Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
The cold air at Lincoln’s ice-skating rink nipped at Imogen’s cheeks as she watched Katie lacing up her skates on the bench next to the entrance. She tucked her plaid scarf a little closer under her chin, tucking her hands into her coat as she leaned against the edge of the rink’s wall.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Katie’s letter to Santa.
Was it just that Katie wanted her to be happy—that she wanted her mother to have someone to share her life with?
Or did Katie feel like something was missing too?
Was she sad that she didn’t have a father there at school events or on holidays, the way her friends did?
Imogen had tried so hard over the years to be everything Katie needed in a parent, but now she wondered if she should have tried harder to date too.
If she should have been trying to find someone to fill out their little family.
“Mom!” Katie waved for her to come over as she finished tying on her skates, and Imogen walked over, sitting down on the rink-side bench next to her daughter.
“Don’t let me forget—” Katie opened her bag, letting Imogen see the red envelope tucked inside, Santa’s address written on the front in that same silver glitter pen.
“I need to drop this off at the special mailbox after we’re done. ”
Imogen smiled. “Of course.” The ‘special’ Santa mailbox was located at Mabel’s toy store, of course—children could drop off their letters to Santa inside, in the box dedicated for that purpose, or put them in the outside mailbox after hours, for Mabel to collect after.
Mabel had been doing it for years, disseminating the letters back to parents afterward so they’d know what their children wanted for Christmas.
Really, Imogen thought, Mabel was Mrs. Claus.
She didn’t just play her at Christmas every year.
“Although—” Imogen hesitated, but she felt like she needed to be honest with her daughter. The last thing she wanted was for Katie to be upset with her, but she already felt bad for waiting as long as she had to own up to it. “I should probably have told you, about that letter…”
“What?” Katie looked up, alarmed, and Imogen shook her head quickly.
“Nothing bad. I just… I read it,” she admitted. “I saw it on your desk after I tucked you in the other night, and I was curious about what you might have decided to ask Santa for. I’m sorry, honey. I know I should have waited for you to tell me about it.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Katie said breezily, clearly not upset at all. “I’m sure you agree with me, right?”
Imogen raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “About what?”
Katie rolled her eyes. “That you need Santa to send you a husband!”
Imogen bit her lip. She wasn’t at all sure that the ice-skating rink was the place to explain to Katie that relationships were a little more complicated than Santa sending her the newest Mr. Sanders model.
It wasn’t exactly like picking out a Ken doll—although there were times, she reflected wryly, when she wished it was.
“I think it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about me, Katie,” she began softly.
“And I think it’s sweet that you’ve put so much thought into our little family and what would be good for us.
But I promise you that I’m more than happy with just the two of us.
I don’t need anyone other than you, and our little family is complete just the way it is, as far as I’m concerned.
If there’s something you feel is missing—”
Katie frowned. “I’m okay,” she said, kicking her feet back and forth, the blades of her skates scraping lightly against the floor. “I mean, it might be cool to have a dad. My best friend’s dad is nice. He makes really good cinnamon rolls. But not as good as those hot cocoa ones you make.”
“Then why do you think Santa needs to send us someone so badly?” Imogen asked gently.
“Well—” Katie twisted her mouth to one side, looking at her mother. “You do seem happy most of the time,” she conceded. “But sometimes you look so tired at night. And I see you staring out of the window sometimes… and when we watched Casablanca that one night you looked so sad when they kissed…”
Imogen swallowed hard. She’d thought she’d been doing a better job of hiding her moments of loneliness… but maybe not as good as she’d thought.
“I just think,” Katie continued, “if you’re happy most of the time with just me, then having a husband would make you happy all of the time.”
“Oh, honey.” Imogen felt a lump form in her throat, and she did her best to blink back the mist that burned at the backs of her eyes.
“I’m perfectly fine, I promise. I’m tired sometimes because all grownups get tired, that’s just how life is.
But I’m absolutely happy just the way things are.
You don’t need to worry about me at all, sweetheart. ”
She turned away for a moment, blinking away the tears, and saw that the hot cocoa and apple cider stands were opening up for the evening after the afternoon break. “How about something hot to drink?” she asked, quickly changing the subject. “Hot cocoa or apple cider?”
Katie’s face lit up, the serious conversation forgotten in an instant. Imogen silently said a prayer of thanks for children’s short attention spans. “Apple cider,” she said decisively. “I get hot cocoa all the time at the shop.”
“Probably more than you should,” Imogen agreed. She stood up, digging her wallet out of her purse to get some cash. “I’ll go grab us some drinks, then.”
“Can I have cinnamon sticks with mine?” Katie asked, and Imogen nodded.
“Of course. Is there any other way to drink it?” She leaned down, giving her daughter a quick peck on top of her head. “I’ll be right back.”
She was glad for a moment to regain her composure while she went to get them apple cider.
She knew Katie hadn’t meant to make her sad—very much the opposite, actually.
But she couldn’t help the lingering feeling that she’d missed something along the way…
that she hadn’t done a good enough job convincing her daughter that there was nothing else that Imogen needed to make their lives complete.
A few minutes later, she returned with a cup of apple cider for each of them, cinnamon sprinkled on top and cinnamon sticks floating in the warm liquid. “Here you go,” she said, handing one cup to Katie, who took it in mittened hands and breathed in the warm steam.
“Are you going to skate too?” Katie asked as she sipped the cider, and Imogen laughed.
“Maybe later,” she said. “I’m not very good at it. I’d rather watch you.”
