Sweet Escapes, in keeping with the rest of Honeywell Hollow, is like something out of a movie set. It’s cozy and homey with a variety of mismatched tables and chairs scattered throughout, as well as a seating area that includes two couches and three squashy armchairs in front of an electric fireplace. The air is perfumed with the scents of coffee and freshly baked goods—butter and cinnamon and chocolate, oh my! A low hum of chatter fills the space, along with the sound of forks clinking against plates and the tinkling of spoons stirring hot beverages.
Mae emerges from a back room with a large box in her hands. A string of silver garland is draped around her neck, and there’s a reindeer antler headband perched on her head. A few people laugh and make comments as she passes, and she gives her head a jaunty shake, making the bells on the antlers jingle.
She spies me hovering near the doorway and gives me a broad smile. “Joss! You came. You’re just in time to help me North Polerize the café.”
Oh joy. More Christmas decorations. “And yourself, apparently.”
“And myself. Always myself.” She lifts one end of the garland around her neck and tosses it over her opposite shoulder like a scarf.
“Wait ’til she breaks out the ugly Christmas sweaters,” says a man at a nearby table.
“And don’t forget the elf shoes,” the man beside him chimes in.
“Just be glad you don’t have to wear the ugly sweaters and the elf shoes.” This from the young woman behind the counter, who’s refilling a display of donuts. She grins at me when our eyes meet.
“All right, all right,” Mae says with a laugh. “You all know you love this time of year just as much as I do, so don’t go pretending otherwise.” She detours toward me and ushers me further into the café, introducing me to people as we pass. I’ll never remember everyone’s names, so it’s a good thing I don’t plan on making a habit of socializing while I’m in town.
Mae leads me to a table near the back and sets down the box she’s carrying. ‘Nutcrackers #3’ is written on the top in black marker. With a little eyebrow wiggle in my direction, she pries open the flaps to reveal a box full of nutcrackers in various sizes and colors. “I collect them,” she tells me. “It started years ago when Seamus and I were traveling. I saw one I loved in a shop window in London, and Seamus went back and bought it for me as a surprise. We collected them on our travels and now Fiona sends ones she finds on her travels, plus people in town give them to me as gifts. A select group of my favorites is on display year round at home, and the overflow decorate the café during the holiday season.”
I help her pull nutcrackers from the box when she indicates for me to dig in. I’ve never collected anything. My mom was a minimalist; while I had plenty of toys growing up, she never started a collection of any sort for me. Once I started acting, I wasn’t home much and I was often away for stretches of time, so my bedroom didn’t have many personal touches or ornamentation.
“You a big Christmas fan?” Mae asks. She’s regarding me again with that X-ray vision of hers. I consider telling her yes—it’s what people want to hear from the Queen of Christmas, after all—but somehow I think she’d see through me.
“Not really.” My voice is quiet, despite the fact no one is within earshot. It’s obvious Honeywell is big on Christmas, and I fear what they’d do if they found out they have a semi-Grinch in their midst. Mae doesn’t say anything, and I realize she’s waiting for me to elaborate.
“Holidays weren’t a big deal growing up. Or, well, I guess they were until my dad left, but I don’t remember those Christmases. My mom was a nurse, and she often took Christmas shifts for coworkers who had big families or little kids.” I pause in my inspection of a particularly grim-looking nutcracker to meet Mae’s eyes. Her lips are pressed together and her eyes are…sad? This is why I hate talking about this stuff.
“I didn’t mind.” My voice sounds defensive, so I attempt to soften it with a smile. “My mom was what I guess you’d call agnostic, so it’s not like we celebrated Christmas for religious reasons. She said it became more overblown and commercial by the year, but she figured the people who loved it or observed it as a religious holiday should get to spend it with their families.”
Mae smiles warmly, her eyes soft and understanding. From what she told me earlier, it’s obvious she was a hands-on mother. Her daughter Fiona was clearly her world, and she cared for Liam and Nathan like they were her sons. I’m sure she doted on them. I bet they had elaborate holidays and regular family dinners and more love and affection than they knew what to do with.
My mom was an amazing woman and she did the best she could as a parent, but I don’t think she really wanted to be a parent. She never particularly liked children, so I think she didn’t know what to do with me or how to relate to me until I was older. I never doubted that she loved me, but there were times when I felt like she loved her job more.
Since I became a star at such a young age, it wasn’t until I got older that I realized my mom was different from a lot of other moms. I never dwelled on it, though, especially because by the time I truly realized it, she was sick and all I cared about was making sure she knew how much I loved her. It was during her illness that we got to know each other as people, and developed a closer relationship.
