Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Brooke

Aknock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to where my mom pushed open the bedroom door, leaning inside.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she said, and I almost laughed. Trying to explain what was wrong right now would have been an interesting experience.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom,” I said, looking back down at the little gift-wrapped box in my hands.

“Got another present from yet another admirer, did you?” she said, stepping inside and shutting the door softly behind her. My bedroom was dark, only a little bedside lamp turned on, and snow drifting down outside just added to the seclusion of it all.

“It’s the one from Mr. Graham, that Nicole gave me when I got here.” I weighed it in my hands. “I was thinking I’d wait until Christmas to open it, but… I’ve just been staring at it, and I think it implies I should open it already.”

She smiled sweetly, sinking into my desk chair, my laptop shut on the desk past her. “Well, we can pretend it’s Christmas now. Lucky for all of us, I’d say. Means we’ve finally got a white Christmas. You know, it snowed Christmas Eve the past three years straight, and not once on Christmas Day itself? Mountain Crossing can be a bit spiteful sometimes.”

“Merry Christmas, then,” I said, sinking back on the bed, unraveling the red glittery ribbon. Tearing the crisp candy-cane wrapping paper felt like a crime, and just raised questions, when I tore it open and found myself holding a blank box, wrapped in something soft like suede. A little latch on the front was intricately designed, and Mom figured it out first.

“Oh, he didn’t,” she laughed. “That old coot pretending to be a grouch.”

“What do you mean?” I looked up at where she smiled wide, eyes sparkling.

“Just open it up. I’ve got a good feeling what it is.”

I opened the latch and swung it open—there was a little creak, the feeling of something catching, and the first soft chime came a little slower before it picked up. A music box, handcrafted at that, and sure enough, it started out with a soft, twinkling rendition of Silent Night. A hand-painted snowscape decorated the inside, and I watched it with a thick feeling in my throat.

“Old Mr. Graham talked about buying some gifts a few years back,” Mom said, her voice low. “He was traveling out of the country. He said he’d picked up the perfect little music box for someone, and he’d give it to them as soon as he got the opportunity. That was four years ago.”

Four years ago would have been eight years after I left Mountain Crossing. If you’d asked younger me, she’d have just said Mr. Graham was the old geezer in the house on the hill, always buried in his newspapers and his books and never bothering with us kids. I always figured he couldn’t stand me and Nicole playing pranks around town.

One time, after he caught us sneaking out of town together and creeping through his property, we’d thought we were done for, but he just took us inside and sat us down in his study—which was stocked with more books than I thought anyone would be able to read in a lifetime—and after grousing to us for what felt like hours about how we kids weren’t raised on decent, respectable morals and needed to just sit down and read a book, he put on some tea for us all, put on his reading glasses, and read us the first chapter of the mystery novel he was reading. Nicole and I had just been ten years old then, but we were spellbound.

I’d thought it was just a weird one-off moment of sentimentality from the old grump, but if he remembered my favorite Christmas song eight years after I’d left town and waited four years to give me a gift—well—maybe I’d had the wrong read on the guy.

Nicole and I got in trouble later for swiping a copy of the same book from the local library so we could finish it. Turned out, it wasn’t exactly suitable reading material for kids.

“Ugh, this sucks,” I said, finally, once the song finished and I swung the music box shut. “Now I need to get him a gift, too. I can’t match this.”

She laughed. “I think I know a gift you could give to all of Mountain Crossing that we’d all love,” she said, shooting me a wink.

“Mom—look, I love it here, and it’s been really wonderful meeting everyone again. I’m really glad I got to come back here for this. But I’m not staying here. I have a career and everything in Charlotte.”

She gave me a sad smile. “You can make music from anywhere, can’t you, dear?”

“Of course. But the job’s a lot more than just making music.” I set the music box down on the nightstand, turning and just watching the snow fall. “I mean, it’d be pretty hard to find a recording studio out here in the first place.”

“Just go record in town square. People will love the background ambiance.”

