56
The year ends and the New Year is whispered into being.
Mila and I light a New Year candle at midnight and watch it flicker and flame as it carries our wishes and our hopes into quiet dreams.
Mila wishes for a winter vacation—somewhere warm where she can swim. She wishes to make new friends and to keep the old. She wishes to see her grandma again, and she wishes to be able to grow up soon so she can make watches, just like me.
I tell her she shouldn’t hurry to grow up, that time will take care of it without her wishing. And then I wish to remember what it is that’s making my heart ache and my chest feel as if there’s a piece of me . . . missing. To find it.
The flame gutters. The candle burns out.
And then the New Year has arrived.
We put away Christmas. We wrap in paper the glass ornaments, we close cardboard boxes full of garlands and colorful lights. We sweep up the dried Christmas tree needles scattered on the floor. The gingerbread, the roasting chestnuts, the spices of cinnamon and clove and the vin chaud—all of it is set aside. The Christmas markets are disassembled like toy wooden buildings, folded up and boxed away. It’s all gone, and it won’t return until next year.
A snowy, blustery wind rushes down the snow-covered mountains and sweeps through Geneva.
The freezing winter wind carries away the warm glow of Christmas lights, the evergreen-scented wreaths and garlands, and replaces it with the chill and frost of January.
The mountains surrounding the city are white-capped. The cold bites your fingers and nose and the sun shines on a frozen, wintry world.
Sometimes when the sun catches and dances on the white snowdrifts, I think it looks like the sun lighting on powdery golden sand.
Sometimes when I pass a bookstore on a cold, gray day, I look at the warm lights inside and the rows of books waiting to be read, and I think it looks like it might be the happiest place in the world.
And sometimes when I’m at my desk, lost in thought, I absently run my finger over my lips, and at the sensation I sit straight, feeling as if I’ve woken from a dream. I look around, certain someone should be there with me.
But most of the time I keep busy.
Work—Mila—school—homework—work again—sleep—no dreams—Mila—work—and?—
It’s mid-January, but it feels as if years have passed between Christmas Eve and now.
I rub my forehead, massaging the spot between my eyebrows, and close my eyes. At the edge of my desk a mug of hot coffee steams, sending out a warm, sugar-scented fragrance.
The low hum of the heating vent fills the space and a gentle, warm draft blows over me. I lean back in my leather chair and roll my shoulders. The sun shines through the window, the afternoon light falling on the blue satin of my dress. The light catches the pearls and the gold of the watch I’m wearing. The one I designed last summer—the McCormick.
I’ve been wearing it every day. I love it with an unreasonable passion.
Outside my office, there are the sounds of a busy Monday. Impromptu meetings in the hallway, the whir of printers and answered phones, the hurried click-click of heels, and the “How was your weekend?” of colleagues who have worked together for years.
I’ve spent the morning locked in meetings and international conference calls. Daniel and I are headed to New York in the spring, and we’re already planning the trip. Mila and Annemarie will come; Mila will love touring the city, and I’ll love sharing it with her.
But before then I have the first quarter’s projections, the supply chain issue out of Asia, the increased export tariffs on our enamel powder, the twenty percent increase in the cost of our raw materials, the canton’s tax proposal, and—well, I’ll get to it all.
But for just a moment I’ll close my eyes, let the sun fall across my face, and listen to the soft ticking of my watch.
“Fi?”
I open my eyes.
Daniel’s at my office door.
I smile at him. “You caught me dreaming.”
“Did I? Sorry to interrupt.” He flashes a quick grin and strides into my office.
He wore a navy-blue suit today, but he’s discarded his jacket, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up. His blue tie is loose and his hair is ruffled from where he’s been running his hands through it. Usually, this means he’s been in a meeting he’s found interesting and fun enough to let loose and be himself.
“You’ve met someone amazing,” I joke, sitting straight in my chair, “and you’re leaving early to have a lunch date.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Not even close.”
At the look on his face I lean forward. A tingle of electricity pulls at me. “What is it?”
He rolls his shoulders and looks to the side. I know Daniel as well as I know myself. He doesn’t want to tell me.
“What? Daniel?”
When he looks back he frowns, his forehead wrinkling. “You know the watch you designed?” He nods to my wrist.
