Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kylie
The last two weeks had gone by in a blur.
A blur of avoiding Luke, trying not to hear the whispers around town, and applying for jobs.
Jobs that weren’t panning out.
Low-grade panic was setting in, and she wondered if conflict were inevitable.
Would she ever be one of those people who knew themselves so well that they never experienced this internal mess?
If she stayed here, asked to be Harriet’s permanent nanny, settled into a new apartment in Luview and let her life take root in the place where she spent the first fifteen years of her life, would that be so… bad?
The ambitious piece of her said yes. Yes, it would. She hadn’t fought so hard in New York, and later at Nordicbeth Resorts, to establish herself in children’s programming, to just leave it all behind.
And then there was the nasty fact that the voice telling her all of the above was Perry’s, the sneer in it making her insides twist into a knot. Meeting him in college had been a breath of fresh air, his casual confidence and devil-may-care approach to life so unlike anyone she’d ever known.
He had a mean streak, yes, but she’d slowly come to believe him when he said you had to be a jerk to get ahead in life.
Not that she’d taken on that character trait.
More that she’d been caught up in his confidence, his willingness to help her to find greater career success, and his sharp-eyed view of her talents.
“You’re smart,” he’d always said. “Teaching is a waste, but it gives you credentials for the corporate world if you’re really into working with children.
Lots of money in the children’s market. That’s why my parents focus so much of their marketing on kids.
It reels the adults in, and they have the wallets. ”
Perry’s cynicism came with a lot of love bombing, of course. She never would have stayed so long if it hadn’t.
But he had an on/off switch, and when he’d dumped her, he’d really turned it off. Blocked her calls. Never answered her emails. Used his sister as a go-between.
It was as if she’d never existed.
How do you spend all those years loving someone and then cut them out of your life like a fingersnap?
It was maddening. Kylie felt so bereft. So discarded.
So abandoned.
Now she was torn. Ambition had replaced connection for so long, but now that she was in her happy place, could she give up all the dreams she’d painstakingly built for herself?
It just felt like she was avoiding the truth.
And the truth was, she was falling even harder for Luke Luview, and being his nanny meant giving in to desire.
Should desire override her entire life?
If Wendy were here, her answer would be immediate: “Yes.”
And then there was today’s date: December 18.
Kylie was feeling the pressure.
Christmas was coming. Her mom was sending terse emails and texts, asking whether Kylie was coming to Indiana. Postponing her answer was an exercise in avoidance.
If she stayed, she’d eat takeout or frozen dinners and watch television all day, which would be a first.
But if she went to Indiana, there’d be no Wendy to buffer her from her mom and stepdad.
Tough choices.
And it wasn’t like her dad and stepmother ever–ever–invited her to visit for any holiday.
Being alone felt like a blessing and a curse. Grown-ups dealt with whatever life gave them, adapting and shifting to the circumstances. Maybe spending the holiday alone would be good for her. Help with personal growth. Let her stretch her independence wings.
Or maybe she’d just cry all day and squirt maple syrup straight in her mouth while eating candy-cane Oreos and watching It’s a Wonderful Life.
“I’m hopeless,” she muttered as a text came through on her phone. Wendy, at the Christmas market in Berlin, grinning.
A second picture: Wendy with a tall blond guy with dazzling blue eyes, his arm around her, squeezing her elbow.
This is Johann. Met him two days ago. We have so much in common and it turns out he lives in Paris! I thought I’d find a hot French guy but instead I met a hot German!
The next text was a picture of Wendy with two dark-haired kids, both clutching ice skates and looking impatient.
Wendy was living her best life.
Kylie was contemplating mainlining maple syrup and having a Christmas sobfest.
Love it, she texted back. I’m so happy for you!
And she was. Truly.
What’re you doing for Christmas? Wendy texted back. Indiana?
Not sure, Kylie replied.
Stay there. Maine is prettier. Tell Mom you have to work. Nannying is like that. She’ll back off.
Wendy was right. Their stepdad would probably be relieved to have a holiday where he had their mom to himself.
And Kylie would be relieved not to go back and be judged.
I’ll figure it out, she texted Wendy, realizing she needed to go into town to pick up Harriet’s Christmas gift, a fairy cape she’d had custom made by Labrecque’s, the dry cleaner and tailor shop in town.
