Romeo, New York is what every New Yorker dreams of when they’re imagining that Upstate vacation away from the stress of the city.
The downtown looks as if a gang of elves flew down from the North Pole and smacked the whole place with lights, garlands, red velvet bows, and giant candy canes.
Natalie’s driving down Main Street, giving me the unofficial tour as we head toward the retirement center.
On the left we have a chocolate shop with a life-size chocolate gingerbread house in the window. There’s a bookstore with a six-foot-tall Christmas tree made from stacked books and strung up with lights. The hardware store has a row of Christmas trees out front, ready for those who waited until the last minute. There are people chatting on the street, bags of gifts in their arms.
On the right, we pass the town park, where there are ice sculptures of nutcrackers, reindeer and Santa’s sleigh. There’s a bronze statue with a Santa hat. Kids in brightly colored snowsuits are building a snowman. There’s a wooden hot cocoa stand at the edge of the park.
If I had to find a town to film one of those TV Christmas movies in, this would be it.
This town loves Christmas.
“Why’d you leave again? This town is perfect for you.” I look over at Natalie, she’s bundled in her coat and scarf, her cheeks pink from the cold. Her car heater still hasn’t warmed up. It’s blowing cold air over us.
“You know, small town girl, big city dreams.” She smiles at me, but it’s a little less vibrant than it was last night.
“Ah. That’s right. Well, it looks like a nice place to grow up.”
“The best.”
It’s late afternoon. We spent the day painting salt clay ornaments with Roberta, cross country skiing with Felix and Jerry, and then baking the cookies with Agnes for the retirement center.
The smell of the sugar cookies—butter and sugar and vanilla—fills the car. Grandma Agnes claimed it’s an old family recipe, to which Natalie pointed to the recipe on the side of the flour bag and winked at me.
But even with that wink, and spending all day together, I’ve noticed Natalie’s smiles spacing out and her confidence waning. Even now her knuckles are white on the steering wheel and I don’t think it has to do with the cold.
“You’re worried that I’ll go back to the city,” I say, reaching over and brushing my hand over her fingers.
She glances at me then back to the road. We’ve made it to the turn off for the retirement center. The tires crunch over the salt on the driveway. Ahead, the front doors are wrapped like Christmas presents, and there are lights in the windows.
She pulls into a parking spot and puts the car in park, but leaves the engine running. The heater has finally started to send out heat.
“I’m not going to lie,” she says. “I’m fairly certain we’re going to walk in there, you’re going to ask to use the phone, and then five minutes later a car is going to show up to drive you back to the city.”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
Her hands grip the steering wheel tighter and she arranges her features like a man facing a long march to the gallows.
I brush my hand over her jaw. She turns to me.
“I’m not sorry,” she whispers.
“I don’t want you to be sorry.”
She turns her face into my palm. “Good. Because I’d do it again.”
The warmth from the heater curls around me and I run my thumb along her jaw, stroke her cheek.
I want to kiss her. I crave her. I want to nibble on her mouth like she’s a sugar cookie covered in icing. Even after last night and all the kisses I stole today, the craving isn’t lessening, it’s getting stronger.
“If I call for a car,” I tell her, leaning over the box of cookies, pressing my mouth to the corner of her lips.
She frowns and I kiss her again, trying to iron the frown away.
“If you call for a car?”
I kiss her again, tasting the sugar cookie on her lips.
I’d forgotten where I was going with this. Ah, now I remember.
“I’d have to tie you up and chuck you in the back seat of the car. Force you back to the city with me. But that would result in awkward questions from the driver and your family would get upset. I like your family. I don’t want them to get upset.”
Her frown has cleared, replaced by a slow smile. “It would be a shame to upset the driver. And my family.”
“It would,” I agree. “It would be a terrible shame.”
We stare at each other, the air in the car as electrified as a string of Christmas lights. Natalie picks up the box of cookies, her eyes as green as a balsam fir.
“Let’s go deliver these cookies,” she says, biting her bottom lip. I want to taste her again. “You can meet Miss Erma.”
I lift my eyebrows. “The kidnapping mastermind.”
Natalie laughs, “No. The woman who predicts soul mates. Come on, you’ll like her.”
Thinking about what she said about Natalie’s soul mate—that he’s not me—I’m not so sure I will.