My hand automatically reaches for the pearl and emerald bracelet and I close my fingers over the ticking blue watch face. “Yes?”
“Well . . . ” He takes in a deep breath. “Why did you call it the McCormick?”
My heart stumbles and then starts again. The warm air from the vent pulls at a loose strand of hair that tickles my neck. I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Daniel nods. “Right. That’s what I thought. But, look . . . Fi.”
“What?” I ask, my body coiling tighter, tension winding taut in my chest.
“After Christmas, when we officially released the watch, we were contacted by a man named Aaron McCormick.”
I stare at Daniel. He’s waiting for something, I just don’t know what. The pain in my chest pulses and I stand, pushing my chair back.
“Fi?”
“I don’t know him,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve never heard of him. What does he want?”
I smooth my satin dress down, brushing the soft fabric until it falls to mid-thigh. The watch is heavy and warm on my wrist as I brush the wrinkles away.
“That’s the thing.” Daniel smiles then. “I hadn’t heard of him either. He’s a marathon swimmer. He holds a few world records. He retired, but two years ago he started swimming again. Fi, he’s brilliant.” Daniel grins at me, and I immediately know why he looks as if he’s been enjoying himself.
“You’ve met him?”
Daniel nods. “He swims for charity. He just finished swimming a hundred miles nonstop, unassisted, between the Bahamas and Juno Beach, Florida. Everything he raised went to local disaster relief. The man’s incredible.”
“He sounds all right,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest.
Daniel’s eyes light. “Yeah. He’s all right. I have it all planned, Fi. We’re going to sponsor him and his crew. Outfit them with Abrys. He’s in Geneva. He said he wanted to meet the person who designed the watch with his name. We’ll do media campaigns. Donate to the charities he swims for. He said his family likes Geneva—he might stay for a bit. I told him when it warmed up he could swim the lake.”
A warm, rushing wave falls over me and there’s a buzzing in my ears.
“What do you think?”
I swallow. There’s a strange quality to the moment. The sun is still shining, the snow is still sparkling in the field outside my window, and the mountains are still there. Outside my door there’s the murmur of conversation and the sound of the printer running. Yet everything feels as if it’s changing.
“I think it sounds good,” I say, looking past Daniel, toward the hall.
“Did you want to meet him?” Daniel asks. He gives me his protective-little-brother look. “I held off. He contacted us back at Christmas, but you were down, and we had the holidays and family?—”
“I’m not down,” I deny.
Daniel gives me a disbelieving look. “And then he contacted us again. And I figured, well, I’ll meet him. I think it’s a good opportunity. He asked to see you, to meet you, but if you aren’t interested I’ll fob him off?—"
“No, I’ll meet him. It’s fine.”
“How about now?” Daniel flashes a smile. “He’s down the hall in the executive conference room.”
I give Daniel such a stunned look that he laughs.
“Or not. You don’t have to see him.”
A tremor passes through me. I send my hand through my hair and stare at my open door, at the hallway that leads to the conference room.
“It’s okay,” I say.
There’s a jarring laugh that echoes down the hall, and I shake out of the strange, otherworldly feeling.
“All right,” Daniel says, nodding toward the door to my office.
I walk with him down the hall, nodding at the people we pass. The white of the walls and the blond wood blend into a blur as Daniel tells me more about Aaron.
He’s from a small island in the Caribbean. He’s been breaking records since he was a kid. He’s a dad, and his two kids travel with him when he completes a swim.
I take it all in, building a picture in my mind of Aaron McCormick. I imagine he’s bulky, wide-shouldered, like most swimmers. Short. Shaved hair, I’m sure. I picture him older since he’d retired once before. Sun-weathered. A stoic man. Although he’s probably friendly since he swims for charity, but, honestly, you can never be sure. He’s clearly business and PR-savvy since he’s here, meeting with Daniel.
And then we’re at the executive conference room.
It’s the showpiece conference room where we take important visitors and hold our annual meetings. It’s where the chairs are soft brown leather, the long table is glossy mahogany, a crystal chandelier hangs over the table, and a wide glass window looks out over the mountains. There’s a hushed, beautiful elegance to the room.
Daniel opens the wooden door and the cool air and bright sunlight greets me.
And the picture I built of Aaron McCormick disappears the minute I lay eyes on him.
