Susan Wiggs - Candlelight Christmas

“What about this year?”

“I don’t think I’ll be up for all the madness.”

“There’s an alternative?”

“I could go to an ashram. How about you? Is there a typical O’Donnell family Christmas?”

“My folks like to spend the winter in Paradise Cove, Florida. We usually rendezvous down there. Charlie loves getting together with all his cousins.”

“And how about you? What do you like?”

The question took him by surprise. It had been a long while since someone had asked him that.

“What do I like? Family. Friends and food. I want to be with Charlie,” he said. “Actually, I’d love to take him snowboarding, but that’s tough to do in Florida.”

“Snowboarding sounds fun. Is there a ski resort nearby?”

“Saddle Mountain,” he said. “It’s a twenty-minute drive, tops. Some of my best memories with Charlie were made there. I hope it can stay open.”

“Financial troubles?”

“Not that I know of. It’s been privately owned by one family for years. Now the owner’s retiring, so he’s looking for a buyer.”

“You should buy it.”

He turned slightly to face her. “You’re a mind reader. I had the same thought, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility if I could get a group of investors together. Most people think it’s a crazy idea.”

“Some of the best ideas are the crazy ones.”

He grinned. “I like the way you think.”

Bags of marshmallows were being passed around. Logan found a stick for himself and one for Darcy. “So, how long have you known India?” he asked.

“Freshman year of college. Glee club and ski club.”

Bennington girl, then. He tried not to generalize, but it was hard not to do when every single Bennington girl he met came from the same cookie-cutter mold. “So you sing and ski.”

“More like a squawk and snowboard.”

“You like snowboarding?”

“Yeah. Especially on a bluebird day. Or any day, really. I love to ride the way other people love to breathe.”

A jock, he thought. Dang. He loved girl jocks. “And after college?” he asked, more and more interested.

“I took a few wrong turns,” she said, her gaze sliding away. “So...Avalon. Gorgeous. But tiny. How did you end up here?”

“Charlie’s mom.” He gestured at his pride and joy, who was currently jamming several marshmallows on the end of his stick. “I moved here to be near him. The irony is, his mother remarried and moved away. Now I’m still here and I only get Charlie for summers and holidays. It’s tough.”

“Sorry to hear it. Kids are life’s biggest complication, aren’t they?”

“And its biggest perk.”

She chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He tried to toast the marshmallows slowly, but they burst into flame. He blew on them and offered the end of the stick to Darcy. “Crispy critter?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” She took a whole marshmallow into her mouth in a motion he found ridiculously sexy. “Delicious,” she said.

He liked talking to her. There was something easy about her, something genuine. “Tell me about life in SoHo.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I moved recently, to a little walk-up—emphasis on little—and I work on Madison Avenue.”

“Advertising?” He ate the rest of the melting marshmallows, liking the burned sweetness.

“Good guess. And you’re right.”

Their shoulders brushed. He felt it again, that pleasant sting of attraction.

She looked up at him, her expression slightly quizzical.

“So, listen,” he suggested, “after the kids are all tucked in for lights out, you want to go paddling?”

She laughed. “In the dark?”

“A moonlight paddle on Willow Lake. Since it’s your first time here, you don’t want to miss the lake by the light of the moon.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Up to you. We could invite India along, or not...if you’re sufficiently over your broken heart.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said easily. “You sound like fun, Logan. And as for my heart...” She sighed. “Do we ever get over it? Or just through it?”

“Good question.”

“And?” She gazed at him in a way that made him glad he’d suggested the after-hours paddle.

“And I don’t know.”

Wow, he thought. There was definitely some potential here. “I’m glad India brought you to see the place,” he said. “My family’s always trying to fix me up.”

“Do you need fixing?”

“Depends on who you ask. You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”

She laughed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Except maybe—”

“Dad. Hey, Dad, check it out.” Charlie burst between them, brandishing a long stick with a marshmallow on the end. “Me and André are having a marshmallow war.”

“With flaming marshmallows,” André declared, bending back his stick, with a burning marshmallow on the end.

“Cripes, you can’t be doing that.” Logan grabbed the stick. “This stuff burns like napalm.”