“What about when you were acting?” Mae asks. It’s not the follow-up question I expected. I thought she’d ask more about my mom or maybe comment on how unorthodox our non-Christmases were.
“I spent one or two Christmases with my work family,” I tell her. “Tim Sagger, the guy who played my uncle on Our Thorny Family, flew me and my TV siblings and their families out to his house in Vancouver one Christmas. That was the first year I really understood what Christmas could be. What it was like for a lot of families. I—”
I start to say he invited me again the next year, but Mom didn’t want me to go because it was all I had talked about for months afterward. She took that Christmas off for the first time in three years and we spent a week in Niagara Falls checking out all the attractions on Clifton Hill. She even snuck a pathetic-looking Charlie Brown Christmas tree into our hotel room, and we decorated it with pinecones and colorful balled up brochures.
“You…?” Mae prompts.
I shake my head, attempting to scatter my thoughts. My mind is flooding with memories, many of which I’ve carefully avoided the last few years as a form of self-preservation.
Mae touches my arm, drawing my attention to her. The sympathy in her eyes makes me want to cry. Or scream. Or run out of here and go back to my original plan of hiding in my rental house for the next month. “I made those mince pies Fiona sent me the recipe for. I played around with them, as I always do, and came up with a few variations. Would you like to sample them and help me decide which to offer in the café?”
She’s giving me an out. Most people poke and prod, think that as a celebrity I owe them something. I owe them my story, all the good, the bad, and the ugly things that have happened to me since birth. A quick web search will tell you what my mother’s name was and what she did for a living. There are even paparazzi pictures out there from that Christmas I spent with my show family in Vancouver, as well as the next Christmas with my mom in Niagara Falls.
So many people feel entitled to the nitty-gritty details of a celebrity’s life. Not Mae, though. There’s something about her that makes me think I’ll end up confiding in her at some point, but not right now. Right now I want to stuff my feelings back down where they usually live and bury them under some mince tarts.
“That would be great,” I say. “Thank you.”
Mae leaves her nutcrackers scattered on the table where we’ve been unboxing them and directs me to a two-seater table close to the kitchen. She disappears and returns a few minutes later with a tray of steaming mugs of tea and mince tarts. She tells me about some of the town’s many Christmas festivities—“there are a lot, and since you’re not a big fan of Christmas, I feel like I should warn you”—as we drink our tea and nibble on pastries.
“So the ones with the orange zest in the crust and filling are your favorite?” she confirms once we’ve tried all the different tarts. “I think those are the ones I’ll go with.” Someone behind me catches her attention and her eyes brighten, face breaking into a smile as she waves. Before I can turn to see who it is, Liam is standing beside me.
“Ladies.” His eyes linger on me for a moment before he turns to Mae, who rises to hug him. I watch as he closes his eyes for a moment as he embraces her in return. Mae places a noisy kiss on his cheek as she releases him and gives him an affectionate pat on the other. The entire exchange is over in seconds, but for some reason it feels like it played out in slow motion. I have a strange, fleeting thought that I wish one or both of them would hug me like that. I’ve enjoyed my time with Mae, but our earlier conversation and the memories it brought up have left me feeling a bit tender.
“I should get going,” I say, pulling my scarf from the sleeve of my jacket and winding it around my neck.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Liam says, dark brows pulling together slightly. If possible, he looks even better than he did yesterday. His cheeks are ruddy from the cold, and either the wind has tousled his hair or he’s been running his hands through it.
“I’m not, I promise. I only intended to pop in for a visit, but I’ve been here for…” I glance at my watch and my eyes go wide. “Wow. Almost two hours.”
“Sweet Escapes operates in its own time dimension,” Liam says earnestly. “Ask anyone. A cup of coffee turns into lunch turns into dinner. Before you know it, you’ve been here all day.”
I glance around the café, surprised to see at least half the people who were here when I arrived still occupy the same tables. A few new faces have arrived, and a group of what looks like high school students take up the couches and chairs by the fire.
“Stay for just one more minute and keep this one company while I get him a coffee, will you?” Mae says to me, patting Liam’s cheek once more. He scrunches his nose, chuckling good-naturedly when Mae grips his chin between her fingers and squeezes. “Be right back.”
“Have you been Mae’s taste tester today?” Liam asks, sliding into the seat she vacated.
“I have. Fiona sent her a recipe for mince tarts, and she made a few variations. She had me try each of them and narrow it down to my favorite. I feel like I should go for a long jog when I leave. I don’t suppose there’s a gym in Honeywell?”
Liam presses his lips together and shakes his head. “No, sorry. Closest one is about thirty minutes away.”
Now it’s my turn to scrunch up my face. “Damn. I really will be jogging then. Good thing Cherry Lane is quiet.”
