Seven

Was it possible that someone like her could attract his attention? It was what she'd dreamed of for so long that she was almost

afraid to hope.

—Hailey Fairchild, What the Heart Seeks

I meet my old bestie Scarlet and her sister Billie for coffee at Cora's Coffee House. This place hasn't changed. It still

looks like a giant living room, with oversized chairs and sofas grouped around scuffed wooden tables. A wreath is hung on

every window, and Mariah Carey is singing about all she wants for Christmas. I can smell coffee and the aroma of baking goodies,

something with a heavy hand of cinnamon, floating from the kitchen. Cora's mom is eighty now, but she still bakes all the

cookies and pastries for her daughter. Even though it's late afternoon and coffee rush hour has passed, the place is packed,

with people getting their eggnog and gingerbread latte fixes.

The sisters have snagged a small table in a corner by the front window. Scarlet waves at me as if I don't see her, but I'd

recognize that auburn hair and big smile anywhere. Her sister smiles, too, and waves as well, and I hurry over to hug them.

Billie is sporting a baby mountain, and I have to bend over it to hug her. "When are you due?" I ask.

"February," she replies.

"And she'd better not go into labor right in the middle of my wedding," jokes Scarlet. "I hope you remembered to save the date," she says to me.

"I wouldn't miss it," I say.

I hurry to order my drink, yet another peppermint latte (What? They're seasonal!), and a slice of gingerbread. There will

be a ton of food at the Davieses' party tonight, but I'd be a fool to pass up on Cora's mom's gingerbread.

I can feel both sisters staring at my green hair as I settle in at the table. Still green after eight washings. Not quite

as bright as it was at first, but it would still be hard to lose me in a crowd.

"Is this a new look?" asks Billie.

I scowl. "Gwendolyn did it."

"Gwendolyn!" exclaims Scarlet.

"She's with Sam now," Billie says. "I forgot to tell you."

"Everyone forgot to tell me," I say and take a sip of my drink. "But thank heaven, they just broke up."

"Good. I'd hate to see Sam stuck with the likes of her," Scarlet says, then moves on to new conversational territory. "I'm

sorry we missed the book party. My plane was delayed."

"And I was stuck waiting at the airport forever," adds Billie, rolling her eyes.

"But I hear you packed the place," Scarlet continues. "I'm so proud of you, girl. I read your last book. It was epic."

"Your whole life is epic," puts in Billie. "A famous writer living in New York, so glamorous." She sighs.

I think of my mistletoe fails and my writer's block, neither of which I've shared with Scarlet. Yep. So glamorous.

"It must be pretty boring here compared to that," Billie says.

I think of Carwyn and smile. "You'd be surprised."

"Scarlet told me about David, but I bet you've already replaced him. So, who are you with now, some big mover and shaker back

there?" Billie asks as I cut into my gingerbread.

It almost feels too good to share, but I have to. "Actually, someone here. Early stages, though."

"Here!" both sisters exclaim in unison.

"Who?" Scarlet demands.

"Carwyn," I say, and her eyes about pop out of her head.

"Carwyn," she repeats. " The Carwyn?"

I nod. Simply thinking about him makes my heart start dancing around like those eleven lords a-leaping in the old song.

"How did this happen?" Billie asks.

"We ran into each other, and things took off from there," I say.

"We need deets," Scarlet says, leaning forward, her flat white long forgotten.

I fill them in. They giggle and sigh in all the right places.

"A real-life happy ending," says Scarlet. "Now you've come full circle from that first mistletoe kiss."

"Well, we haven't kissed under the mistletoe," I confess.

"What? It's Christmas!" protests Billie.

"Trust me, it's my kryptonite. If we kiss under the mistletoe, it will ruin everything," I say.

"Don't be so superstitious," scolds Scarlet. "It's Christmas. You have to kiss under the mistletoe."

"No, I don't," I insist.

And to prove it, I avoid every single piece of mistletoe all during the party that evening. Carwyn keeps trying to lure me

under it, but I resist. Instead, I make the rounds and visit with neighbors. It's amazing how much you can find to talk about

when people suddenly want to talk to you.

Speaking of talking, it's hard to visit with Carwyn's dad and not tear up. This kind man doesn't deserve the future that's

waiting for him.

On the surface, everything looks fine. He stands with his hands in his pockets, a happy smile on his face telling me it's nice to have me back.

Mrs. Davies joins him. "We're all happy to have you back, Hailey."

It feels like a parental blessing to me, and I smile at them both and thank them.

The party winds down. Eventually the last guest leaves, and Carwyn suggests a walk in the snow. It's a perfect night for it.

The air is crisp and the night is clear, the sky a jewel box filled with stars. Colored lights line snowy rooftops, and inflatable

Santas wave at us as we walk past.

"I bet you don't see this in New York," he says.