“Well, no one can say you don’t have creative answers,” I said. “Look… I guess I need to visit more often, because it’s been really wonderful. And my family’s clearly a lot bigger than just the Carstons. Big as this family already is.”

She smiled sweetly, leaning forward and putting a hand on my arm. “All of Mountain Crossing is your family, dear.” She paused. “Except Nicole. That’d be incest.”

“Mom,” I sighed.

“Let’s go out on the town tomorrow evening. We’ll work on getting you a good gift for Mr. Graham, and for everyone else while we’re there. For now… you know you can tell your mom about anything.”

I fall backwards on the bed, sprawling out and staring at the same ceiling I’d looked up at so many nights as a kid. “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Gift shopping tomorrow sounds good.”

She squeezed my arm. “Sleep well, sweetheart. I’m sure I know who you’ll be dreaming of.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Persistence runs in the family, huh?”

∞∞∞

The winter market was finally up and running, and walking through the stalls breathing in the scents, I could see the appeal of a tradition like this. After a day of closing myself up in my room kicking myself over why I’d kissed Nicole Livingston—and then to make matters worse, run away—surprisingly I hadn’t made any progress on any of my songs, and getting out here was what I’d needed.

The whole place was alive with sweet smells and chatter and lights, candied orange and clove and peppermint wafting through the air, leaving a sweet taste on my tongue as I breathed in the crisp night air. Strings of garland hung from stall to stall, and little lights were strung up everywhere in either soft white or multicolor lighting, and the chatter and hum dissolved into the background—not loud enough to overload my senses, but just enough to make it feel alive.

Most of the other Carstons joined in, and I trailed at the rear of the group behind where my dad was talking with his hands and letting out big, boisterous laughs. My grandfather Gil, who normally never left the comfort of his favorite armchair in the living room, was right there beside him laughing right along, clapping my dad on the shoulder as they shared a joke, and I wondered if everyone came so alive in the holidays. Abigail, my sister who somehow broke six feet tall where none of the other siblings did, walked alongside me with her hands in her coat pockets, our breaths puffing up into little white clouds, and we talked in low voices in between stopping at stalls.

Slowly, it seemed like everyone but me accumulated little bags, armloads of gifts, but I hesitated, feeling lost, confused—I had no idea who liked what, not really. I’d known once, but people changed over the years, and I’d been gone a long while.

“Sweetie,” my mom said after we’d stopped at one stall to chat with the town’s tailor and clothes hoarder Tiffany Carter. She turned and fixed me with a sympathetic smile, and she said, “Why don’t you head over to the side right across from Bridget Brightley’s and see about picking up some of the specialty cards? I’m positive Mr. Graham would love one.”

“Oh, I would, too,” my dad chimed in. “Just, you know—for the record.”

“Consider it duly noted, Dad,” I said, nudging his side. “Ever so subtle at dropping hints.”

He grinned. “Subtlety’s overrated. I get better results being an oblivious clod. You should try it sometime. It’s easy to get caught up being smart.”

Well, clearly I’d tried not being smart last night, when I’d kissed Nicole. But I wasn’t saying that.

Over close to the craft store Bridget Brightley’s, a little line of stalls made a corridor strung up with lights, and right away I saw the real play at work here—standing over the stall all stocked up with hand-designed cards, Nicole Livingston leaned there chatting with Mrs. Wilbury, and I ducked back the other way as soon as possible, turning my back to her. It led me to a stall where Harris Graham was there with his ten-year-old daughter Rosa selling hot chocolate, and I fumbled in my purse handing over the money for a cup just to have something to be here for other than Nicole.

“Here you go, Miss Carston,” Rosa said, handing over the small paper cup that smelled like bliss. “I hope you have a great night.”

“Thank you so much, Rosa, sweetie,” I said, taking the cup gratefully.

“Are you here on a date with Nicole?” Rosa said, and I nearly dropped the cup. Apparently even the kids weren’t safe in Mountain Crossing.

