James Frost cracked open the windows of his new Porsche and immediately felt the cold. Not only from the December air, but from the town.
He’d grown up in Carol Falls. Stolen his first kiss here. And run away from the place as fast as he could.
Nestled in the shadow of the Green Mountains near I-89 in Vermont, the town was strategically located between Burlington and Montpelier—distant enough from both spots to bask in its own rural feel, while close enough to the state’s largest city and its capital to have all the amenities anyone could want.
But it lacked the person he most desired.
She was gone. Long gone.
James crossed the red covered bridge that stretched over the snowy banks of the Carol River, and had second thoughts about heading straight to his family’s maple syrup farm.
Unsure of his welcome.
So he cruised around the stomping grounds of his youth—drove by the police station where his sister worked, and then he inspected the new paint job on the town hall, an improvement he’d missed during his last visit to Carol Falls in March. When he reached his old school at the end of the street, he hung a right. Best to avoid White Pine Ridge High.
Heading back in the direction he’d come, he noticed a number of vehicles parked at the end of Aspen Street. Either someone had invited the entire population to a Christmas party, or folks were enjoying the Village Green. Skating on the rink, no doubt.
As he turned the corner and found a vacant slot for his own car, he saw several people on skates gliding over the ice, their boldly striped scarves of red and orange flapping behind them. Others gathered around the huge Balsam fir, decorating it as they did every year. He remembered his parents bringing him here, along with his brother and sister, all of them drinking hot chocolate and waiting for the moment when the sixty-footer would be lit up like... well...
Like a Christmas tree.
Its scent filled the air—a rich, woodsy aroma that embodied the season. It mingled with the smell of hot apple cider, the spicy odor of cloves making James crave a cupful.
A second later, he was cringing at the next song to play over the loudspeakers—Kelly Clarkson’s version of I’ll be Home for Christmas. Not that he had anything against the singer. Just the sentiment. This wasn’t his home anymore, merely a business opportunity. Best to keep that point uppermost in his mind.
He left his car, tugged at the collar on his leather jacket and dredged up his courage. As he approached the tree on foot, the crowd parted and a little boy ran to him. The kid’s nose was red from the cold and his big grin infectious.
“Uncle Jimmy!”
James’ nephew jumped into his arms. The boy’s cool, apple cheek pressed against James’ warmer one. “How’s it going, Dunc?”
“Good. Grandma said you might come to see me. And guess what! We’ve got a baby at the farm. Isn’t that neat?”
Very. James figured one of the barn cats must have had a surprise litter. “A baby kitten?”
“No. A baby human. We found it in the manger the night of Frosty Frolics. Somebody left it there. And guess what! We named her Holly, ’cause it’s almost Christmas and she’s a girl.”
What the heck? An abandoned baby left at his parents’ farm during their annual winter event? Typical. The one year James missed Frosty Frolics, something extraordinary had happened. Before he could question Duncan further, the five-year-old’s attention span moved on to other, more pressing issues.
“Can we play hockey? And go tobogganing? Can you teach me a song on the guitar? And—”
“Whoa, buddy. I’m only in town for a week.” James tossed his nephew into the air and then caught the giggling bundle. “And what makes you think I brought my guitar?”
More laughter. “Because you always do, silly. So will you teach me?”
James found it difficult to refuse, especially when the child wrapped two skinny arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. Duncan could make James forget all the reasons he hated Carol Falls with one squeeze. “I know some three-chord Christmas tunes. We can start with those.”
“And you can read to me. I have a bunch of new books...”
The boy listed several titles, but James barely heard him. He was too busy planning a way to avoid story time. He set the wiggling tyke back down on terra firma.
“Lily’s been reading Doctor Zeus to me.”
“Suess,” a pretty, blonde woman corrected. James had seen her approach as he talked to Duncan. And James’ brother, Garret, was with her, his arm around her waist.
Chalk one up to their matchmaking mother, James thought. The last time he’d talked to her on the phone, besides pressuring him to visit for Christmas, she’d mentioned a new employee—a gorgeous gal from the Big Apple sure to catch Garret’s attention and end his days as a single parent and widower. Judging from the love light in his brother’s eyes, their mom had found the perfect mate for her eldest son. The guy was plainly head over heels, and James could see why. The woman radiated an inner beauty that matched her outer appeal, and she was obviously as crazy about Garret as he was about her.
James couldn’t help but feel a wee bit jealous. He’d once had a special girl who’d looked at him like that.
“Good to see you, Jimmy,” Garret said, clapping him on the back in a mechanical move—the Tin Man in need of oil.
James didn’t have to imagine what he, himself, would look like in seven years. People had always said he was a younger version of his big brother. They were both tall, had the same hazel eyes and the same dark hair—although James didn’t cut his as often.
“Mom and Dad are at the house. Did you stop there first?”
“No. I saw the crowd here. Thought I’d check it out.”