"No, but we have the holiday displays on Fifth Avenue and the Rockefeller Christmas tree and the skating rink," I say. "New

York at Christmas is amazing."

"I wouldn't mind seeing it," he says. He wants to see New York. There's proof that everything will work out.

"I wouldn't mind showing it to you," I say.

"Still, there's no place like home," he adds.

I feel a twinge of uh-oh . "Home is where your heart is," I counter.

"Yes, it is," he agrees, and I decide that I imagined that uh-oh .

"Is it okay if I come over after the Christmas Eve service?" he asks as we finally circle back toward my parents' house.

"Absolutely," I say.

"You still owe me a kiss under the mistletoe."

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say.

"I do."

"How about a kiss in the snow instead?" I suggest.

He smiles. "I guess I could settle for that."

He slips his arms around me. His body is hard, and his arms are strong. He tastes like peppermint pie and smells like the outdoors. Living a happily-ever-after is so much more satisfying than writing one. I'm filled with holiday happiness.

Once inside the house I float up to my room. I text Ramona that I hope she's doing great. It's party season, and I know she's

probably still awake.

Sure enough, she texts back minutes later and assures me that she is and asks how things are going.

Hailey: Perfect.

Ramona: Have you kissed under the mistletoe?

Hailey: No way. Don't want to ruin things.

Ramona: You won't. True love can't be ruined.

I smile. I must find a way to use that phrase in my novel.

My novel.

Suddenly, I'm inspired. I text bye to Ramona, pull out my laptop, and start writing. It's the best love scene I've ever written.

I might finish this book by January 3 after all.

I finally get ready for bed, shut off the light, and snuggle under the covers. Once asleep, I dream that Carwyn and I are

in New York, looking at a condo on Park Avenue. It costs $3 million, and the real estate agent informs us that the HOA fees

are $3,000 a month.

"No problem," I say. "I can afford it." Of course I can. This is a dream, and in it I'm richer than Danielle Steel.

I wake up with a smile. Surely the dream is a sign of wonderful things to come. Not the richer than Danielle part. I don't

care about that. Only the part where Carwyn and I are together.

Mom greets me when I come into the kitchen to help her with breakfast. "Did you sleep well?"

"Great," I say.

She opens the oven to check on our breakfast casserole, and the aroma wafts over to me. Eggs, cheese, and green chiles. My

taste buds can hardly wait for the meetup. I grab the bread and start making toast.

"Your hair's looking better," she says.

It is. Finally, after yet another washing.

"So's yours," I say as I help myself to a cup of coffee.

"I guess Gwendolyn knew what she was doing after all," Mom says with a smile.

Obviously, Sam hasn't told Mom that he and Gwendolyn are done. "I don't think we can count on Gwendolyn coloring our hair

anymore."

"Oh? Why?"

"Sam broke up with her."

"What? When did that happen?"

"When we went out for pizza."

"I thought they were so good together." Mom sounds perplexed.

"He's lucky to be rid of her," I say and tell Mom about Gwendolyn's behavior. "She's always been a bully," I add.

Mom's eyes narrow. "Did she bully you in high school?"

I shrug.

"You should have told me."

"You know there are some things kids have to work out on their own," I say.

"Still, lucky for her I didn't know," Mom says, eyes still narrowed.

"Oh well. You know what they say. Living well is the best revenge."

She smiles at that. "And you are. It looks like something's going on with you and Carwyn."

Now I'm smiling. "I think so."

"Good. He's a first-rate man. Unless there's something I don't know about him," she adds.

"No, he is."

"You could have a good life with him. And it would be so great to have you back here," Mom continues.

Back here? I don't say anything, but inwardly I'm thinking, But I'm a New Yorker now .

"If it's meant to be, it will all work out," she adds.

"Yes, it will," I agree.

Of course it will. True love always finds its happy ending, right?

***

That evening at the Christmas Eve candlelight service, Carwyn and I exchange smiles across the pew as we sing "Joy to the

World." I love the profound and overwhelming message of Christmas. To be here with my family and see the man I've adored all

my life smiling at me with love in his eyes adds to the joy.

Gram, who never misses anything, links her arm through mine as we leave the church. "That one's a keeper. Don't let him get

away."

"Not planning on it," I say with a smile.

We're all gathered around the dining table, eating our Christmas Eve snack of chips, cheese, and crackers and artichoke dip,

washed down with eggnog, when the doorbell rings.

"I bet I know who that is," says Grandpa, winking at me.

I hurry to the door and open it, and there stands Carwyn in jeans, boots, and that mountain-man suede jacket of his. It's

lightly snowing now, and some of the snow has dusted his hair. He's holding a wrapped present.

"Come on in," I say, and he steps inside and hands me the box.

"Merry Christmas," he says.

"I don't have anything for you," I protest.

"Oh, I think you do," he says, and points to the mistletoe hanging above us.

Here it is, the moment of truth.