“I—not quite,” I said, straining a smile.

Rosa tilted her head. “If you and Nicole got married, would you be Brooke Livingston, or would she be Nicole Carston?”

I sighed. “We’re not getting married, Rosa. But in the hypothetical, I’d probably be Brooke Livingston. There’s more than enough Carstons as it is.”

“I think Brooke Livingston is a pretty name,” she said. “You should get married.”

“Look, Rosa, if I just wanted a different name, there are easier ways to do it than getting married—”

“Who are you getting married to?” Nicole’s voice said from behind me, and I almost dropped the cup again. I whirled back to where she was standing there right behind me, dressed in a loose-knit gray sweater and an airy coat, her hair down over her shoulders, giving me—it was that same playful smile as always, but there was something distant this time, reserved. I couldn’t blame her. I’d be upset, too, if someone kissed me and ran like hell. “I thought I’d have been the first to know you got engaged.”

“I got married to making bad decisions, Nicole,” I said. “And you were the first to know. Happened a long while back.”

She grinned, but she didn’t get to say anything before Rosa interrupted to say, “We were talking about you two getting married,” and I almost dropped my cup again. I closed my eyes and took a long breath.

“I guess technically speaking, we were,” I sighed. Nicole laughing brought me back to my awareness, opening my eyes to find her with a hand over her mouth, a twinkle in her eye.

“Looks like someone fancies herself a little matchmaker, huh?” she said, arching an eyebrow at Rosa. “Don’t go causing trouble now, Rosa.”

Rosa folded her arms. “I’m not causing trouble, I’m causing true love.”

I felt my face burning as we stepped away from the stall, and I said, “Sorry about—”

“No, no. She’s adorable.”

I looked away. “Let me guess. Your mom sent you over here for something?”

She raised her eyebrows high. “How did you know?”

“My mom sent me over here to pick up a gift for Mr. Graham.”

“Ah.” She scratched her arm, looking away. “The other meddling matchmakers.”

“By that you mean the entirety of Mountain Crossing?”

She sighed, hanging her head. “No kidding. I thought they were only getting on my case about it.”

I glanced back to the stall with the specialty cards and I sighed. “Now I don’t know if Mr. Graham actually likes cards like that, or if my mom was just sending me for you.”

She stood at attention, a light in her eyes. “Oh, gift shopping for the crabby old librarian on the hill, are we?”

“We certainly are. I finally opened that very pretty package you brought me from him. A little handcrafted music box from a trip abroad, and it plays Silent Night. He bought it years ago, so I was outgifted before I even got back here.”

She went wide-eyed. “That time he was in Europe? Four years back?”

“Apparently.”

She let out a low whistle. “Old man knew for a long time you’d be coming back, huh?”

“Well, he needed someone to yell at about getting off his lawn, I guess.”

She smiled sweetly, and for a moment, last night disappeared, and there was nothing but me and Nicole in this easy rhythm where all the pieces fit together just right. She was seriously much too beautiful for this world. How was I supposed to resist this—eyes like gold and perfect lips that were all the harder to ignore now that I knew what they felt like on mine?

“Slippers,” she said, and I paused.

“Slippers?” I’d been thinking about making out with her. Slippers didn’t fit into that.

“Mr. Graham needs new slippers.” She laid a hand gently on my arm, tugging me to the side. “And if you want, we can get him a copy of a certain mystery novel I think he might like, too.”

“Oh, conniving, aren’t we,” I said, falling into step alongside her. She kept her hand on my arm, and just that little touch felt so warm it was like the winter night disappeared, like I was sitting in front of a big, crackling fire. Somewhere along the way, my arm looped under hers—it was a terrible idea, because half the town was here and they’d never stop talking about it, but just like sinking into kissing her last night, I couldn’t really pull away, and she didn’t seem to be able to, either.

“Aren’t I always, dear?” she laughed, hooking her arm around mine and squeezing lightly. “Name everyone you’re shopping for, and I’m helping you pick out gifts.”