Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
Janie
Aria gurgles from the backseat as we head north on pure adrenaline and stubborn determination.
I crank my Christmas playlist to keep me inspired and awake, and for the first few hours, everything feels like a Christmas movie.
The roads are delightfully empty, Aria’s content, and with carols filling the car and Christmas lights twinkling in the little towns we pass, I feel hopeful we’re going to find Rourke.
But my optimism starts to fade around hour four when Aria wakes up and begins to fuss. It’s clear she’s tired of her car seat and wants me to hold her, but all I can do is hook my arm over the seat to stroke her cheek while keeping my eyes on the road.
After twenty minutes of crying—hers not mine, although I’m on the verge of tears too—she finally cries herself to sleep, but it doesn’t help my frayed nerves.
With every mile, the darkness feels like a black hole, and I start questioning this entire plan.
What if I’ve guessed wrong? What if he’s not in Santaville? What if…
That’s when I hear it: a distinct hissing noise under the hood, followed by a bright red warning light on the dashboard.
“No, no, noooo,” I moan as the engine gives one final shudder before dying completely.
I park on the shoulder, flip on the hazard lights, and watch as steam rises from under the hood. I don’t need a mechanic to tell me this is bad. My car has officially joined the war on Christmas.
In the backseat, Aria’s still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that our Christmas trip has just hit a major snag. We’re stranded on a lonely highway, at least an hour from our destination, and I don’t even know if Rourke will be there when we arrive.
For the first time in my life, I break my teacher-approved vocabulary rules and say three words I never thought I’d utter:
“I. Hate. Christmas.”
Okay, maybe that’s a tad bit dramatic. But in my defense, everything is dumb to me right now.
Maybe Rourke wasn’t entirely wrong about Christmas. Maybe it is overhyped—especially this idea that it’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year when, spoiler alert, it’s really not that wonderful being stuck on the side of the road with a baby and a broken-down car.
Last year wasn’t exactly magical either. Newly divorced, very pregnant, and ugly-crying over the ruins of my life. Not exactly the stuff of Hallmark movies.
But that’s what Rourke’s been trying to tell me all along. Christmas doesn’t have to be about pretending something it’s not. Some years are stupidly hard. Other years you’re piecing together a broken gingerbread house with tears and denial while your life burns down around you.
Maybe it’s not about pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t. Perhaps it’s about celebrating anyway. Because Christmas can be complicated and still worth showing up for. It can be both hard and good. A disaster and a miracle—sometimes at the same time.
As hard as it is to admit, Rourke was right.
But so was I.
Because Christmas can be both things at once. The secret is finding the light in the mess.
And maybe that’s true about everything else too. Like love. And faith. And a car that smells vaguely like burnt toast.
I take a deep breath, trying to let the truth settle in. We might not make it tonight. I might not find him in time. But I’m not alone. I’ve got Aria in the backseat, drooling on her bear and reminding me of everything that is right in my world.
She may not be much help as a mechanic, but she’s the best co-pilot I could ask for.
I grab my phone, pray that I have cell service, and call roadside assistance. Because if Christmas is about finding light in the dark—well, I’m determined to find mine.
An operator picks up who sounds about as thrilled to work on Christmas Eve as I am about being stranded. I give her what details I can, but when she tells me it’ll be at least an hour, possibly two before a truck can reach us, that little light inside me flickers, then dies in a puff of smoke.
The sliver of hope I’m desperately trying to hang on to seems as far away as Narnia now.
I rest my head against the steering wheel, completely deflated. I came so far, and now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere while Rourke is out there alone, totally unaware that I’m trying to reach him.
For the first time since this whole nightmare began, doubt creeps in like thick fog.
Where is the light in all this?
That’s when I see it. It looks smaller now, less magical.
Just a piece of glass hanging from a string.
But as the star ornament twirls lazily from the mirror, I’m reminded why we’re here.
Because I believed in something better for us.
Even if my plan to find Rourke falls apart completely, at least I tried. At least I fought for us.
That has to count for something.
I lean back, staring out the window at the night sky, where clouds have smothered the stars.
“A little light would’ve been nice,” I mutter to no one.
And because life has a sense of humor, that’s exactly when two headlights appear in my rearview mirror, growing brighter until a large vehicle slows and stops behind me. An older man in a stocking cap and Carhartt jacket gets out. “You need help, ma’am?”
“I’m waiting on a tow truck,” I tell him.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “How bad were you trying to get somewhere tonight?”
“Like-I-need-a-Christmas-miracle bad,” I say around a hollow laugh.
“Must be your lucky night, then. Because my next call just got canceled.” He motions to his truck.
I follow his gesture and spot the massive truck idling on the shoulder.
He’s not just some kind stranger. He’s the tow truck. The one I thought wouldn’t come for hours.
“You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight.” Then he grins. “Where are you headed?”
“Santaville. Could you take me there?”
He hooks his thumb toward the cab. “Grab your things and climb in.”
I glance at the ornament still dangling from the mirror. It spins once, catching the headlights behind us, like it’s giving me permission.
“Okay,” I whisper, unhooking it and slipping it into my pocket. “Let’s go find him.”
Aria and I slide into the blessedly warm tow truck while he works outside. By the time we’re back on the road, I’m spilling the whole ridiculous story—how I met Rourke, dragged him to Santaville for the first time, and ended up here, stranded on Christmas Eve.
By the time I finish, the twinkling lights of Santaville blink ahead and a small flicker of hope sparks inside me.
“There,” I say, pointing to the cabin rentals on the side of the road. “Drop us off here. And then take my car to the mechanic in town.”
He bites his lip. “You sure about this?”
“Yep, positive.” I know this is crazy, especially since I don’t have a plan B if my guess is wrong. At this point, I don’t even have a ride home since I know the mechanic won’t be open tomorrow.
The driver helps me unload everything—my presents, bags, the Christmas plant, and a still sleeping baby. I give him every spare dollar I have and watch his taillights disappear down the road until the darkness swallows them whole.
Despite the late hour, I cross the path to the Honeymoon Haven cabin. Something balloons inside me as I stand there, holding my daughter, surrounded by everything I could fit inside my car, betting on the biggest gamble of my life.
Then I take a deep breath and knock, excitement thrumming through my veins.
I’ve never been so ready to see anyone in my entire life. To jump into his arms and cover him with kisses. To finally let go and…just breathe again.
But when the door opens, the air leaves my lungs.
An older lady in a red bathrobe blinks at me, clearly puzzled about why I’m on her stoop. “Are you lost, honey?”
Given the way I’m standing there with a baby on my hip and bags piled behind me, I probably do look like I’m auditioning for the part of the Virgin Mary in a live nativity scene.
I shake my head, swallowing hard, trying to stem the panic inside me.
Rourke’s not here.
He’s not here.
“I thought you were somebody else.” Then I back away from the door, my feet nearly tripping over the path. “Sorry to bother you.”
She closes the door, leaving me confused and alone, staring into the darkness. For a moment, I just stand there, unable to move. Then the weight of everything crashes over me, and I sink onto the ground with Aria in my arms.
I drop my head into my hand, fighting the truth I can’t outrun: I let myself believe in something again—and now I’m standing in the dark with nothing to show for it.
The tears come hot and fast, racing down my cheeks. Maybe it’s the exhaustion mixed with disappointment. Maybe it’s the sheer unfairness of chasing hope this far, only for it to vanish at the finish line.
Aria stirs, then lets out a sharp wail that echoes through the still night—an exact reflection of everything I’m feeling.
I hate that we came all this way for nothing.
I hate that it’s Christmas Eve and I still can’t find him.
But most of all, I hate that I might be too late.