“We drove onto the lake to get there in trucks, Willow. You wouldn’t have fallen through while skating.”
I suck in my breath. “That wasn’t aroad?”
Oliver snickers, his own breath blooming in thick plumes around his face.
The forest is silent, all except the horse’s steps and the softly jingling bells along the sleigh’s sides. The moon provides the only light, but it’s more than sufficient in leaving the blue-tinted glittering of snow all around. It’s so peaceful it feels as though we’ve stepped into a church, and for several minutes we sit in silence.
Oliver steers the horse left as we move into a clearing.
When we stop, he reaches for the basket.
“Coffee? Or cocoa?” He holds up two thermoses.
I choose the cocoa, he goes with coffee, and before long we’ve got the large wool plaid blanket draped over our legs and my mittens are toasty with the hot mug in my hands.
Our sleigh faces the mountains, which is breathtaking, but my eye catches the cluster of lights from the small town glow from below. The candy-cane-red train gleams in the moonlight. From the top of our small hill, I feel almost like the Grinch must’ve felt looking down at the inhabitants of Whoville. Only, instead of feeling lonely and bitter and anxious about the future, as I can so freely admit I felt mere weeks ago, I’m full.
I look at Oliver. The way his hand rests on the reins. The way he so peacefully gazes out at the mountain scape.
Yes, I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in ages. Maybe ever.
“I got you something.” Oliver reaches under his seat. “Nothing fancy. Just . . . a little something to commemorate the trip.”
The rectangular box is wrapped in simple brown kraft paper, twine crisscrossing where a single candy cane lies attached to a bit of holly.
“Oh, Oliver, thank you. I—I got you something too,” I say, stuttering as I take it from him. “A little Christmas present. It’s in my room.”
And it’s true. After a Christmas musical one evening in Minneapolis, I slipped inside a convenience store and printed a candid photograph Jenkins took of the three of us one afternoon. It had been the chess game of our lives, and in the shot Clarence was leaning forward, bearded chin on his cane, as he watched me knock off Oliver’s knight in my final, triumphant move. Oliver, cardigan long ago cast aside as the heat of the game progressed, was sitting opposite me, head in his hands. I grinned maniacally. Multiple passengers were hanging over our seats, arms raised in midcheer.
I had bought a little frame from the convenience store and framed it, but the longer I looked at it in my room that evening, the more my confidence waned.
It was my eyes.
The way they were only on him in the shot.
The way they gave me away.
But now...
Carefully I slip off the twine, candy cane, and holly, and tug at the tape on one end. I open the lid of the box, and inside sits a cardigan. Soft, I feel as my fingers rub the wool. I lift it out of the box.
The dye is of blue beryl, the color of Oliver’s eyes, andembroidered throughout is an ice-skating scene—swirling white and silver threads beneath an ice-skating couple, dotted snowflakes above. I touch the zipper, where a small felted ice skate serves as the pull.
My brow wrinkles as I look closer. There’s an embroidered green truck in the distance, the same wreath on its front bumper as the one that evening. And the girl, she looks... She has my hair...
And the boy smiling beside her, his eyes...
I turn to Oliver. “Where did you get this?”
“I asked Mrs.Faris to make it the night after we went ice skating. She had me make up some drawings, which I admit I was pretty terrible at, but after a few rounds—”
“Iloveit,” I breathe. “I can’t believe you did this. I can’t believe she did.”
“I had to bribe her for it. Did you know the back wall of the Chestnut Car now sells her embroidery?” There’s a pause. “But seriously, of course she did. She took a liking to you.” The air crackles with a flurry of snowflakes and electricity as he hesitates. “We all have.”
This is it.
My heartbeat quickens.