“Quiet, yes, but also hazardous once the snow hits. Side streets like that are always the last to get plowed, and the sidewalks are usually a mess.”
I groan. I need to stay fit for my job, especially if I keep eating the way I have been since I arrived in Honeywell. And honestly, now that I’ve sampled Mae’s cooking, I don’t want to stop any time soon. “Guess I’ll have to find some other form of physical activity.” I say it in an offhand manner, mostly to myself. When one of Liam’s brows arches, I realize how it must sound.
“I might be able to help with that.” His quiet words evoke an image of the box of condoms Natalie sent. My mouth works silently, unable to form words. He laughs under his breath and says, “My friend Nathan has a treadmill and an elliptical machine. He never uses them since he works all the time, so I’m sure he’d be happy to let you borrow one during your stay in Honeywell. I could set it up in one of the spare rooms for you.”
“Right, yes, a treadmill. A treadmill would be good.”
He leans forward across the small table, putting him close enough that I could easily reach out and touch him if I wanted to. “You sound disappointed, Joss.” His words are slow and soft, and there’s an almost wicked twinkle in his eye. Is he flirting with me? God, I hope so.
I’m about to respond when someone calls his name. We both look toward the counter where the young woman who works there—Regina, I think Mae said her name was—is holding up a cup of coffee. She tilts her head toward the front of the café and gives a playful eye roll. I follow the motion to find Mae talking to an older man near the front door.
“Guess she got sidetracked getting me that coffee,” Liam says, standing. “Sorry to cut this short. I’ll be right back, ’kay?”
I nod and watch as he winds his way between tables and chairs, pausing here and there to speak to people. He seems popular, although that shouldn’t surprise me after what Mae told me about him being known as a fixer. I bet his laid-back personality and charming smile don’t hurt, either.
He talks to Regina for a minute after taking his coffee from her. I’m so busy admiring the view from behind, I don’t notice the little boy approaching until he all but flings himself at Liam, wrapping his arms around his waist. Liam jolts in surprise and then laughs, circling one arm around the boy and bending to kiss the top of his head. A beautiful young woman with dark shoulder length hair joins them a second later, and Liam leans over to kiss her cheek.
The mince tarts turn to lead in my stomach. Either Liam wasn’t actually flirting with me or he was and he’s no better than my disgusting, cheating ex. Alan’s betrayal was a hard knock to my confidence and it made me doubt myself in countless ways. I was so sure I saw something different in Liam. Something that put me at ease and piqued my curiosity—and my hormones.
Not wanting to stick around for introductions, I gather my purse and coat and make a beeline for the door. I’ve almost reached Mae when Liam calls my name. I turn to find him watching with me with raised brows, his arm still around the young boy, who I now see looks just like him. My heart drops, joining the lead ball in my gut.
In a stroke of genius—or madness—I lift the phone in my hand and pretend I’m getting a call. “Sorry,” I say as I inch toward the door, raising the phone to my ear. “I have to go. I’ll see you around.”
I spin on my heel, almost knocking into Mae, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression. “Thank you so much for today,” I tell her in a rush. “I’ll pop in for another visit soon, okay?” On impulse, I hug her. I intend for it to be quick, but she holds on, engulfing me in the scents of cinnamon, brown sugar, and vanilla. My throat thickens. I pinch my eyes closed and hold my breath, feeling a sudden case of sensory overload.
“Why don’t you let me introduce you to—”
I pull away from her abruptly. “Not right now. Please.”
She knows who I am. She knows I’ve just been through a messy public divorce. She knows my husband left me for another woman, and she likely knows I’ve come to Honeywell Hollow to hide out and attempt to heal. At least I’m counting on that as she stares into my eyes, making me feel yet again like she’s reading my thoughts.
“Of course,” she says finally. “Another time. You stop by whenever you want, all right? Here or the house, any time of day or night. I mean it.”
A stinging in my eyes joins the thickness in my throat. All I can manage is a murmured “thank you” and a squeeze to her hand as I slip past her. Outside, I suck in several lungfuls of cool, damp air. The sky holds a lingering glow from the recently-set sun, faintly illuminating the low-hanging dark clouds that threaten snow.
I’ve never been one to run away from things, but Natalie was right about me running away to Honeywell. Turns out all the running in the world won’t let me escape thoughts of my past. Or, apparently, my habit of being attracted to the wrong guy.
Still, as I wrap my coat tightly around myself and hurry to my car, a shaky smile flits over my lips. If Natalie could have seen me dashing out of the café to avoid Liam and his family, she’d have laughed herself silly. And luckily, the thought of that chases away the tears I refuse to let fall.