Chapter 13

thirteen

STERLING

U ncle Freddy and Kyle lived on a farm about twenty-five miles outside of Christmas Falls. Once the awkwardness inside the car diffused a little, Martha told us enthusiastically that Freddy—Win—and his husband grew hydroponic tomatoes year-round, and had grown an award-winning pumpkin last year as well.

“I keep telling them they ought to have a Christmas tree farm,” Martha said. “But they say they’d never be able to compete with the Milton Falls Tree Farm.”

She told us this as she directed Harvey to pull into a long, winding gravel drive. At the top was a gorgeous log home with vaulted ceilings and smoke pouring from a stone chimney. The high windows glowed gold, and I could already make out the silhouette of a Christmas tree in the great room. “Wow,” I said, forgetting my nerves for a moment.

“Yeah.” Harvey craned his neck to see out the window as he shut the car off. “This is incredible.”

He’d seemed kind of jumpy the past twenty minutes or so. Maybe he was as nervous as I was about meeting Freddy. Or maybe, just maybe, this had something to do with the name I’d seen on his phone screen out of the corner of my eye when we were stopped at that light.

Fucking Steven.

If everything worked out here at the magical hydroponic tomato cabin, and I could get through this meeting without Freddy hating me or me hating myself, I was going to go full Christmas-morning-Scrooge, wishing everyone I passed on the street a Merry Christmas and offering them giant turkeys and shit. Except Steven. For Steven, I’d wish for him to have a really nice, expensive winter hat eaten by a reindeer. I’d wish he’d get snow in his boots so his goddamn socks would be wet all day. I’d have liked to wish far worse on him, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t be in keeping with the Christmas Falls spirit.

Martha was already out of the car, pulling a Tupperware of sugar cookies from a tote I hadn’t even realized she had with her. I exchanged a look with Harvey, who was in the process of chewing his bottom lip raw, but who gave me a quick smile. He asked, “Are we really even in Trixie’s league if we were never tied to a chair by a man in a ski mask and forced to use our ingenuity and grit to free ourselves?”

“The night is young. Someone could still get tied to a chair. Or a bed.”

His jaw literally dropped. Mine almost did too. I couldn’t believe I’d said that. But before I encountered the familiar surge of guilt at leading him on, I leaned forward and kissed him.

His mouth, which had been hanging open, closed. And when it opened again, it was more slowly, his lips pressed to mine, his tongue exploring.

I heard a distant “Yoohoo!” from Martha, and almost jumped back, thinking it was directed at us. But then a man’s voice called a greeting, and as eager as I was for my first glimpse of Freddy, or Cap Guy, I lingered with my lips on Harvey’s. The front of the car was mostly hidden from the cabin door by shrubbery, so I didn’t think we were in danger of being seen. I smiled against his mouth, and felt him smile in answer.

We slowly drew apart.

“Are you ready?” Harvey asked me.

“Not at all,” I replied honestly.

He took my hand and squeezed it. “It’ll be all right. If Martha likes him this much, then he’s good people.”

But maybe I’m not good people, I wanted to say.

We got out of the car and followed Martha to the door.

It was Freddy who greeted us. Win. I really had to get used to thinking of him that way. He ushered Harvey and me inside with a big smile on his face, and there was no mistaking him. Older, yes, obviously. But he still looked like the boy in the photograph. He looked a lot like my father too.

Kyle entered from what was presumably the kitchen, wearing a flour-stained apron made to look like the front of a gingerbread man, because of course. These two might not be living in Christmas Falls, but they were definitely Christmas Falls-adjacent. Kyle didn’t appear as much like his younger self—though, not much of him had been visible in the photo, so I couldn’t be sure. But he seemed burlier now, and he had a beard. He and Win both looked at Harvey and me expectantly.

“Harvey, Sterling,” Martha said. “Meet Kyle and Win. Kyle and Win, this is Harvey Novak, from the museum.”

“Ah, so this is Harvey in the flesh,” Kyle said with a grin, sticking out a hand for Harvey to shake. Win was smiling too, but he seemed quieter than his husband. His gaze flicked to me rather than remaining on Harvey, though he did shake Harvey’s hand and say it was nice to meet him.

“And Sterling Van Ruyven,” Martha added, motioning to me.

The cabin went far too quiet.

