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Yes, I had good memories of the Sleigh Café, but I hadn’t been there in years. I was a gypsy in the truest sense of the word. I’d spent the last five years with my emotional attachments compartmentalized to make it easier to move from one production to another, one company to another, one home base to another. All in the name of building my career. Everything I owned was packed and on the seat behind me.

What does that say about twenty-eight year-old me?

I didn’t want to think about that, especially not when compared to my worldly, accomplished best friend.

Nick drove over the bridge and across Christmas River toward the center of town, toward historic buildings and Christmas traditions.

That was the thing about Christmas Mountain. It gave you a nice, whopping dose of Christmas. Already, I could feel myself happily being sucked in to anticipatory bliss from frosted holiday cookies and a wide selection of warm, fragrant pies. I could imagine myself sprawled on the family couch after a meal of turkey leftovers, binging Christmas movies – from the classics to Hallmark ones. I wouldn’t worry about what my next job would be or how my mother would judge my next role.

Was I dreaming of retirement?

I shook my head a little, not comfortable with the thought. Instead, I came back to the present and Nick. “Did you have to quit your job in New Orleans?” It was rumored to have been at one of the finest restaurants in the city.

He shrugged. “You’d do it too, if your family needed you.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Nick. My family doesn’t need me.” Not for anything. My mother would never disrupt my career. After all, she was the driving force behind it.

“If your foot is really fine, you should dance in the Christmas Extravaganza this year.” Nick reached over and tapped the welcome sign on the dashboard. “I’ll make you another poster. One that says,One night only – our superstar, Allie!”

The Christmas Extravaganza was a community event where kids and adults alike took to the stage. It was held on the eve of December twenty-fifth.

I stared at my hands in my lap, feeling like a fraud. “I’m not home to perform.” If anyone asked, I was here to regroup and recharge before heading out again. According to my mother, quitters retired. I’d never wanted to be a quitter. But I also knew I wouldn’t be professionally dancing in my sixties. At some point, I had to say no more. But when would I know it was time?

“Allie Jameson is too big a star for hometown theater now. Is that what I’m hearing?” Nick teased, reaching over to gently chuck my chin, bringing my head up and around to face him. There was something serious about the way he looked at me, as if searching for answers to questions he hadn’t yet asked.

“My mom would say that would dilute my brand.” And how did I feel? My shoulders tensed.

Nike didn’t seem to notice. He’d already returned his attention to the road. “Wow. Your foot must really be injured. Used to be you’d dance anywhere, anytime, oftentimes without being asked.” Nick turned down Main Street, which per tradition was decorated to the hilt.

I was happy to immerse myself in the snowy, winter wonderland rather than dwell on lingering injuries or dismal job prospects.

The old fashioned lamp posts were draped with fir garland. The small store fronts – the florist, Jingle Bell Bakery, the ice cream shop, and bookstore – had windows painted with Frosty, happy reindeer, and Santa Claus and wreaths hung from shop doors. Everything looked welcoming and authentic, not like the bright, often garish, production that was Christmas in New York City.

I missed this.

It was Sunday afternoon, two weeks before Christmas. Shoppers filled the sidewalks, carrying bags and gazing in store windows. Couples headed toward Christmas Falls where they’d undoubtedly hang an ornament on the Sharing Tree behind the Kissing Bench, hoping the tradition would solidify their love. A Victorian choir sang to a small crowd in the town square.

Everywhere I looked was the joy of the season – fellowship, song, sparkle.

Nick stopped at the intersection where the Sleigh Café was located. “Do you need a coffee?”

I perked up. “Don’t I always?”

“I’ll buy.”

“Even better.”

Smiling, Nick turned the corner and found a place to park.

Before I had the door fully open, Nick was there to help me out, placing his big hands on my waist and lifting me to the ground.

He made me breathless in a way my best friend never had before. “What was that for?”

“Your injury.” His hands lingered a little too long on my waist before he turned, leading me to the back door of his mother’s café.

“You worry too much.” I followed, limping only a little because days on the bus and off my foot had truly done some good. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Nick held the door for me, giving me a look that said he knew me better than anyone in the world.


Tags: Melinda Curtis Romance