“And now they’re checking out your car.” Garret used his nose to point out the swarm of love-sick auto enthusiasts buzzing around the vehicle. “That’s quite the ride, Jimbo. Did you rob a bank?”
Garret and the blonde chuckled. So did James, though the question felt like sandpaper against the grain of his ego. Jokes often revealed the truth. Did a part of Garret believe James didn’t have the wherewithal to earn a nice ride on his own?
Driving here in the Porsche had seemed like such a good idea when he was back in Boston. His boss, Stephen Harker, loved the car and owned one just like it. Only in blue. James chose red for his. Showier. Now a wave of heat crawled up his neck, despite the chill and the flakes of snow that whirled around him. He’d thought the fancy vehicle would help him feel like a big man strutting back to prove to everyone how wrong they were about him. He should have taken his truck, instead. It would have been more practical on the snowy roads, and he would have felt less like a jerk now for trying too hard to impress.
“This is Lily Parker,” Garret went on, introducing the blonde. “She’s the PR manager Mom hired for the farm.”
“Glad to meet you, Jimmy.”
“James,” he said, shaking Lily’s outstretched hand. “And likewise.”
“I have to admit, I’ve been rather curious about you,” she said. “Garret tells me you don’t make it home very often.”
“Last time was in the...spring. Right, Jimbo?”
Another sentence Garret packed with hidden meaning. And disapproval. James supposed he deserved it after his behavior during that visit to Carol Falls. He strove for good-natured indifference with his responding, “Uh-huh,” and ignored the bait. For Lily’s sake. It wasn’t her fault he and Garret had a history.
And speaking of history...
James stared past them. For a few seconds, his heart forgot to beat. Over by the tree stood someone he’d never thought he’d meet again. Not in this life.
They’d barely reached seventeen when he’d last seen her, when he’d last kissed her, when he’d slipped a simple, gold band on her finger.
Even with dusk approaching, she lit up the park—the sun-kissed strands of her caramel-colored hair catching the remaining light. Her creamy skin looked so touchable he had to fist his hands to control himself. Was it possible she’d grown more beautiful in the past ten years?
He’d been with other women since they’d parted. No one had ever come close to her in his life. He’d been accused, more than once, of encasing his feelings in armor. And maybe he had. But no woman had ever broken through his protective shield like April.
Only to break him with her rejection.
No sooner had the thought come to him than he noticed April adjusting the hat of a young boy who looked about ten. The action was so maternal—the way she smiled at the child, the gentle quality of her movements. Was the boy her son?
The breath froze in his lungs as he watched his ex gently turn the kid to face the tree. The lad seemed distant, no more interested in the decorating than James had been in school.
He did the math. The girl who’d promised to love him forever, the one he’d spent most of his adult life pining over, must have moved on from him and immediately created a family with another man.
Merry Christmas.
It was enough to make him get in his car and head back to Boston. But he had business to attend to. Business that would set Vermont on its ear and show the naysayers, and his lost love, that James Frost had finally made something of himself.
A scattered countdown began, the crowd doing their ten-nine-eight shtick in anticipation of the official lighting. With each number, more voices chimed in—Lily, Garret and Duncan adding to the volume. While everyone else focused on the tree, April’s little boy looked at the ground. He twirled on the spot, flapping his arms like a baby bird.
“Three...two...one!”
The tree burst into color, thousands of lights glittering from its boughs, reminding James of a starry sky on a clear night in the country. The town folk oohed and aahed, but the boy near April didn’t notice. He continued to flutter his arms and spin until James got dizzy watching him.
Distantly, he heard Lily’s voice. “That’s April Rochester. Her son is autistic, poor kid.”
James nodded, though he didn’t really know what that meant. Autistic? It seemed as if the boy was locked in his own world. An outsider. Someone who didn’t fit in.
And James knew exactly how that felt.
“Marcus.”
Sometimes, if April called her son’s name, she could get him to focus.
Not usually, though. Hardly ever, really, but she was grasping for any way to break through.
She could see he was over stimulated. The spinning and flapping were simply ways for him to cope with the sensory overload. Had she rushed him? Brought him to Carol Falls too fast? Exposed him to their new neighbors too soon?
She bent forward and retied his scarf. He didn’t acknowledge her, just stared at some unknown thing out of the corner of his eye.
“Marcus, please look at me.”
If anything, he’d reverted into himself after the move. Understandable. His disorder craved routine, sameness. Still, the change had been necessary. Finances demanded it.
All she could do was give him a hug. Some autistic children hated to be touched, others found deep compression comforting. Marcus was in the latter group, so she wrapped him up in her arms and held him tight, wondering if there would ever come a day when he would return her embrace.
If he would ever call her Mommy.
“Marcus...”
The boy’s gaze drifted back to hers, but failed to connect. The festivities were obviously too much for him. Time to go home.
Or at least to her late grandfather’s maple syrup farm. That was home now.