Love you! Wendy wrote back, with a row of laughing emojis. When you’re from Luview, Maine, “Love You” becomes its own circular joke.
Luview, too, Kylie shot back, then grabbed her coat. She’d better get moving. Parking would be a pain. Wherever there were stores, the week before Christmas was always busy, and downtown Luview was no exception.
Side streets like Clannaugh, where Luke and Harriet lived, were the natural choice for out-of-the-way parking, so Kylie carefully slid her car into a street spot at the corner of Clannaugh and Main, not feeling one lick of guilt.
All of the parking meters in Luview were covered in red plastic bags printed with white images of a gift box and the words “Free Parking–Our Gift to You!”
Hah. Even crusty old Nadine couldn’t complain about that.
Crowds were bustling, happy and busy, the sidewalks perfectly cleared of snow, the weather a luxurious thirty-one degrees on December 18. Perfect.
As she opened the door to the tailor shop, “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” played in soothing instrumental tones over the local radio station, WLUV.
Labrecque’s was the only dry cleaner and tailor shop in town, and a place that time forgot.
It was a service business, so it didn’t get as much foot traffic as retail shops, but it still had to fit into the love themes of the town.
Except for wedding seasons. Then it was all alterations, all the time.
If she’d stayed here for high school, Kylie would have had her prom dress altered here. Mrs. Labrecque carried dyeable shoes, the only footwear you could buy here, and prided herself on producing perfect matches for any material.
Instead, Kylie had gone to the senior prom in Rio, Indiana, with Bryan Abrams, a perfectly fine guy who had done the obligatory dancing with her, kissed her once on the lips, and quietly faded away.
When she learned he was living in Chicago with his boyfriend, she hadn’t exactly been shocked.
“Kylie?” Judy Labrecque looked like a middle school girls’ track coach, always wearing fitted golf pants, new cross-trainers, and with the flat, smooth musculature of someone who did Pilates and triathlons for fun.
Other than some salted-gray hairs that poked out of her short, curly hair, you’d guess she was ten years younger than sixty-one.
Labrecque’s had been in her family for three generations, and her dedication to excellence reflected that.
“Hey, Judy. How’s it going?”
“Your cape is ready, and it’s perfect,” Judy said in that clipped way she had, her economy of words and emotion so natural to her, it didn’t feel off. Just… perfect.
Like their sewing.
“Wonderful!” Kylie watched as Judy pulled the garment from the large white box she’d stored it in.
Harriet was going to be so happy. A swirl of chiffon layers and glittery ribbon, the cape was meant to make her feel like Tinkerbell, a fae creation of cloth that would transport the little girl into a pretend place where she could embody pure joy.
As childhood should be.
Someone walked in from outside, the cold rush of air shaking her out of the spell the gorgeous little cape had put on her.
“You’re all paid up, Kylie,” Judy said with a grin. “Can’t wait to see Harriet in this.”
“I’m sure you’ll only see Harriet in this. Forever. She’s never going to take it off.”
“Have fun at bathtime, then.”
With a laugh, Kylie departed, and Judy turned to help a white-haired woman Kylie didn’t know, talking about taking in a wool suit.
Outside, people were everywhere, but the sidewalks were orderly.
The town was decorated so beautifully, she couldn’t help but pause for a moment, take a deep breath, and sigh.
Relax.
Be.
Love You, Maine, was a vision. The picturesque New England town really was perfection at Christmas, though the place was known for Valentine’s Day.
Snow covered the rolling hills. The streets were filled with kids and Santas with big red pots, collecting money for charity.
Merchants offered spiced hot cider inside stores, the coffee shops and restaurants busy.
Greta’s was selling green heart cookies with red bows and silver dragées like the world would end if every dozen weren’t sold.
Love You, Maine, made you feel included, embraced, validated.
Like you were part of something gentle and kind.
Sure, it was overly commercial at times, and profit might dominate the town’s push to be all about love, 24/7/365.
But something genuine made people come back, and it wasn’t just the famous hot springs.
A dip in the water, even fingertips, at the same time as someone you desired would bring you together, the old legend said. As a townie, she’d been taught the magic of it in childhood. Then, like the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus, as she aged, the disappointing truth came out.
For kids raised in Luview, the idea that anyone would magically love you after a plunge in the hot springs was laughable.
But it didn’t stop people from trying.