“We’ll aim for the water,” Charlie said. “Da-ad.” He’d started a movement. Now a whole group of kids were catapulting marshmallows.

“Damn it,” said Logan, “I swear, Charlie... Excuse me,” he said to Darcy, and went to confiscate the weapons. By the time he finished and had the kids marching off to their cabins, Darcy had stood up, her shoulder bag in hand.

“I’m just going to call it a night,” she said. “Thanks for the offer, though. Maybe some other time.”

Great, thought Logan. Just great. “Say, the Pavilion bar is open for adults after lights out. How about we get a drink after—”

“Dad, guess what?” Charlie came running over. “Eugene wants to tell ghost stories again in the cabin tonight. Really gory ones.”

“You hate ghost stories.”

“Right. That’s why I need you to pull cabin duty tonight.”

“No can do,” said Logan.

“Dad, it’s my last night with you.” Charlie played his trump card early.

Logan felt torn—a familiar sensation. When you were a single dad, you felt pulled in a lot of different directions. “You and André can hang out. You don’t have to listen to the ghost stories.”

“Dad—”

“Hey, Logan,” said Darcy, “I’d better get going. We’re heading back to the city in the morning.”

No, don’t let her go. “Then how about we—”

“It was nice to meet you,” she said. “You, too, Charlie. See you around.”

Logan watched her go, then swung back to face Charlie. “Dude, couldn’t you see I was busy?”

“Hitting on some lady? Yeah, I could see that.”

“And still you interrupted.”

“I’m worried about the ghost stories.”

“I’m worried about your manners.”

Charlie gazed at the ground. “Sorry, Dad. I just really want you in the cabin tonight.”

Logan was a sucker for his kid. He hoped like hell he wasn’t a pushover. Hoped he wasn’t spoiling Charlie. The truth was, Charlie had a true horror of ghost stories ever since his cousin Bernie had told him the tale of the bloody toe last summer. The kid had suffered from nightmares for weeks afterward, and to this day still slept with his socks on.

Turning, Logan watched Darcy Fitzgerald as she walked along a lighted path toward the parking lot. For the first time in ages, he’d actually felt something strong and true, just talking with her. But one of the first things she’d told him was that she wasn’t into kids. It was just as well they hadn’t started anything, he told himself.

“You are in such trouble,” Darcy said to India as they drove away from Camp Kioga to their hotel in the nearby town of Avalon.

“What?” India offered an elaborate look of innocence.

“You know perfectly well what. Your brother, that’s what. You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried.”

“Darce. I am trying.”

“And you’re totally obvious. This was supposed to be a relaxing, forget-all-your-troubles girlfriends’ weekend. You turned it into a setup.”

“I introduced you to my kid brother, that’s all.”

“He’s no kid.” She couldn’t get the image of Logan O’Donnell out of her head. Tall, athletic build. Blaze of red hair—not the dorky kind of red hair, but deep glossy waves of auburn, which she found ridiculously sexy. And his smile. He had an easy smile that made her forget, if only briefly, that she’d ever been hurt by a man. “He has a kid,” she added.

“That would be my adorable nephew, Charlie,” India said. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Listen, because I don’t think you heard me the first time,” said Darcy. “The only thing I want less than a guy is a guy with a kid.”

“All men are not all like Huntley Collins,” India pointed out.

“I realize that. One day, I will embrace that truth. But I’m not ready to meet anyone.”

“You’ve been divorced a year.”

Divorced. Destroyed was a more apt word for it.

She had married a man who had seemed perfect for her in every way. Huntley was a single dad, sharing custody of Amy and Orion with his ex. Darcy had fallen for the three of them, opening her heart to a ready-made family.

Yet the children, dear as they had been to her, had also taken a hand in the demise of her marriage. As they grew older, they distanced themselves from Darcy, and eventually convinced themselves—or let their mother convince them—that their parents wanted to get back together.

Darcy still recalled the day her marriage had unraveled, though the memory no longer made her cringe. Huntley’s daughter, Amy, had come to her with a bright smile on her face, false as sunshine in November. Darcy had learned to recognize that hollow smile. It was hard at the edges, the grin of a not-very-skilled actress who knew her range was limited, and didn’t care.