He’s at the conference table, sitting in one of the leather chairs, his hands crossed, head tilted down.
But when the door clicks open and whooshes over the wood floor he looks up.
I stop in the entry, arrested by the look on his face.
He’s not at all what I imagined.
There’s a magnetic force that swirls around him—a pull that has me taking another step forward. A spark lights on my skin, then another, until my whole body is lit from within.
Aaron searches my face, his gaze seeking, wanting, questioning. The force of his attention strokes over me. He stares into my eyes and I feel as if I’ve plunged off dry land and fallen into a deep, turbulent sea.
I drag in a cool breath of air, breathing in the lemon wax used on the mahogany table, the leather of the chairs, the coffee set out on the table. And then a more subtle scent—one of the sea. But that’s not actually there. It’s more like the memory of it.
Aaron stands then, pushing back his leather chair. It scrapes against the hardwood. As he unfolds I see he’s taller than I realized. Six feet at least. His shoulders are wide and athletic. He’s in jeans and a dark blue sweater, and I smile, because I can’t imagine him in a suit, and I’m glad he didn’t wear one. His hair is a thick, glossy black, longer, almost down to his collar.
And his face. He has a beautiful face. Not the kind of beauty in magazines or movies, but the gentle kind of beauty that comes from laughing and smiling and living a kind life.
I smile then, and his gaze roves over me, as if he’s drinking me in after years without water. I tingle and spark at the weight of his gaze.
“Aaron?” Daniel says, stepping forward into the conference room. “This is my sister, Fiona Abry, CEO of Abry Watch Company. She designed the piece you admire. Fiona, this is Aaron McCormick.”
Aaron’s waiting for something. Some cue from me, some acknowledgment. I can see it in the way he stands, the way he looks at me. As if with one word he’ll step forward and take me in his arms.
Kiss me.
But why? Why would he? I don’t know him.
A line forms between his brows as he watches me. He steps around the table, striding toward me. As he moves closer the air tugs and pulls between us.
He holds out his hand.
I stare at it. At his hand held out to me.
I’m jarred into action. “Nice to meet you, Mr. McCormick,” I say, placing my hand in his.
His hand is warm and his clasp firm. Sparks light and travel up my arm, all the way to my heart.
His brow wrinkles at my formal words and the impersonal grip of my hand.
“You don’t know me?” he asks.
His voice is rolling, with a lilting accent that reminds me of sunny afternoons listening to waves rolling over a sandy beach.
I pull my hand free. Step back. “No, of course not. We’ve never met.”
He blinks then. One blink. And all the coursing waves, the heat, the scorch and want in his gaze is pulled back, reeled in, and put away.
I’m struck by the loss of it.
“You admire the watch my sister designed,” Daniel says, unaware of the world spinning and the sparks flying.
“Yes,” I say, my throat dry and my voice raw. “It’s here.”
I hold out my wrist to show Aaron the watch. He studies it for a moment, his head tilted down, heat pouring off him and pooling in my belly.
He nods then, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“You didn’t name it for anyone?” he asks, studying me, his expression carefully neutral.
“No. No one. I’m sorry for the mistake. But”—I shrug, smiling at him even though it hurts—“at least you’re here and now Daniel will have fun kitting out your crew.”
“Ah.” Aaron nods. “Right. Well.” He glances at Daniel, smiles. “My kids are at the bookstore near our hotel. I should be off.” He turns back to me. “It was nice meeting you.”
I nod. “Yes. You too.”
Daniel takes his hand then, giving a firm shake. “Thanks for stopping by. Do you need a driver to take you to . . .?”
“Carouge,” he says. “Amy, my daughter, found a bookshop she loves.”
He smiles then and I’m tugged toward him at the tight beating in my chest.
“I’ll call a driver for you,” Daniel says.
“No need—I have a car.” Aaron strides back to the table, grabbing a leather bag and a gray wool coat.
He pauses and looks to me, and I know he’s about to say goodbye. There’s a terrible emptiness in my chest at the thought of it, so I hurriedly say, “Let me walk you out.”
His brown eyes search mine and then he nods.
He’s quiet as we walk down the halls toward the front entrance. As we leave the back halls the wood transitions to marble, and the white walls gain rich wood paneling.
