Christmas At Cedarwood Lodge. Rebecca Raisin

Maybe it was concussion, but his mouth, the way his lips twitched, held a whole host of memories for me; suddenly I was back in his parents’ basement with him, listening to pop music and stealing kisses. My turncoat gaze darted to his ring finger and found it bare.

      “How is it going at Cedarwood? From what I hear around town you’re not far away from being able to open.”

      I swallowed hard and willed my voice box to engage. “Yeah, it’s going well. No great disasters as yet. But there’s still time.” How could I say something so opposite to what I was thinking? You’re thirty-three, Clio, not thirteen. Somehow the gangly, brace-face teen had returned uninvited. I coughed and recovered, summoning a voice I used on my most famous clients, one that hid how starstruck I was.

      “How’re things with you, Timothy? I thought you’d be married and have about a hundred babies by now.” I left out the part about the picket fence, the cookie-baking wife, the fluffy dog called Buster…

      Just then a squeal rang out as two children ran from the bakery holding chocolate-iced donuts. They laced their free hands around his legs. I knew it! I bet they had perfect manners too. And dabbed daintily at their mouths with napkins after they ate their bounty.

      He wobbled as they took hold. “Clio, I’d like you to meet Scarlett and Zander. Haven’t quite made it to a hundred kids yet, but these two have the energy of fifty at least.” He held back laughter, and glanced down at them with such fondness in his eyes that my heart just about stopped.

      I won’t lie. A part of me, that teeny, tiny, hopeless romantic part of me, died. He had made children! Actual living, breathing little humans. And not just your standard cute ones; really gorgeous, impish ones.

      “Nice to meet you, Scarlett and Zander. You chose well. I happen to know those donuts are the best in the world.”

      Scarlett narrowed her eyes, held the donut tighter, and shot a glance up to her father for… what? Reassurance? Even the… what… five-, six-year-old – she could have been two, three, for all I knew – could see straight through me, like I was wearing a flashing sign: FRAUD, beware! If I hadn’t already felt like a member of the secret group Being Left Behind, I did now.

      They could have been my children, if things had been different. And if they had been, surely they wouldn’t clam up like that? Scarlett was so cold she was practically frosty, an icy wind radiating from her. And the little boy wasn’t much better. Zander glared at me and tugged his dad’s jean-clad leg. Although maybe it was a stranger danger thing, and in that case, they were pretty perfect, just as expected. Damn it.

      “Anyway,” I said, ignoring the death stares. “I must dash, I’ve got paint that needs… painting, and all sorts of very important jobs that need doing.” Kill me.

      Timothy gave me a slow, saucy smile that provoked a jelly-legged reaction. What was happening to me? Had I made a mistake leaving town to follow my dreams? For the briefest moment in time I pictured myself as a wife, a mother. I shook the insanity away before I lapsed into an existential crisis about lost loves, and sliding-door scenarios. I pulled the strap of my bag tight, and went to step off the curb with an awkward backwards wave.

      Timothy grabbed my arm. “Wait,” he said. “A few of the old gang are getting together next week. They’d love to see you. Micah will be there.”

      “Umm, yeah…” I said distractedly as Scarlett, the girl with the most angelic cherubic face, stood behind her father dragging her index finger along her throat. Was she warning me to say no? What was that! I had zero clue about children, but it did intimidate me. She who could handle the worst Bridezillas was scared of a five-year-old!

      Tim, oblivious to my hesitation, said, “So it’s a date! See you at Shakin’ Shack. Micah knows the details.” He bent to kiss my cheek as I mumbled about confirming closer to the day.

      They walked away hand in hand as Scarlett turned once more to glare at me. What had I just agreed to?

      Really, though, it would be good to see the gang again. Over time, we’d lost contact, but I often thought about them. Would I be the only one who was still trying to make sense of her life? Timothy radiated a cool, calm vibe like he was exactly where he was meant to be, and I was his polar opposite, fumbling with making basic conversation. The collected Manhattanite in me had vanished and was replaced with the former version of myself. Imagine if they knew I’d been fired and shunned in New York. Would they secretly think I deserved it for being ambitious when I left Evergreen? Only to return home, tail between my legs, buying the lodge on a whim, and claiming I’d make it something great?

      With a deep, steadying breath I gave myself a pep talk, and tried to quash any crisis of confidence. Further ahead, Kai was leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, like he was in contemplation.

      “There you are.”

      Kai had one leg against the wall, soft sunlight making him sleepy-eyed. “Sorry, I had to take that call. It was about another job. Looks like it’ll be Christmas in San Francisco for me.”

      San Francisco… the other side of the country. My heart dropped at knowing Kai wouldn’t be around for the renovation of the chapel or the chalets. I felt a pang of sorrow that he’d be elsewhere, and for Christmas Day too. I always knew he’d be leaving, but a part of me wanted to host a Christmas Day party for the staff who were away from family and make it special. And Kai had become part of the Cedarwood family – that was why I particularly wanted him to be here.

      “Who was that guy?” he asked.

      “Oh…” I waved him away. “Just an old friend.”

      Kai raised a sardonic brow. “Cute kids.”

      I laughed. “Yeah, cute. Let’s go to the hardware store. I need to find Imelda.” Angst sat heavy in my belly and I had the overwhelming sensation I’d let life pass me by while trying to reach the unattainable in my career. Was I doing it again, setting myself up for failure? What would I have left this time if Cedarwood didn’t work out?

      Kai put his hands on my shoulders. “Breathe. Your shoulders are up around your ears.”

      I wriggled from his grasp, but he held me firm. “Take a deep breath, and count to five…” Kai was often mystical, like some kind of surfer yogi, and I just didn’t understand it. How would holding my breath for five seconds achieve anything? Even being rewarded by staring into the ocean blue of his calming gaze wasn’t enough to make me believe.

      “I’m fine, Kai. Really. I’ll count to ten later to make up for it. Let’s go.”

      With one of his penetrating looks he said, “Clio, seriously, you hold so much stress in your body, it’s toxic. Just chill for five seconds.”

      I willed my eyes not to roll, but he was so sure it would fix everything I didn’t have the heart to ignore him again. “Fine. One, two, threefourfive. There. I’m cured.” I grabbed his hand and dragged him across the road, surprised to feel a tingle racing up my arm from his touch. Kai had the sort of hands that were made for holding, I guess. Strong, warm hands.

      Walter, Imelda’s son, was standing by the cash register, spooling a ream of escaped receipt paper.

      “Well, hello, Clio. Would have recognized you anywhere after Mom’s description of you – Carrie Bradshaw hair indeed. Though don’t tell anyone I know who Carrie Bradshaw is – I’d never live it down.” Walter had a ruddy complexion and deep-set eyes, just like his father. He wore a checked shirt and suspenders, which somehow suited him, being holed up in a hardware store, which was ripe with the scent of old motor oil and dust.

      I winked. “Your secret is safe with me. Is Imelda here?” Even though they claimed they’d retired years ago, Imelda was often found here according to Micah. He said she couldn’t quite let go of her working life. Edgar tinkered around with tools as well, and swept up the workshop, their days too long without something to keep their heads and hands busy.

      “Mom’s