Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Hank had come to visit her again that afternoon. She’d been propped up in the living room by the fireplace, enjoying the tree and watching the snow swirl outside, when he’d knocked on the front door.

When she let him in it wasn’t flowers he was holding in his hand, but a beautiful snow globe. And then she realized when she took it in her hands and shook it that the town inside was Laurel Valley.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“It made me think of you,” he said simply and came inside.

She found he was easy to talk to, and that they shared a lot of the same memories because they’d grown up in Laurel Valley. They knew the same people and remembered the same events. Their paths had crossed more than they’d realized.

And then they’d debated about which was better—books or movies—and she’d been shocked to find out that he had never loved reading because he’d struggled with dyslexia as a child. But he loved movies.

She’d shared with him how The Velveteen Rabbit had been a favorite of hers as a child, and that she’d lost herself in books as a way of escaping reality because of her father. He’d told her funny stories about his brothers and their Christmas traditions.

He’d never once brought up the bookstore. Instead he’d kissed her on the forehead and left. And then the next day he’d brought her a first edition of The Velveteen Rabbit .

“What are you doing?” she asked, staring at the cover and running her fingers over the lettering.

“I’m romancing you,” he said.

“Oh.”

For the next two weeks Sophie felt like she was living someone else’s life. She’d gone back to work, impressed to find that Anne O’Hara and her recruits had, in fact, held down the fort while she’d been sick and also scanned and shelved the shipment she’d received.

Someone had also fixed the heater and the stair railing, though Hank hadn’t admitted that he had when she’d asked him. Just like he’d fixed her front porch and her gate no longer squeaked.

“Must have been an elf,” he’d said with a shrug and a smile.

She’d never officially been romanced before, and she was starting to understand the euphoria of the first loves that she’d only ever read about. But despite the fact she’d felt like she’d been walking on a cloud for the past couple of weeks, there was a heaviness in her gut—an impending doom of a conversation she knew had to happen. He’d invited her to spend Christmas with his family in three days. And she’d accepted. But she felt like the whole world was crashing down on top of her.

She had a matter of weeks before the city shut her down, and she was no closer to getting the money she needed to bring the store up to code. There was no other option. She was going to have to sell and start over. She couldn’t afford one of the storefronts along the main streets. As Laurel Valley had been molded into an exclusive resort town, the restrictions and prices had increased as well.

Maybe her mother had been right. Maybe it was time for her to see what her dreams really were. But the reality was, her chances of doing it in Laurel Valley without the bookstore were slim. She could try to find a job at one of the resorts. At least her house was paid for. Maybe she should sell it? Then what? Where would she go? What would she do?

The truth was she couldn’t see herself doing anything other than what she was doing. Of course she had dreams. But they were all for expanding the bookstore. A coffee shop and a children’s section where she could have story hour, and a large room where book clubs could meet. Even a small kitchen area where a cookbook club could meet and try out recipes. Those were the things she dreamed of at night and that kept her motivated to keep patching things together.

She sighed as she looked around the bookstore. This was definitely not the Christmas she was hoping for. But if she was anything, she was practical.

“I’m heading out for the night,” Cori said, already wrapped up in her coat and scarf. “I’ve got a date.”

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Sophie said.

“He works up at the resort, so he’s on late tonight too,” she said. “We’re going to see a movie. I’m hoping I can stay awake. We were swamped today.”

“Three days until Christmas,” Sophie said.

“And we’ll be the busiest on Christmas Eve,” Cori said. “Why so many people like to wait until the last minute boggles the mind. Anyway, you good here?”

“I’m good,” Sophie said. “Have fun on your date. Be careful.”

“I’ve got my Mace and my own car,” she said. “I’m all set. See you tomorrow.”

Sophie was slower to gather her own things, methodically walking through each room of the bookstore and turning off the lights. She remembered her mother and grandmother shelving books and talking about the latest bestsellers. Even when her grandmother had gotten sick with cancer she’d still sat behind the register and checked out customers. Sophie had been six when she’d died.

The snow had been relentless over the past few days, so she zipped herself into her down coat with the fur-lined hood. It was black and skimmed to mid-thigh and it was warm enough for her to walk the two blocks home in the snow and wind. She pulled her red beanie cap down over her ears and remembered to get her gloves off her desk. She slipped them on and then turned off the light to her office, jumping as the light switch sent out a spark to her fingers.

Maybe that was a sign.

Now all she needed to do was talk to Hank.

There was a resoluteness in the set of her shoulders as she locked the door behind her. She thought of Cori and the other staff. They were all smart and good workers. They’d find other jobs. But they’d been hers. Just like the bookstore had been hers. The whole situation made her feel like a failure.

She checked the door once more after she locked it and turned around only to see Hank walking up the sidewalk toward her.

“I was hoping I’d make it here before you left for the night,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her close for a hug. “I got stuck in a meeting.”

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” she told him. “I know you’ve been working over at the new resort. I was just about to head home.”

