Chapter 14 #2
“There’s already five chocolate variations,” she said.
“And Martina isn’t going to like that. She’ll say it’s too basic.
And at the same time, more maple and pecan wouldn’t work.
Pumpkin is too seasonal. Maybe something with apple butter?
No, citrus? Orange chocolate could work?
Where’s that one with the rum-soaked cherries… ”
She shifted through her notecards, most of which were smudged with bits of cocoa powder or smears of frosting in a variety of colors. There were several that held potential, but which ones were the right ones?
The alarm continued to ring, and finally, she shot to her feet and marched into the kitchen to silence it. “Okay, okay. I’m going,” she said to the device.
With a final glance at the abandoned pile of work, she sighed and headed upstairs to get ready.
Her phone buzzed as she slipped into her car.
Wes wrote: Emma’s with her choir getting ready, so I can’t pick you up. Meet at the town square entrance at six?
No problem. How’s she doing?
Nervous about her solo, but trying to act brave.
Andrea smiled, typing back: She’ll do wonderfully. See you soon.
Can’t wait.
Warmth spread through her chest at the simple words despite her best efforts to keep some distance.
The drive into town was pure December magic.
Garlands wrapped every lamppost, storefronts glowed with golden light, and a fresh dusting of snow made the sidewalks sparkle like powdered sugar.
Andrea had become accustomed to California Christmases—palm trees strung with lights and mild nights.
This, though, felt like stepping into one of the Hallmark movies she sometimes mocked.
Only this time, she was the one driving into the fantasy.
The town square had been transformed into a winter market.
White canvas tents and wooden booths ringed the gazebo, strings of lights twinkling overhead like a net of stars.
The air smelled of roasted chestnuts, cinnamon, and wood smoke.
Children darted between stalls in coats and mittens, their laughter mixing with carols playing from hidden speakers.
Andrea paused, taking it in. It was festive, overwhelming, and achingly beautiful.
Then she spotted Wes at the entrance, scanning the crowd until his eyes landed on her. His face lit with a smile that made her pulse stutter.
“You made it.” He pulled her into a quick hug, smelling of cold air and cedar. “Emma’s still with her choir, so we have a few minutes to explore.”
“This is incredible,” Andrea said, her eyes roaming the lights. “Like something from a movie.”
“Wait until the snow really starts falling,” Wes said. “Forecast says three inches tonight.” He offered his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Andrea hesitated only a moment before sliding her gloved hand into his.
They wandered the booths, sampling maple fudge and admiring hand-carved ornaments. Wes greeted nearly everyone they passed, introducing Andrea simply as a friend. Still, the ease of it—the way he made space for her in his world—both warmed and unsettled her.
“How’s the cookbook coming?” he asked near a booth selling glass ornaments.
“Almost finished,” Andrea admitted. “Just one recipe giving me trouble.”
“What kind?”
“A maple custard tart. Should be easy, but it keeps breaking no matter what I do.” She set down a delicate angel ornament with a sigh. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Sometimes you just need to step away. Fresh eyes can make all the difference.”
Andrea smiled faintly. “Maybe.”
The first notes of “Silent Night” drifted across the square. Wes’s face softened. “That’s our cue.”
They joined the crowd near the gazebo, where fifteen children in matching red and green lined up in neat rows. Andrea’s gaze landed on Emma in the front row, her auburn hair crowned with a holly circlet. She looked nervous, yes, but also radiant under the glow of the lights.
Beside the stage, Andrea noticed a silver-haired woman with impeccable posture and a carefully neutral expression. Even from a distance, Andrea could feel the coolness of her regard.
“That’s Tilda,” Wes murmured. “Sarah’s mom.”
Andrea’s stomach dipped. So this was the formidable grandmother Wes had mentioned.
The choir began. When Emma’s solo came, Andrea’s chest tightened at the pure, steady notes. Pride radiated from Wes’s face, and Andrea whispered, “She’s wonderful.”
“She gets that from her mother,” Wes said quietly.
When the performance ended, applause thundered through the square. Emma beamed, waving until she spotted them. She darted over, still flushed with excitement.
“Did you hear my solo? Did I do okay?” she asked breathlessly.
“You were perfect,” Wes said, scooping her into a hug.
Andrea bent slightly, careful not to overstep. “You have a beautiful voice,” she said sincerely. “I’m so glad I got to hear you sing.”
Emma’s cheeks glowed brighter.
“Come on,” Wes said. “Let’s say hello to your grandmother.”
Andrea braced herself as they approached Tilda.
“Lovely performance, Emma,” Tilda said, kissing her granddaughter’s cheek before turning her attention—briefly—to Andrea. “And you must be Andrea.”
“Yes,” Andrea said, forcing a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Tilda’s return smile was cool, her eyes assessing. “I’m sure.” She shifted back to Emma. “Your mother would have been proud, darling.”
Andrea caught the undercurrent—civil words, but an edge of frost beneath them. She tucked it away, unsettled.
The rest of the evening flowed in a blur of carnival games and laughter. Emma dragged them from booth to booth, determined to win a prize at every station. Andrea let herself get caught up in the girl’s joy, laughing when Emma missed every duck pond attempt but squealed in triumph at the ring toss.
By the time Emma clutched a small stuffed reindeer to her chest, the snow had begun falling in earnest.
“I’m freezing,” Emma announced. “Can we get hot chocolate?”
They found a booth and settled near a fire pit with steaming mugs. Emma chattered happily, and Andrea felt the tension of the week loosen, just a little.
Then Emma looked up at her with shining eyes. “Will you bake with me tomorrow? Daddy said you’re working on recipes. I can help.”
Wes started to protest gently, but Andrea, remembering her own childhood eagerness, surprised herself by saying, “I’d love some help. If your dad agrees.”
Emma squealed with delight, looking at Wes. He hesitated, then nodded, his expression a mix of gratitude and something more complicated.
“Best Saturday ever!” Emma declared.
Andrea laughed, but her chest tightened again. Because as much as she wanted to protect her heart, she could already feel herself being pulled further in.
Emma slurped the last of her cocoa and hopped to her feet, reindeer plushie tucked under one arm. “I’m going to see if Mrs. Chen still has gingerbread men!” she announced, and before Wes could stop her, she darted toward the nearest booth.
“Don’t go far,” Wes called after her, shaking his head with a fond smile.
Andrea laughed softly. “She’s got enough energy to power the whole square.”
“She always does,” Wes said, then turned back to Andrea. His expression shifted, more serious under the glow of the string lights. “Thank you. For coming tonight. For … all of this. Emma hasn’t stopped smiling since you showed up.”
Andrea’s heart gave a painful twist. “She’s an amazing kid. I had fun, too.”
“Good.” His gaze held hers a moment longer than was strictly safe. Snowflakes clung to his hair, the night alive with music and laughter all around them. Then, before Andrea could think of a reason to stop him, Wes leaned closer.
The kiss was warm and unhurried, a quiet promise in the middle of the festive chaos. Andrea’s breath caught, and for a heartbeat, she let herself melt into it, letting herself believe she could stay in this moment forever.
When they parted, Emma was already bounding back toward them, oblivious. Andrea quickly tucked her hands into her coat pockets, as if she could hide the way they were still trembling.
Wes’s hand brushed hers inside her pocket, the lightest touch, secret and reassuring. “We’ll see each other tomorrow?” he asked quietly.
Andrea nodded, her throat too tight to answer. Tomorrow. Yes.
But as Emma grabbed her hand to drag her toward the gingerbread booth, Andrea couldn’t help wondering how many tomorrows she could allow herself before it all came crashing down.