Chapter 24
Grant
Edith showed up half an hour later, bundled in a thick green jacket and boots. She kicked the snow from the treads, her eyes going wide when she spotted Daniel floating by the Christmas tree in the lobby.
“At least he’s not throwing the glass ornaments, this time,” she said, walking toward the reception desk. Daniel bowed to her as she walked past, but she just sniffed the air, unbothered and unwilling to forgive the ghost. “Some of those were very expensive antiques, young man.”
She pulled a jangling key ring out of her coat pocket, and we followed her into the storage room.
“I’m impressed you got the Presence to calm down. We’ve had to bring in an outside cleaning crew in the past.”
Valerie scratched the back of her neck, wincing lightly. “I think I just rambled him into submission—by mentioning my Christmas shopping. It’s much cooler on TV.”
Edith hmphed and turned toward the safe. “I can’t remember the last time I touched this thing. The rooms all have their own now, and no one pays cash anymore.”
Valerie hovered behind her, her heels bouncing against the floorboards. “Please tell me you can open it.”
Edith squinted through her bifocals and twisted the key. The mechanism groaned like it was waking from a forty-year nap before giving a rusty click.
“Ha!” Edith crowed, stepping back. “Got it on the first try.”
Valerie leaned forward, then slowly pulled the heavy door open. Inside was mostly empty. Just an old watch, some envelopes, and a few other trinkets. She sorted through the contents carefully, the soft jingle of metal echoing through the room.
When she reached the bottom, her shoulders sank. “It’s not here.”
Edith peered into the safe and shook her head. “It was a good idea, although I never heard about anyone turning in a ring.”
“I don’t know where else to look.” Valerie slumped to the floor, curling her knees to her chest. “Grant, what if we can’t solve this? We’re so close.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and I felt it like a bruise. Her spirit used to drive me crazy, that effervescent ambition that never seemed to dim, and now, watching it drain from her face twisted something in my gut. I hated that I couldn’t fix it.
I wandered toward one of the storage racks, dragging a hand through my hair. “We tried, Spells. I’m sorry.”
The words tasted bitter. That selfish part of me had wanted to fail, and now that we had, it felt wrong—like we’d come this far only to walk away. I kicked a fallen receipt near my boot, watching it flutter against the wood.
Then something red flickered at the edge of my vision—a faint blush of color near the floor, barely there, just a sliver beneath the shelving unit. I frowned, crouching lower until my fingers brushed smooth wood.
“Hold on,” I said, brushing away a web that clung to my wrist.
It came loose with a puff of dust: a small wooden doll. Its paint was chipped and faded, the once-bright features of a woman’s face, hardly visible beneath the grime. I scraped my thumbnail along the surface, revealing the delicate outline of a pair of hand-painted figure skates.
One of those eerie premonitions crawled up my spine. The kind that whispered maybe we weren’t done after all. Whether it was fate or dumb luck, at this point, I didn’t care which.
Valerie knelt beside me. “Is that—?”
“A nesting doll.” I turned it over in my palm. The wood was cold and rough with age. A buzz of something—recognition, maybe—formed in my mind. “You said Daniel Keene was a toymaker, right? And Natalie was a professional figure skater?
She nodded, her eyes bright with renewed curiosity as I carried it into the lobby. I set it gently on the desk beneath the glow of the Christmas lights.
“Ever seen one of these before?”
“Yeah… maybe. A long time ago,” Valerie said, stepping beside me.
“My grandmother gifted me a set a while back,” I said. “It’s rumored to have been in the Delaney family for years.”
It had been the one thing she gave to me instead of Matt. Maybe it was her way of saying I belonged. Funny—years later, I was still looking for proof.
Both women leaned in as I twisted the doll at its seam. The wood rasped in protest, then came apart with a soft pop, revealing another hidden inside.
“The first nesting dolls were crafted in the late 1800s,” I continued, rolling the next one in my hand. “They’re meant to symbolize continuation. Generations inside generations. Family. Strength. The things that last when everything else fades. Like your cherries.”
Valerie’s lips curved faintly, but she didn’t look away.
The air filled with the rhythmic click-click-click of each hollow piece sliding open.
I turned the next one, smaller still. The paint grew brighter the deeper I went, the colors preserved in the dark all these years. It hit me—how easy it is to get someone wrong—and how damn lucky you are if you get the chance to look again.
When I looked up, Valerie was watching me. Not the way she does when I annoy her or make her laugh, but like she finally saw me—like maybe I’d gotten something right for once.
I hesitated at the final doll. “And sometimes,” I managed, the words jammed behind my ribs, my voice rough in my throat when I looked back at her, “they just mean love.”
Something in Valerie’s eyes shifted, and for a second, it wasn’t about the ghosts at all.
I cracked the last one open, and light winked from the hollow center. Nestled within the smallest doll was a ring—a delicate gold band with a glittering diamond.
“It was here the whole time,” Valerie whispered, her fingernail tracing the stone.
I tipped the ring into her hand, and she closed her fingers around it.
“Whoa.” Her lips parted with a soft gasp as the ring flared to life, light spilling between her fingers.
Instinct burned through me. I reached for it, for her—to stop whatever this was—but she caught my wrist.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t let go.
“Valerie?” I steadied her elbow as she swayed into me. The light pulsed brighter, spreading across her skin. Every part of me wanted to tear it away, to take it from her hands.
“That’s so strange. I can see his memories.
” Her voice sounded far away. “You were right. Daniel was planning to propose on Christmas Eve. It was supposed to be a surprise. He placed the nesting doll on the mantel in the banquet hall, then he went out to the lake to make sure Natalie made it back inside after she finished skating. But she wasn’t there, and then—” Her eyes squeezed shut as if she could block the visions.
“The ice broke. He fell through. No one saw.”
She shuddered, and I tightened my grip, trying to steady her and bring her back to me. Valerie’s eyes fluttered open, and I kept my arm around her shoulders.
“Someone must’ve found the nesting doll and turned it in.” Edith sighed, her voice almost sad. “The blizzard that year was brutal. It took days to dig out. No one must have realized he was here.”
Valerie nodded weakly, still pale as she looked toward the Christmas tree.
“Grant, look.”
I followed her gaze. Daniel stood beside the tree, only this time… he wasn’t alone. A woman hovered next to him, her features faint but recognizable from the photo I’d seen: Natalie. Her gown shimmered like frost, the twinkling lights from the tree wrapping around them both.
They didn’t look like ghosts anymore.
Daniel looked down at the ring still glowing in Valerie’s hand.
She stepped forward, extending her palm. “It’s yours. It’s just a little late.”
He nodded once, pressing his fist over his chest. The phantom snow swirling around his coat finally settled into a fine dust at his feet.
The glow deepened, swallowing the ring until it winked out, vanishing like a star in the morning sky.
Daniel and Natalie faded with it, gazing simply at each other. The ring now glittered softly on her finger. Then they were gone, leaving nothing except a few sprigs of mistletoe behind.
“They’re finally together,” Valerie said, exhaling a shaky breath.
“Because of you.”
She leaned into me, fingers threading through mine.
“Us,” she corrected, tilting her head up to look at me.
I arched an eyebrow. “You mean Team Delspell?”
She laughed softly, the sound catching in her throat. “No. Team Delaney.”
I smiled. “HR would be proud.”
“It’s still your fault we lost tug of war,” she said, her nose wrinkling.
“You were pulling wrong,” I defended.
“Agree to disagree?”
“Never.”