“I’m the best at skating.” Katie grinned enthusiastically, finishing her cider in record time and hobbling toward the rink entrance precariously on her skates. Imogen leaned against the rink wall, watching as her daughter began to glide across the ice, sipping on her own cider.
She could see how happy Katie was. Her smile was bright, the conversation from earlier completely forgotten.
She picked up speed immediately, making Imogen’s heart flip a little in her chest, but Katie was remarkably good at skating.
She’d signed Katie up for lessons last winter, and Katie had really taken to it.
Whenever there was extra time outside of lessons, like today, to skate, her daughter always wanted to be at the rink.
Imogen looked around as she sipped her cider, letting out a deep breath and feeling some of the tension drain from her muscles.
They would drop Katie’s letter off today, and she would make sure that every other thing on Katie’s list showed up under the Christmas tree, so that Katie wouldn’t be disappointed when a husband didn’t show up for her mom.
And maybe later, when the holidays were over, she would sit down with her daughter and explain that it wasn’t quite as simple as that, and that the complications that came with a relationship weren’t worth risking the happiness that they currently had.
“She’s really something, isn’t she?”
Imogen jumped, nearly spilling her cider at the sound of Lincoln’s voice next to her. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t hear you come up,” she gasped, half-laughing as she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with one hand.
“Sorry,” he said with a grin, his green eyes sparkling. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t, I was just—” Imogen couldn’t help but return his smile. “I was just off in my own little world for a minute.”
“You deserve a minute to zone out, as hard as you work.”
Imogen looked at him, surprised. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was that she was surprised about—that he thought she worked hard, maybe…
although she definitely did, or possibly just that he’d noticed.
There weren’t many people in her life, other than Vanessa and her daughter, that she had to notice things about her.
“That’s nice of you to say,” she said with a small laugh.
“Normally I’m fine. It’s just… you know, the holidays can get crazy, and the shop is always so busy, plus there are so many school events, and then decorating my house, and making all the Christmas magic happen for the season for Katie…
” She trailed off. “Wow, you did not need to hear all of that. I’m sorry. I’m rambling now.”
“No, I’m happy to listen.” Lincoln leaned against the rink wall, that smile still on his face.
He really was very handsome, Imogen thought.
He’d been good-looking when they were younger, but he’d grown up to be even more so.
His fluffy, tousled dark hair and those bright green eyes were both charmingly attractive, and all of his hard work at the rink meant that he’d grown into his height, more leanly muscled than she remembered him being in high school.
Imogen was jolted out of her momentarily wandering thoughts when Katie skated up to where she and Lincoln were standing, a shower of ice coming from her skate blades as she skidded to a stop. Imogen saw her look between her mother and Lincoln, a sly expression sliding onto her face.
“Hi, Mr. Iceman!” Katie called out, a bright smile on her face. Imogen frowned, looking at her daughter, at Lincoln, and then back again.
“Mr. Iceman?”
Lincoln shrugged. “I think that’s my nickname. She’s started calling me that at skating lessons. I think it’s catching on—at least three other kids are calling me that now too.”
Imogen pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Is that so?”
“It’s a good nickname!” Katie said defensively.
“It is,” Lincoln agreed. “Very fitting. I could also be Mr. Pizzaman, if you like. The concession stand is about to open, and you both look hungry. I have it on good authority that there’s a sausage and pepperoni pizza about to come out of the oven any second now.”
“Ooh, pizza!” Katie clapped her mittened hands together. “Can we have pizza, Mom? Please?”
“Well…” Imogen hesitated, thinking of the dinner she’d planned to cook that evening.
“It’s on me,” Lincoln said, flashing her a smile. “As long as I can eat a slice with you ladies?”
“Yes, please!” Katie exclaimed, and Imogen sighed. She felt sure that she knew what her daughter was up to.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said to Lincoln and he shrugged, that grin still on his face.
“Happy to. I’ll be right back.” He winked at Imogen, heading off in the direction of the concession stand, as Katie beamed victoriously.
“I love pizza,” she said enthusiastically, as she tugged off her skates and joined Imogen at one of the small tables near the concession stand.
“I know you do. It’s very nice of Mr. Blackwell to treat us to pizza,” Imogen added, already looking to see if she had any cash in her purse that she could give Lincoln to pay him back.
It was a friendly gesture, she knew, but there was something about it that made her feel a little odd.
As if maybe it meant something more than just him being friendly…
and she definitely didn’t want to encourage that.
Right?
“Lincoln is very nice. And handsome too, don’t you think?” Katie looked at her mother, who sighed.
“Don’t start matchmaking, Katie. And it’s Mr. Blackwell. Remember to be polite.”
Katie scrunched her mouth up, looking at her mother narrowly, but nodded. A few minutes later, Lincoln arrived with their pizza, as well as sodas for all of them.
“Thank you,” Imogen said, as he sat down next to Katie, across from her. “I don’t have any cash on me, but I’ll bring you some when I drop off the next hot cocoa order.”
Lincoln shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just a little treat on the house.”
“Alright,” Imogen finally relented. “Katie, say thank you to Mr. Blackwell for the pizza.”
“Thank you,” Katie mumbled through a mouthful of cheese, and Lincoln raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Blackwell?”
“We’re working on politeness,” Imogen said, and Lincoln nodded with an understanding expression—but she thought she saw the tiniest bit of disappointment there too.
Her heart flipped the tiniest bit in her chest, at the thought of what that might mean, but she quickly dismissed it.
After all, she’d just managed to put the conversation with Katie about Christmas husbands to bed, and she hoped that it would stay that way.