Susan Wiggs - Candlelight Christmas

“Be strong,” he told her. “You’re going to get through this.”

She practically fled to Adam’s truck, and she didn’t look back. The kids stared after her, stricken.

Logan burst into action. “I’ve got a surprise for you two.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re going to decorate Christmas cookies. Ever tried it?”

André looked skeptical. “You mean with icing and stuff?”

“Icing and sprinkles and everything good. You should see the stuff I bought. But these aren’t just any cookies,” Logan warned him.

“Yeah? Then what are they?”

“They’re Walking Dead Christmas cookies.” Logan went into zombie mode, with a stiff, swaying gait as he growled ominously, taking swipes at both kids.

Angelica squealed and they both ran for cover. Logan herded them into the kitchen, cranked up the music on the stereo and hoped for the best.

Darcy was distracted in the worst way when she met up with her team for the video shoot. Everyone bustled around with excitement, and normally she would share that energy, reveling in the sense that they were about to do something very, very cool. There were few things more exciting than being chosen to test gear and show it off for the client.

But today she had something else on her mind—Logan O’Donnell. She’d made a fool of herself over him at the train station. What a boneheaded move, showing up, unannounced, on a transparent pretext. And then to jump to the conclusion that he’d come to meet her at the station... She shuddered in horror and wondered how she was going to smile for the camera.

It was a total bummer to find out that her crush—her very inappropriate crush, as it turned out—was now dating a woman with kids. A woman who happened to look like Sofía Vergara. How nice for him.

Darcy felt like a grade-A idiot, chasing after him even though he hadn’t called or sent a text or even a freaking one-line email since Florida. Bringing her team to Avalon for the shoot was hopelessly transparent, the equivalent of a junior high girl riding her bike past the cute boy’s house to get his attention.

Come to think of it, she had tried that ploy in seventh grade and it hadn’t worked then, either.

No wonder he hadn’t called after Florida.

One kiss was hardly an obligation.

Even if it was an amazing kiss.

Even if it happened after a moment of shared magic, like when the dolphins appeared.

Even if it was the kind of kiss she couldn’t stop thinking about, long after it was over.

“We’re ready for you, Darcy,” said the shoot coordinator. “Oh my gosh, you look amazing.”

“Two hours of hair and makeup, and I’m a natural beauty,” she said, flourishing her fashionably gloved hand.

“Ha-ha.”

“Where do you want me?”

“Top of the long chairlift. The light’s perfect today. This resort is ideal, by the way. Whose genius idea was it to shoot here instead of Lake Placid?”

“That would be me,” Darcy said. Me and my dumb ideas.

“It’s great. I’ll bet we can wrap this up in a day.”

That was a relief, Darcy thought as she rode the lift, sharing the ride up with a guy named Jeff, who said he was local and had been skiing Saddle Mountain since he was a kid.

“I like what the new owner’s doing,” he said, pushing his ski goggles up on his helmet.

I don’t, thought Darcy. But to be polite, she said, “What’s that?”

“He’s keeping what people like about the resort and building on it, instead of changing everything all at once.”

At the top of the lift, the crew waited with a woman called Brandi, who was Logan’s überefficient assistant. She’d coordinated everything via email. She wore retro stirrup ski pants with a tight sweater, and she was pinup model pretty. She was soon joined by the resort’s director of operations, a striking redhead in a green jumpsuit who was causing the videographer to drool. Apparently Logan liked surrounding himself with beautiful women. No wonder he wasn’t interested in Darcy. Plain old girl-next-door Darcy.

“Ready?” asked the camera guy.

“Ready,” Darcy said.

“Go make our gear look pretty,” said the snowboard company rep.

“I’ll do my best.” Darcy was no supermodel, and she knew it. But when she was on the snow, she felt the same magical rush she felt when surfing. All the beauty of the world flowed through her, and the joy of the ride was a tangible thing, an element that could be seen and photographed. Today there was a bonus—the Christmas season had arrived.

