23. Ashley
Chapter twenty-three
Ashley
The soulful sounds of the Jackson Five’s I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus played lightly in the background as Ashley sat at the dining room table that she, Taylor, and Tori had transformed into an all-out wrapping center.
Rolls of paper covered every available surface, ribbon spilled across the table, and discarded scraps littered the floor beneath their chairs to pick up later.
Taylor had apparently interpreted “buy a few Christmas presents” as “single-handedly keep every boutique in Connecticut in business.”
Ashley hummed quietly to the song as she tied a ribbon around Grandpa’s gift: a first-edition book on Long Island history she’d stumbled across in a tiny antique store in the city over the summer.
At the time she had no idea why she had picked it up.
She just saw it and knew that if someday she were to see her grandfather again, she would give it to him.
She’d brought it with her to put in his coffin, so she didn’t have the reminder that she could have driven herself to Connecticut at any moment to give it to him while he was alive.
Now she was able to give it to him in person. The leather binding had seen better days, but Grandpa loved old books almost as much as he loved being right. She smiled as she tucked the bow under the package.
“Did you know in this song Santa is the dad?” Taylor asked.
“Of course,” Ashley said.
“Who the heck did you think it was?” Tori dropped the scissors she was holding and stared at her sister in confusion.
“I thought she was cheating on the dad with Santa.”
Ashley pressed her lips together to hold in the laugh, but it was no use.
Tori stared at her sister before barking out a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
“I cannot be the only one who thought that,” Taylor retorted.
“I believe you are,” Ashley said, trying to keep from laughing again.
Taylor sighed, then her eyes lit up. “Carter!” she exclaimed. “I have a question for you.”
Ashley tried not to stare, but his smile was bright and infectious. She kept thinking about his lips and hands all over her. Heat spiraled up her neck into her cheeks, and her thighs tingled with the memories.
“What’s that?” Carter asked.
“Who is Santa in this song?”
Carter’s eyebrow raised, and his eyes swung quickly to Ashley. She smiled and shook her head before dropping her gaze like a teenager with a crush.
“The father…?” he guessed like he was on a quiz show.
Taylor sighed and threw her body and head back in her chair.
“Is that not the right answer?” Carter asked, clearly confused.
“No, that is exactly the right answer,” Tori said.
Taylor threw a bow at Tori, who swatted it away with a roll of wrapping paper.
Carter moved toward Ashley and stopped just beside her chair. “Can I steal you away for a minute?”
“You can steal her away much longer,” Taylor said. “We have to wrap her gift.”
“I told you girls not to get anything for me.”
“Like you didn’t get anything for us.”
Ashley smiled. “I had to make up for all the missed Christmases.”
“Ditto,” Tori said. “Now go and don’t come back.” She flashed a smile that showed she was half joking, half serious.
Ashley laughed as she followed Carter toward the front door. He grabbed her coat, held it for her, and helped her slip it on.
“What is this?” she asked. “Road trip?”
“We’re not going far.” He wrapped her scarf around her neck and opened the door, letting the December chill into the house before stepping outside. He waited for her to follow, then took her hand and guided her along the stone path.
She sucked in a breath as the path lit up with Christmas lights, illuminating the entire length of the walkway toward the guest house.
“Oh, wow.”
The bushes lining the stone path sparkled with thousands of tiny white lights.
Garland wrapped around every post and railing, accented with oversized red bows that fluttered gently in the cold breeze.
Beyond the giant evergreen on the south lawn stood proudly against the night sky, draped in lights from top to bottom, though the star remained dark until the official tree lighting ceremony.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Ashley spun around, taking it all in. “It’s magical.”
The guesthouse came into view, every window glowing with warm candlelight. Wreaths hung from the doors, red ribbons trailing from their greenery. The scent of pine drifted through the crisp air. But it wasn’t just the guest house that stole her attention.
Beyond it, the festival grounds with rows of wooden vendor booths had already been assembled and stood waiting beneath strings of lights that stretched overhead.
Signs marked where local businesses would set up hot cider, homemade ornaments, roasted nuts, and Christmas crafts.
The sleigh sat near the edge of the property, polished to a shine and ready for the horses.
Workers moved across the grounds, checking cords, adjusting decorations, and prepping for opening day.