I move close to Aaron as we squeeze past a group of people chatting. And once we’re past I stay close. My hand brushes against his; our arms touch. I can feel the whisper of the wool coat he’s wearing and the heat of him.
I take a quick glance at his features as we stride into the lobby.
The space was built to impress. It’s six stories tall, with marble and glass and a giant, ten-foot-tall timepiece on the wall. The front windows rise high above us and capture all the light the winter sun affords.
We pause at the front entrance, the glass doors holding the chill at bay. Aaron’s in his wool coat, his bag slung over his shoulder. But me, I’m in a short-sleeve satin dress, my jacket still slung over the back of my office chair.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say.
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
I lead him out then, and when I push open the doors the freezing chill hits my bare arms and legs. The wind tugs at my hair. The auburn strands blow around my shoulders and face and I sweep it back.
The stairs and sidewalk have been shoveled and de-iced and the parking lot is clear. Mounds of white snow line the edges of the lot, and the trees surrounding us are weighed down with heavy white powder. The air is brisk, snow-filled, and winter scented.
I shiver at the cold wind dragging across me.
“Here,” Aaron says, holding his coat out.
I shrug it on gratefully and then, when the warmth of him seeps into me, I breathe in his soft, sea-like smell.
“It must have been a shock to see a watch with your name,” I tell him as we walk across the parking lot.
He glances down at me, the sun playing over his skin. “It wasn’t, actually.”
And when I give him a startled glance he says, “It looks just like the island I was born on. It reminded me of home. I thought maybe you’d been there.”
I shake my head, and he nods as if he expected that answer.
Then he stops in front of his car, an SUV, perfect for winter in the mountains.
I begin to pull off his coat and the chill brushes over me. He shakes his head. “No. It’s all right. Keep it. You can give it back to me next time.”
Next time?
I nod and pull the coat tighter around me.
“Goodbye then,” I say, the cold wind tugging at me. “Nice meeting you.”
“Goodbye,” he says, searching my face. I wait for him to say something more, but he doesn’t.
So I nod and then turn. The wintry sun shines over my face. The cold light hits my eyes and they burn with tears from the cold and the wind. I wait for a moment longer, and when Aaron doesn’t say anything I begin to walk into the wind and the quick gust of blowing snow.
The cold bites my cheeks and I blink against the wintry air. I duck my head, waiting to hear the sound of Aaron’s car pulling away.
Then there’s the fast beat of his footsteps. He’s running.
I stop. Turn.
My heart pounds when I see him there, standing in front of me.
He draws in a deep breath, his dark eyes intent, and my hand shakes from the near irresistible urge to reach up and set my hand on his face.
He looks down at me as if he can’t decide whether or not he should kiss me. There’s a yearning, an ache, that mirrors the sound in my heart.
“I forgot,” he says.
A warmth pulses between us, chasing away the icy cold.
I look up at him and fight the urge to lean into him and let myself be wrapped in the arms of a man I’ve never met.
“I forgot to ask,” he says.
His warmth calls me closer. “What?”
He reaches out, holding his hand an inch away from my face, the heat of him calling me.
“Fi?”
An earthquake rumbles in my mind. I shake my head at the roaring, at the world shaking.
“Fi?”
I’m plunged into a wild, turbulent sea. The waves consume me and I’m spinning.
And suddenly lights are shooting at me, images hitting me at light speed, snapshots of memories and pictures of dreams.
—What does Fi mean? It’s a code word. Why? It’s so you know I’m me.—
—"Hope" is the thing with feathers—That perches in the soul?—
— You want me to kiss you? Yes. Right now? Yes.—
— Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand. And Eternity in an hour.—
— If you ever need me, if you ever find yourself awake at night wanting me, I’ll be here. I’ll be here loving you.—
— Come to me. Find me in Geneva. Come on Christmas Eve two years from now. I’ll be waiting for you. My name is Fi?—
“Fi?” Aaron asks.
He holds me up, his hands gripping my arms, keeping me upright. The world snaps, pulls, shudders, and then, as suddenly as an island falling into the sea, as quickly as diving into the depths of the sea, I remember.
I remember.
I lift a shaking hand, brush it across Aaron’s warm cheek, let out the breath I’ve been holding since Christmas Eve, and whisper, “Yes.”
The snow begins to fall in earnest, and Aaron McCormick, the man I love, kisses me.