She felt a tug and looked down, expecting to find Marcus pulling on her coat to get her attention. But he wasn’t. The sensation persisted and she shrugged it off. When she straightened and turned to leave, a vision from her past stood before her, looking every bit as good—no, better—than she remembered.
“Jimmy.”
The shock of seeing him again made her knees weak. Or was that from his closeness? She would have known him anywhere, though a decade had passed since she’d last seen him, and he’d filled out in the most mouth-watering ways. He was broader in the shoulders and chest, but remained slim in the hips. He still wore his hair on the longish side, and his eyes smoldered as they used to, her skin heating wherever his glance touched.
Now she understood that pull she’d felt. She’d always been able to tell when Jimmy was nearby. At school, if he walked into the cafeteria, she knew he was there before she saw him. Felt his presence, as if they were attached by some unseen thread. It tugged at her still, drawing her in, though his current expression was shuttered.
“April...I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She wished she’d worn something nicer, put on some lip gloss—heck, stopped to brush her hair. “I just moved back to town.” Goodness, was that breathy, girlish voice coming out of her mouth? “My grandfather left me his old house on the highway. You know the place.”
Of course, he did. At sixteen, they’d both spent time on the adjoining farm. Late winter saw them helping with the harvest. By summer, they were kissing under the leafy umbrella of the maple trees, love blooming amongst the wildflowers.
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll have to check it out when I’m on the interstate. I’ve been asked to assess several parcels of land on I-89 for a business venture.”
Business? She’d pictured him as a rock star and imagined him involved in the music industry. Maybe as a composer, churning out hit songs. Or producing them. Certainly not evaluating land for a business, unless it was a recording studio. And why build one in Boondocks, Vermont?
“Are you in town for awhile? Staying with the family?” She’d heard he’d left home long ago and returned infrequently, and only for big family functions, like Christmas and funerals.
“For a week. Or until they throw me out,” he answered—half-funny, half-serious.
“I’m sure you’re safe.” In her peripheral vision, she caught Marcus spinning again. She grasped his hand and drew him to her. “Jimmy, this is my...”
She always introduced Marcus as her son, although he’d actually been hers for only two months. Why did she hesitate now?
“...my son, Marcus. Marcus, this is Jimmy, an old...”
Golly, anyone would think she was the one with communication problems instead of her boy. What was she supposed to call the man she’d once been married to for a full twenty minutes?
“Jimmy’s an old friend of mine.” She smoothed the hair away from Marcus’ eyes, but he didn’t bother to lift his head. For him, April’s adolescent crush ranked right up there with the Invisible Man.
“It’s James now,” her former sweetheart announced.
“James,” she repeated. It sounded as foreign on her tongue as it had on his. The way he looked at her was foreign too, with a stony detachment that startled her. The playfulness they used to share was gone.
She had to put away her schoolgirl fantasies about him. He was older now. He probably had a wife and children of his own. She wished he’d take his hands out of his pockets so she could see if he wore a ring. Not all men did, but the Jimmy she’d known would have worn it proudly. He’d often said all he wanted in life was to marry and have kids.
With her.
Those were long ago days, never to be recaptured.
She’d written to him after their breakup, explaining everything. He never replied, never contacted her. Had he destroyed the note unread? Would she be a fool to ask about it now and face another brush off? Feel its bite?
Definitely.
At her side, Marcus started flapping again with his one, free arm. “Sorry, but we should get going. It’s been a long day for my son.”
Jimmy gave himself a small shake, as if coming out of a trance. “Certainly.” He stood aside to let her pass.
And that was it, the end of their reunion. April returned his guarded smile, took a step, and then felt his hand on her arm—melting her on the spot, throwing her off balance.
“It was nice seeing you again, April.”
Her brain scrambled. For a few seconds, every thought flew out of her head, replaced by the awareness of his touch. When his hand (his right one, darn it) returned to his side, her gray matter aligned and she regained her footing.
“You, too.”
She walked away on wobbly legs, wondering if the rush she’d just experienced was real or if sleep deprivation had finally turned her mind to mush. Must have, given the fantasies playing up there.
She was a parent now. To a special needs child. She didn’t have the energy to mother Jimmy, as well. Not like she’d done in high school. Making sure he showed up on time and typing the book reports he dictated to her—after she’d summarized the plots for him, of course. Because he was soooo busy with sports he couldn’t bother reading a bunch of stupid novels written by dead, white guys.
His rebellious line, not hers.
And, back in the day, that bad boy attitude gave her palpitations. Nonsense she couldn’t afford now.
After she found her SUV and made sure Marcus was buckled up, she clutched her good luck charm—the one that dangled from a plain, gold chain around her neck.
Was she crazy to wear it? To believe in fate?
She’d often dreamed of seeing Jimmy again. Never had the meeting in her imagination been so one-sided, with her lovesick and him disinterested. Hoping for something to happen between them was a lost cause. One she should have abandoned long ago.
April glanced back at the tree, at the star shining from its very top and made her wish—that she could forget about Jimmy as easily as he appeared to have forgotten about her.