“I had to pick up a couple of things in town,” he said. “I just walked over and hoped I’d persuade you to take a walk and grab some cider. They closed the rink because the snow is too heavy, but the cider stand is still open and they’re still blasting Christmas music through the streets. What do you say?”

She sighed, feeling the heaviness of the day around her shoulders, but there was no reason to delay the inevitable. As much as she wanted to put it off, they needed to talk about the hard things. So she put her arm through his and they started the walk down the hill to downtown Laurel Valley, where several of the stores and restaurants were still open, and people milled around, laughing and oohing and ahhing over their finds. “Winter Wonderland” played over the speakers, and she could hear people singing along.

“I love this time of year,” she said quietly, watching the scene unfold around her. “It’s like the snow globe you gave me, but it’s come to life. But I’ve always felt like the person looking through the glass, watching everyone else on the inside.”

Hank didn’t say anything, but he squeezed the hand that was in the crook of his arm.

“There’s something special about these days leading up to Christmas,” she said. “There’s an anticipation. A cheerfulness. A joy. I don’t know how to explain it. And then as soon as Christmas Day ends…”

“The magic is gone,” he said.

She nodded and said, “I wonder why that is.”

“Why do you love Christmas so much?” he asked. “What is it about the season?”

“It’s normal,” she said automatically. “You watch old movies or read books and there’s this fantasy of the all-American family, loving each other, buying gifts, working out conflicts, and then coming together to celebrate something that’s bigger than all of us. There’s a hope in that, I guess. And I’ve always held out for that hope. It was the only time of year when I was growing up where I could pretend we were a normal family.”

“Silver Bells” started playing through the speakers and she watched as fat flakes danced around the streetlights.

“My dad would stop drinking the week before Christmas like clockwork every year,” she said. “I don’t know why. Mom never told me. But I looked forward to that one week every year. His clothes would be neat and clean and he’d keep his face shaved. He’d be at dinner every night and then we’d all come down here as a family and listen to the carolers or we’d take our sleds up to Marmot Hill.

“When my grandmother was alive we’d go to her house for Christmas Eve and we’d all go to church. Junie and I would dress up and then we’d all go to Grandma’s for dinner and we’d have a feast. I know now that most of that food was donated. The pastor would come by and give Grandma a ham every year. But to me and Junie it was a feast. And then on Christmas morning we’d wake up early, before the sun came up, to see what was under the tree. It was never much. Mostly practical things like socks and hand-me-down clothes. But we almost always got one toy each.

“We’d have lunch together, and then dad would kiss Junie and me on the head and he’d leave to go to Duffey’s. And that would be the end of Christmas.”

“The magic was gone,” Hank said.

“Yeah,” she said. “The magic was gone.”

“But for that week,” he said. “I can see why you love it so much. Why you still have that hope in your heart.”

She nodded and said, “And then when I was fifteen he left on Christmas Day and he never came back. We still don’t know why he was driving up the mountain or where he was going. All we know from the police report was that he’d been drinking and he left Duffey’s in a rage. The rest is history.”

“You’re still angry with him,” Hank said.

She slowed her steps. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“How do you deal with it?”

She breathed in and felt the tightness in her lungs. “I don’t think about it. I stay focused on my job. On living my life. And when images of him pop into my mind—images of how he really was—I tamp them down and find something else to keep me busy.”

“Have you ever tried to forgive him?”

“I’m not sure I could,” Sophie said. “I’m not sure I’d even know where to start.”

“A wise man once told me that forgiveness isn’t for the other person,” Hank said. “Forgiveness doesn’t mean that you approve of what he did. Forgiveness is for you. It frees you from the chains that bind you to him.”

“That seems easier said than done,” she said.

“I’d imagine so,” he said. “But I think like anything worthwhile in life, it doesn’t happen in an instant. It’s a process. Maybe it just starts with you saying the words every day. Maybe you don’t even mean them. But eventually your words are going to catch up with your heart and your mind.”

She’d been angry with her father for so long she couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like to not be. Maybe Hank was right. Maybe he wasn’t. She’d need to think on it. But it would have to wait until later. She couldn’t deal with the bookstore and her father at the same time. Her father had been dead and buried for a long time. He could stay there awhile longer.

“Ahh, my favorite song,” Hank said as “White Christmas” started to play over the street.

Sophie was surprised when he turned her into his arms and started to sway to the music. Her first thought was to look around in embarrassment, wondering who was watching. But the gentle strength of his arms around her had her relaxing against him as they moved together.

Snow swirled around them as they danced in the street. Voices and faces faded. There was only Hank. And she realized at that moment that she loved him.

As the song faded she stepped away from him, her heart pounding in her chest with emotions that rioted through her. There was something in the way he looked at her that told her she wasn’t alone in her feelings. But this wasn’t the time or place for those kinds of declarations. It was the moment. The music. The dancing. The snow. It all swirled together to make the moment vibrate with something more.

There was a pregnant silence between them. And then she said, “I’ll sell you the bookstore.”