a storm. Heavy flakes drifted down as we boarded the Graymalkin.
Cade looked up from where he was coiling a line and gave a short nod. “You two set?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Appreciate the lift back.”
He moved behind the wheel and lifted his chin toward a thermos and some empty mugs set beside it. “Got you some of Hazel’s special cocoa like you asked.”
“You’re a good man,” I said, pouring two cups as we eased away from the dock, the lights from town thinning behind us.
The Graymalkin rocked gently as we cut through the water, snow thickening until the shoreline blurred to smudges of gray and white. Neither Jemma nor I spoke for a long while.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. Just strange. In all the years I’d known her, Jemma and I had never run out of things to say to each other. Even that first time our paths had crossed after our breakup, the words had come as easily as breathing.
Now they didn’t.
And I didn’t know what to make of it.
The snow came down harder as we rounded the point, fat flakes blurring the lights from the houses that dotted the shoreline out this way. Cade kept his focus on the water, his shoulders hunched inside his jacket.
“Feels like we’re in a snow globe,” Jemma said with a shiver. “A very cold one.”
“Come here.” I tugged her gently into my arms in an effort to warm her up.
There wasn’t anything sexual in the gesture, but I couldn’t deny how good she felt pressed against me, even through our costumes and coats. Her hair brushed my chin, the faint scent of her rosemary mint shampoo clinging to it.
When the dock at Hobson’s Landing came into view, it appeared like a ghost through the curtain of white. Cade eased back on the throttle, guiding us in until the hull brushed the bumper with a low, hollow sound. He tied off the lines and glanced over his shoulder.
“Same time next year?” he asked.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Not a chance. It’s been fun, but I think I’ll leave Santa duty to Jack Dawson.”
Jemma followed me down the gangway, her boots crunching over the snow and ice that had settled on the planks. My breath clouded in the glow of lights from the dock light as I unlocked the truck and got the heater running.
She slid into the passenger seat, brushing snow from her hair.
“Let’s get you home,” I said, reaching over to hit the switch for our seat warmers.
I eased down the drive and out onto the road, my car’s headlights reflecting off the snow like a million tiny diamonds falling from the dark.
For a few minutes we talked about nothing in particular—what a good job the beautification committee had done with this year’s decorations, how increasingly ridiculous some of the gift requests had gotten as the kids told Santa what they wanted for Christmas, and how cold it had gotten over the past twenty-four hours—until the road narrowed, bending toward the old Slater farm.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel before my brain could tell them to relax. I’d been thinking about that field all damn day.
When Jemma cleared her throat, my pulse tripped.
“Do you ever drive out this way and think about …” she began before trailing off. “You know.”
I risked a glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She was looking out the window, her breath fogging the glass.
“It was good, wasn’t it?” she continued. “Us. Back then.”
“It was,” I said quietly. “Better than I knew how to appreciate.”