It had always been her favorite time of year, and she was absolutely determined that no one steal the pleasure from her. Even though she’d bowed out of the whole family thing with the Fitzgeralds and the Collinses, the prospect of Christmas buoyed her spirits. Even her realization that Logan was dating someone was actually good news, Darcy decided. Now she didn’t even have to decide whether or not she had a crush on him. There was no decision to be made except to remain happily single. It was further proof that she wasn’t ready for a relationship of any sort, not at this juncture, and she was particularly not interested in a man with a kid.

Even if that man was wildly attractive and kissed like a dream lover.

So there, she thought, and pushed off the slope into a sunny, powder-dusted glade. It was a day made for floating. The sky was the color of a bluebird’s wing. The hill was bejeweled by last night’s snowfall, sparkling in the sun.

The joy of the ride overtook her. She could feel it in every movement, in the speed and in her stance. As she wove between the bare maple trees and birches, the cold wind on her face and the sun in her eyes made her feel alive, and full of the special energy of a brilliant winter day.

“Awesome,” said Kyle Bohner, the videographer, who was on skis and down the hill from her, draped in camera equipment. “This is going to be rad.”

The sunshine today was a rare gift, its rarity making it all the more special. She was able to forget everything as the day progressed. The crew had found her a backcountry run that was untouched, a powdery headwall of snow creating a brilliant natural sculpture on the cheek of the hill, bordered by craggy Catskills granite.

The client’s signature gear, from the helmet to the snowboard’s colorful underside, would look fantastic in this light, against the dramatic backdrop. They did shot after shot of Darcy floating down the steep terrain, popping up into some trick moves, including her signature Fitz Twist.

By the end of the shoot, the sheer volume of adrenaline pumping through her had chased away the awkward encounter at the train station. The sun was just riding the crest of Saddle Mountain when the shoot coordinator declared it a wrap. They all trooped into the resort lodge for a warm-up before packing up to return to the city. Darcy took off the helmet and was running her fingers through her hair when she spied Logan with his girlfriend and her kids, leaving the lodge. He was holding the door for them as they trooped out.

He looked up and spotted Darcy—how could he miss her, the season’s bold color being apple-green—and offered a wave of the hand.

Whatever, she thought, waving back. She’d had a damn good day and she was not about to let him or anyone else ruin it.

She joined the crew in the bar, a rustic spot with Adirondack furniture and a big central river rock fireplace, good music streaming from hidden speakers. She chastised herself for getting her hopes up about Logan O’Donnell. She should’ve known better.

“Something’s on your mind,” said Bohner. “What are you thinking?”

“That if you never get your hopes up,” she said, taking a sip of hot chocolate, “you’ll never be disappointed.”

“Ouch,” he said. “Not sure I’m down with that.”

“Sometimes you need to protect yourself,” she said. “No, not sometimes. Always.”

“But if you’re always protecting yourself, you miss out on the good things as well as the bad.”

“At least you’re safe,” she said.

“Interesting that you’re willing to risk life and limb on the ski hill but not emotionally.”

“I had no idea you were an armchair psychologist.”

He laughed, the movement shaking his shoulder-length dreadlocks. “Just used to looking at people, I guess.”

While they were settling the tab, she wondered if this little incident would change her plans for Christmas. She had been totally excited about spending the holidays with the O’Donnells. Fun in the snow, a small-town celebration, good food and good friends. The fact that Logan was apparently hooking up with a superattractive woman should not matter.

Oh, she wished it didn’t matter.

Maybe she should change her plans. Maybe she should go overseas and find a country where they’d never heard of Christmas.

Her phone made a glissando sound, signaling an incoming text message.

She checked the screen. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw who the message was from—Logan O’Donnell. She felt very tentative as she touched the screen and read the message: FYI, she’s not my girlfriend.

Just that. Nothing more. What the hell was he telling her this for? Was it the truth? Did he think it mattered?

She tapped out a response. FYI, neither am I.

Twisted traditional cookies are always a hit with kids. Also, it makes good use of the broken ones. Everyone knows a broken cookie tastes just as good as a perfect one.