And for the first time since she’d returned, Ashley could see it.
This wasn’t a list on a spreadsheet or a tradition she remembered from childhood.
The Wetherby Christmas Festival was alive and waiting for the gate to open and the people to ascend.
More than the signs, tables, and decorations, it was the feeling that rose inside her, filled with warmth and joy and childhood wonder.
She’d locked those feelings away for years and refused to acknowledge them.
Now the lock was open, and she freely let it flow into her.
It was like seeing light after coming out of a dark cave.
“It’s just how I remember it.”
Carter interlocked his fingers with hers. “Come on. There’s more to see.” He guided her along the stone path until they reached the entrance to the festival grounds. Workers worked to get everything done, but stopped to wave at Carter as he passed before returning to their tasks.
“Good afternoon, boss,” a man with a broken front tooth and a salt and pepper five o’clock shadow said.
“Light looks good, Larry.”
“We’re on schedule and ready to go.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Carter continued onward, and Ashley leaned into him. “So that’s Larry?”
“He had a full tooth the last time I saw him,” Carter said, and Ashley laughed.
Carter continued to move through the crowd of people, waving to everyone, acknowledging them all by name. He didn’t treat anyone like a worker or some person who had a vendor table. He treated everyone as if they were family, just like her grandmother would have.
“Here we are.” He stopped in front of the guesthouse beside a wooden sign hidden beneath a canvas tarp.
He gathered the tarp in his hands and yanked it free.
Ashley’s breath caught.
WELCOME TO THE WETHERBY CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL
Beneath the lettering, hand-painted in elegant gold script:
In Loving Memory of Lily Wetherby, whose Christmas spirit continues to light our way.
Tears pressed against her lids and she rested her fingers on her lips. A lump formed in her throat, making it impossible to speak no matter how many times she swallowed.
“She started this,” Carter said. “Your grandfather provided the property and the funding, but your grandmother dreamed it into existence.”
“She wanted everyone to feel the magic of Christmas,” she said.
“And she did. This festival has become a tradition for so many families.”
Ashley looked out over the grounds. In a day's time, children would be running through the paths laughing, drinking hot chocolate, riding in Santa’s sleigh, making memories that would hopefully carry with them for a lifetime. Just as all her memories at Winterridge did.
Even when she wanted to forget, she never could. The memories weren’t just in her head; they were a part of her. They made up the framework of her childhood. She’d let one horribly bad day overshadow all the good times, and for what?
Now Grandpa was sick, and who knew how many more Christmas festivals there would be at Winterridge.
“Thank you for this,” Ashley said, turning to Carter.
He shook his head. “I just allocated the funds. Ms. Porter’s niece made the sign. Clint and Wendell mounted it.”
“Team effort then.”
“It’s the Winterridge way.”
She smiled, but it fell short. While she was overjoyed with the sign with the festival with Carter, a part of her hurt. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Carter asked, his eyebrows drawn together.
“For not coming back sooner.”
“Ash.” He turned to her, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You came when you were ready.”
A laugh blurted out before she could stop it. “More like I was forced to come back.”
“Were you, though? You thought your grandfather was dead. You had nothing to prove. You didn’t have to come. I think what your grandfather did…”
“Was awful?”
“Not his best moment, but it gave you all reason to return to Winterridge. I think you all just needed a push to walk through those doors, and he gave it to you. Now it’s time to stop looking at all you’ve missed and focus on what’s to come.”
She squeezed his hand, and they continued through the vendors, his words echoing in her head.
She had no idea what was to come. In a few days' time, Christmas would be over. She had no idea if that meant everyone just went right back to their lives and wait until next December to gather again and fill their obligation.
But after everything that had happened since she’d arrived—seeing her cousins, learning the truth about her grandfather, falling into the rhythm of Winterridge, and finding Carter again—there was no way she could go back to the life she’d been living.
Christmas at Winterridge changed her. Or maybe it hadn’t changed her at all. Maybe it had simply reminded her of the woman she’d been before grief, pride, and heartbreak convinced her to become someone else.
Warmth spread through her as well as a calm she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
No matter what happened after Christmas, she was sure of one thing:
Winterridge was no longer a place she visited. It was home again.