I’d wanted to be the one to say it, to tell them who I was, to be the first to offer my hand to shake. But once again I found myself nearly paralyzed, my mind blank. “Hi,” I finally said, stepping forward to shake first Kyle’s hand, then Win’s.

Win’s hand lingered on mine for a moment. “Van Ruyven,” he said quietly. Not with shock, or contempt, or disdain. Just…quietly.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m Quentin Van Ruyven’s son.”

“Ah,” Win replied. He seemed interested, curious—but still not shocked. He gave me a smaller, more private smile. “I’m very glad to meet you, Sterling. Why don’t you all have a seat? Kyle’s been working on the mulled wine and gingerbread.”

“I brought cookies too,” Martha piped up, holding out the Tupperware.

The main living space of the cabin was warm and comfortable. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and knitted blankets bundled on the mismatched couches as though this was where Win and Kyle spent a lot of their time in winter. Books and magazines were stacked on a scuffed coffee table, and Win cleared them onto the floor with a careless sweep of his arm to make room for the Tupperware container. He motioned for us to sit, and I did, Harvey beside me.

I glanced around the room, trying to drink in all the tiny details as though they, and not the man sitting across from me, could tell me everything I needed to know. There was a stag’s head above the fireplace, which wouldn’t have been too unexpected in a rural cabin, except it was made out of purple tartan fabric and had felt antlers and plastic googly eyes.

“Got that off Etsy,” Win said, following my gaze. “Kyles hates it.”

Kyle snorted as he sat beside him. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s ironic .”

This sounded like an argument they’d had a million times before. Their voices were fond and amused.

Win tilted his head. “Does the family still have the lodge at Aspen?”

I nodded, my throat dry.

“Has it still got that wall full of hunting trophies?” Win waited for my next nod, and then flashed a wry smile. “Man, those freaked me out when I was a kid.”

I felt curiously out of step with this moment, almost dizzy. Win was speaking about our family, our shared experiences, like he hadn’t just dropped dramatically back into my life like an evil relation on a telenovela who had literally clawed their way out of a grave. Which, he hadn’t . I was the one who’d invaded his life, shattered his peace. And he didn’t even seem angry about it. If my father could see me now, struggling with uncertainty, he wouldn’t recognize me. Neither would anyone who’d ever faced me in contract negotiations or an unfriendly board meeting. And neither would the Sterling Van Ruyven from as little as a week ago.

Harvey knocked his leg against mine and gave me a reassuring smile.

“Me too,” I said. I pressed my leg back against Harvey’s, needing his wordless support. “Grandfather—your father—he passed away.”

Win’s smile faded. “I know.”

“You know?”

“Saw it online.” Win held my gaze, but I couldn’t read his expression. That Van Ruyven poker face gene was strong.

“The funeral was last week. If I’d known where to find you, I would have invited you.”

“I wonder what Quentin would say about that,” Win mused. “Does he know you’re here?”

“No.”

Win might have informally taken Kyle’s surname, but he was still a Van Ruyven at heart. The corner of his mouth quirked as he saw straight through me. “Don’t worry, Sterling. I’ve had plenty of opportunities in the last thirty-odd years to cause legal shit for the family if I’d wanted. The old man’s death doesn’t change a thing. He’s been dead to me since the day I left, and vice versa.”

I blew out a breath. “Okay. I…I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of why I came here. Or, at least, why I told myself I was coming here. Initially.”

He watched me, expression inscrutable. He didn’t help me out of this one.

“I found this.” I pulled the dog-eared photo from my pocket, an echo of all the times I’d done this over the past few days. I passed it to Win.

“Oh, wow,” Win murmured.

Kyle stared over his shoulder at the picture. “Aww, look at us.” He took it from Win and smiled as he studied it.

“And I just thought…no one ever talked about you.” I winced saying it. Win said my grandfather had been dead to him for years, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt, this reminder of how we’d turned our backs on him. “I wanted to know where you’d gone. Wanted to know more about you. And wanted…”

“To make sure I wouldn’t come barging in during the reading of the will, shouting about my rightful claim to the business?” Win supplied gently.

I flushed. “I guess. Something like that.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about on that front. I’m happy here.”

He said it like he meant it. Like it was a simple fact. All at once, I burned with a longing unlike any I’d ever felt before. To have what my uncle had. Minus the tartan stag head.

I wanted to someday declare, simply and easily, that I was happy. I wanted to leave behind the people who weren’t on my side, and be with someone who was.

