Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
DECLAN
I shouldn’t be here.
The thought follows me with every step up the path toward Holley Ridge, my shoes crunching against the dusting of snow.
I should be 38,000 feet in the air on my way back to D.C. That was the plan. Wake up. Pack. Head to the airport. Fly home.
Then Joshua asked if I had time for breakfast before I headed out.
I didn’t.
But I also didn’t want him to think I was brushing him off. Not after missing the past twenty-four years. So I said yes.
One minute, I was nursing a second cup of coffee across from my son in a diner strung with garland and paper snowflakes. The next, I was making plans to stay for the holiday season.
I don’t have any upcoming court dates. No partner meetings.
No court appearances. The only somewhat pressing matters are a few briefs I have due at the beginning of next year, but I can research and write those from anywhere.
I haven’t taken a real vacation since I made partner.
So when Joshua said he knew of a fully furnished short-term rental, I eagerly agreed, telling myself this would be the perfect opportunity to get to know my son better.
But the quiet, inconvenient truth is that I didn’t stay just for Joshua.
I stayed because of Claire, too.
Because despite the rational part of my brain telling me to avoid her at all costs, I’m not ready to do that. Not yet. Not after spending the past several weeks hoping my phone would ring and her voice would be on the other end.
The air is crisp and sharp with the scent of cinnamon, pine, and the faintest hint of wood smoke as I step onto the main lawn of Holly Ridge, which looks like even more of a winter wonderland than it did last night.
Tiny white lights spiral around tree trunks.
Cobblestone paths are flanked by garland-draped lampposts.
Children in knit hats and puffy coats wobble across a pop-up skating rink, their laughter bright and joyful.
A line winds toward a gingerbread house, where a very patient Santa poses for photos.
Overhead, a jazzy version of “Let It Snow” plays through unseen speakers.
For a moment, I’m no longer forty-two. I’m transported back to my childhood.
Before the sirens.
Before the silence.
Before Christmas became a day of grief and guilt.
“Declan!” Joshua’s voice cuts through my memories, and I spot him weaving his way toward me with a huge grin on his face. “You came.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I figured you’d want to get settled in.”
“I can do that later.” I pull him in for a quick hug, the gesture still unfamiliar. “After hearing you tell me all about the festival, I needed to see it for myself.”
And it is something.
Holley Ridge has the kind of charm you see on the covers of puzzle boxes or seasonal cookie tins. The kind of place you don’t believe exists until you see it with your own eyes.
And it’s not just Holley Ridge, but the entire town. It’s exactly like I imagined a small town would be. Friendly. Inviting. Accommodating.
I shouldn’t have been able to find a place to stay on such short notice, especially this time of year.
Not only is it the annual Holley Ridge Christmas Festival, but Sycamore Falls sits at the foot of a few mountain ranges popular amongst skiers.
Short-term rentals are booked over a year in advance.
But Joshua made a few phone calls and, within hours, I was getting settled in my temporary home for the next month.
“It’s probably not as classy or sophisticated as the holiday displays in D.C. but—”
“I think it’s incredible,” I tell him.
He gives me a small smile that mirrors my own. I’ve only spent a handful of hours with him, but even in that short amount of time, I’ve seen pieces of myself. Like the square shape of his jaw. The somewhat crooked tilt of his nose. The color of his eyes.
It makes me wonder about other ways I would have influenced him if I’d been a part of his life sooner. And not just genetics, but life lessons. Things I never got from my own father.
“Want something to drink?” Joshua asks. “The local vineyard here is fantastic. Every year, people line up for their mulled wine.”
“If it’s that popular, I’d hate to miss it.”
“This way.”
We walk down a path lined with vendor stalls, each one decked out in fake snow and twinkling lights.
With each booth I pass, all I can think about is Claire and the role she played in all of this.
I wouldn’t know where to start planning something like this.
Between the vendors, the decorations, not to mention the logistics of parking for the thousands of people here, it’s mind-boggling.
Especially since she’s so young.
“Did you come here when you were growing up?” I ask in the hopes of getting my mind off the one woman I need to stop thinking about.
“Every year.” A small smile tugs at Joshua’s lips.
“It wasn’t nearly this big back then. It all started when Mr. Holley would decorate the house and barn for the holidays, and would allow locals to come walk on their property to see the lights.
Mrs. Holley would have hot chocolate for the kids and Irish coffee for the grownups. ”
“When did it turn into this?”
“It wasn’t overnight. Each year, it got bigger and bigger.
Now it’s one of the most popular Christmas festivals on the west coast. Mom would often volunteer in the craft tent and help little kids make their own ornaments to take home, since she was an art teacher.
” He laughs under his breath. “I still have every single ornament I made here.”
I nod, swallowing the regret that rises in my throat over the reminder of everything I missed. His first word. His first steps. His first day of school.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t around for any of it.”
A nostalgic gleam fills his gaze. “Do you know what Mom would say to that?”
I don’t remember much about Joshua’s mom, Hannah. Just that she was a stunning brunette with gorgeous legs and no inhibitions. She was the type of girl that every guy would kill to spend a few minutes with. And for one night, I was the lucky guy.
“What’s that?”
“She’d say you weren’t supposed to be around for it.
Not because she wouldn’t want you to be,” he adds quickly.
“Mom was a big believer in fate. Said everything happens for a reason. She always felt bad she couldn’t tell me more about you, but she was grateful for you.
Said you came into her life when she needed you most. Or, I guess, when she needed me.
Even though she was young, she said having me gave her the direction and structure she needed to get her life on track. ”
She must have done something right since she managed to raise such an even-headed kid all on her own.
“I still wish I could have been there,” I offer.
“You’re here now,” Joshua offers. “That’s all I care about.”
It’s more grace than I deserve, but I’ll take it.
A radio squawks from his jacket pocket, and a muffled voice comes through. Something about a support beam issue in one of the stalls.
“I need to check on that.”
“Go,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”
“The vineyard’s booth is at the end of this row. I’ll try to catch up with you in a little while.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
With one last smile, he disappears into the crowd, and I’m left to wander the festival on my own. I stop at a booth offering roasted chestnuts, another with handmade ornaments. Someone’s giving out samples of peppermint bark. And then I spot the vineyard’s booth.
As he mentioned, it’s quite popular, and it takes me nearly ten minutes to reach the front of the line. But it’s worth it, the warm, spicy flavor like winter in a cup.
I continue to meander through the festival as I sip on my wine, taking in all the sights and smells. A few Christmas markets like this have popped up in D.C. over the years, but I’ve avoided them like the plague. Hell, I usually avoid anything that even hints at Christmas.
But this is important to Joshua, so now it needs to be important to me.
As I make my way down another row of booths, I spy one selling fudge and start toward it, skirting through the crowds of people. As I do, something slams into me, causing my wine to spill.
I look down, cursing softly at the red stain blooming on my crisp white shirt.
And then I see her.
Claire.
Frozen. Eyes wide. Mouth parted in horror.
“Wha… What are you doing here?” she breathes.
I attempt to shake some of the wine from my fingers.
“Nice to see you again, too.”