I continued, “I came to Christmas Falls to show the photo around and see if anyone knew you. Except I drove my rental car into a snowbank, and then I—the people in town were so nice. A guy named Rob drove me to my hotel. The next day I met Harvey, and he agreed to help me ask around…” I was rambling now, but I couldn’t stop. I looked at Kyle. “A bunch of people thought they might know who you were. But everything turned out to be a dead end. The more I searched for you—” I looked back at Win “—the less it became about the business, the will, any of it. I didn’t want anything bad to have happened to you. I know what my family’s like, and I just kept hoping that you’d found somewhere better to be. Better people to be with.”

Win smiled again. But instead of agreeing that the Van Ruyens were shit, or reiterating that he was infinitely happier here, he just said, “You drove into a snowbank?”

“Uh, yeah. Black ice.”

Win glanced at Kyle, and they shared a private smile before facing us.

“I got stuck here because of a blizzard,” Win said. “I’d been bumming along the Eastern Seaboard for a while before I finally decided to make my way out west. I had it in my head I was going to drive all the way to California. You can imagine the allure San Francisco held back then, for someone like me. But I never made it that far. I was passing through Illinois in early December when a freak blizzard hit. Just when I figured I needed to get off the road and find somewhere to stay—boom! Black ice. I skidded right into a tree.”

Kyle reached out and caught his hand and squeezed it.

“I barely had a dollar to my name, but as you said, the people in Christmas Falls are kind. I got a ride into town with the Whitnalls—he was in construction, and she was a teller at the bank—and they let me stay above their garage until I could get the car fixed. Well, by the time the weather cleared, I was still there. And one afternoon I went downtown to buy the Whitnalls something for letting me stay, and Kyle was selling roasted chestnuts from a little stall in the park.” Win’s smile grew impossibly fond as he gazed at Kyle. “And after that, I stayed for good.”

It was a little bit too neat, too tidy—like much of my Christmas Falls experience. There was no way Win wasn’t nursing some hidden pain, no way he’d never wondered what life would have been like if he’d made it all the way to San Francisco. Or if he’d felt able to stay in New York. But I did believe him when he said he was happy. That what he’d gained more than made up for what he’d lost.

I stayed for good .

There was a whole lifetime in his words. An entire happy ending. It was here in this cabin, in the solid walls and the warmth and even that stupid tartan stag’s head. It was in the way Win and Kyle looked at each other, hands clasped. I wanted to know more . I didn’t just want Win’s happy ending; I wanted to know the struggles he’d overcome to hold onto it. The doubts, the fights, the regrets, the recriminations, and, most of all, the looming scepter of the Van Ruyven family back in New York. Because it couldn’t have been easy, and I was suddenly desperate to be told it hadn’t been. But Win and I were strangers still, and he didn’t owe me his trauma just because I suspected it looked a hell of a lot like mine.

“Maybe Christmas Falls is like a vortex,” Harvey piped in helpfully. “Drawing in the people who need it most.”

I almost snorted, except I’d thought nearly the same thing.

So here we were again, at the place where this was my choice. When the storm that was Patrick’s arrival in New York blew over, would I be there, cleaning up the mess?

Or would I still be here?

“Maybe,” I agreed, a little numbly.

“A vortex,” Martha repeated. She’d taken off the Tupperware lid to help herself to a cookie, and now passed the container around. “We should use that in the museum advertising. ‘Christmas Falls sucks... you in !’”

“That’s terrible,” Harvey said, his eyes bright with delight. “We should get it on postcards along with the creepy elf.”

Again, I wanted to snort at his ridiculousness, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Win and Kyle. I felt as though if I stared hard enough, I’d see a crack appear in their happy facade. A reason to tell myself that happy endings were overrated. That Christmas was. That love was too. I wanted them to make this easy for me.

“When do you go back, Sterling?” Win asked. And once again, I had that uncomfortable sense that he could see right through me.

“Um,” I repeated. “I don’t know. I was on my way back when Martha cracked the case.”

Martha laughed, biting into the rear end of a reindeer-shaped cookie. “The answer was right under your noses the whole time.”

I tried to smile. “So, I’m already checked out of the Pear Tree. I’m guessing there won’t be another room available this close to Christmas.”

“Well,” Kyle said, taking a Santa’s head cookie and then passing the container to Harvey. I could almost swear he gave Harvey a conspiratorial look. “I’m sure we can find a solution.”

“Yes,” Win said. “I’m sure we can.”

“This is crazy,” I said under my breath, and then, because it deserved to be sung from the mountaintop, I said it louder. “This is crazy.”

“Oh, this room is really nice,” Harvey said, following me and Win inside the little guest room at the back of Win and Kyle’s cabin. “It’s very cozy.” He pointed at the bed. “That looks like one of Grandma’s quilts.”

“We bought that off Kyle’s old second grade teacher a few years back,” Win said. “Mrs. Novak.”

“That’s her!” Harvey exclaimed. “Small world!”

He said it with an air of pleased delight as though he thought it was something magical and destined, the threads of our fates entwined in this little way, instead of just what happened in a small town where there were probably limited quilt-buying options.

“Small world,” Win agreed with a smile. “Can you go and get Sterling’s suitcase?”

There were probably a million things I could have asked Win after Harvey left the room and gave us a moment’s privacy, but for some reason the first words that tumbled out of my mouth were, “Did you know about me?”

“Did I know you existed?” he asked. “Yes. You and Sarah.” He crossed the small room to the dresser. “There’s a spare blanket in the bottom drawer, if you need it. The quilt is very warm, though.”

“I don’t know if I’m staying yet.”

“No.” He tilted his head as he regarded me. “But you don’t know if you’re going either. So the blanket’s there if you need it.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Nobody reached out and let me know about you and Sarah—it’s not as though I left a forwarding address—but the family isn’t exactly low profile, is it? I’ve kept tabs.”

“But you never reached out? Not after you send the photograph of you and Kyle?”

“I stupidly thought Dad would be happy to know that I was happy.” Win glanced away for a moment, and then met my gaze again, and I felt guilty for having wished he’d show me some of his pain. I caught a glimpse of it now, and it was more than enough. “And Quentin could have found me, if he’d tried. You managed it.”

“He didn’t throw the photo out, after all these years,” I said. “Grandfather. He could have, but he didn’t. But that’s not enough, is it?”

“No,” Win agreed. “It’s really not.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “For the family. For us being a bunch of...” I searched for a fitting word. “Of total assholes .”

Yeah, that one fit.

“Did you really come to warn me off—or pay me off?” he asked softly.

I dragged a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know anymore. I thought I did, but Harvey said it’s not true.”

He shrugged. “Well, you haven’t pulled out a checkbook yet, or a baseball bat, so maybe Harvey’s right.”

“Did you leave because you were gay?” The word ‘too’ went unsaid, but I was sure we both heard it all the same.

“That was part of the reason,” Win said. “The biggest part of it. It was wrapped up in a whole lot of teenage angst and kicking against the cage, but when I eventually shed all the other stuff we’d fought about—the summer I dyed my hair, the earring, the drinking and the drugs; the usual poor little rich boy bullshit—I’d still be gay. I wasn’t going to outgrow that, so if I ever wanted a chance at happiness, I had to go.”

“Do you regret it?” I asked. “Throwing away the money, the education, the opportunities, the Van Ruyven name, for this?”

“Not for a second.” He lifted his chin. “Sometimes I wonder if I should have done things differently, if I hadn’t been an angry teenager just bursting to get the hell out. Left a note, rented a post box, wrote home more than the one time I sent the card and the photo...” He snorted. “Packed some decent winter clothes. But leaving itself? No, I have never regretted that.”

My skin tingled, like sinking into a warm bath after coming in from the cold. How freeing it must have felt to just walk away like that. I tried to imagine doing the same. What would I miss, really? Nothing much about my life in New York compelled me to claw onto it desperately. If I left, the family and the company would go on as before. The initial chaos caused as my father scrambled to gather his allies in the boardroom would barely be a ripple on the stock exchange, and wasn’t that the only thing that ultimately mattered to him?

And to me, in this moment, nothing could have mattered less . The realization was dizzying.

“And Sterling? If there are questions you’re asking yourself right now, and if they’re anything like the ones I asked myself, then maybe you’ll be smarter about it than I was. But I don’t think you’ll regret it either.”

“I don’t know if I’m staying yet,” I said again, faintly.

“No.” He crossed the room and put his hand on my shoulder. Squeezed. “But there’s a spare blanket in the drawer if you need one in the meantime.”

And then he left me alone with my swirling thoughts.