Page 27

From the bassinet near the kitchen island, Philip made a small gurgling sound, his tiny fists waving at the colorful mobile spinning slowly above him. The gentle melody it played was barely audible over the wind, but her son seemed mesmerized by the dancing shapes—little woodland creatures in winter scarves that Jackson had insisted on buying the moment he’d seen them.

“That’s right, sweetheart” Vanessa murmured, moving to adjust the blanket tucked around him. “We’re safe and warm inside while the storm is out there.”

Philip rewarded her with one of those gummy smiles that she loved so much. At three months old, he was becoming more alert every day, developing into a tiny little person. She could spend hours just watching him discover the world.

Vanessa turned back to the kitchen, considering what else to do with their evening. She’d been thinking about making Christmas cookies all day, something simple to pass the stormy evening. She gave Philip one more look and went to start taking out the necessary items, before realizing within a few seconds that she’d somehow managed to accumulate an embarrassing abundance of frosting supplies. There were three different piping bag sets, food coloring in every shade imaginable, edible glitter, sugar pearls, and enough frosting tips to stock a professional bakery.

She’d gotten a bit carried away during her last trip to the craft store, she thought with a laugh.

A slow smile spread across her face as a better idea took shape. Why make simple cookies when she could make gingerbread house cookies? Not actual houses—she wasn’t that ambitious with a three-month-old requiring attention every few hours—but the flat, decorated kind that looked like little house facades. She’d seen them on Pinterest weeks ago and had been waiting for the right moment.

This seemed as good of one as any, with the storm howling outside, her baby content, and a whole evening stretching before them with nowhere to be and nothing to do but be together. It was perfect.

Vanessa pulled out her phone and quickly found the recipe she’d saved. Gingerbread dough needed to chill for at least an hour, which meant she should start it now. By the time Jackson finished his shower and they’d had dinner, the dough would be ready to roll out and cut into shapes.

She pulled out flour, brown sugar, molasses, and spices. The familiar rhythm of measuring and mixing was meditative. She’d never have guessed when she’d first come to Fir Tree Grove that she’d end up loving baking, but there was something especially magical about it during the Christmas season, and she’d worked hard to get better at it. The scent of the spices filled the air with warmth, and she felt cozy in her kitchen, working on a project that she could make with her hands.

She’d been so sure just a few years ago that she could never be happy in a place like this, but here she was, happier and more fulfilled than she’d ever been in her life. She was glad she’d had a reason to come home, and that everything had turned out just as it should. She had her family now, friends, a slower-paced life that was so much richer than her old one had been, even if that life had been full of tasks and accolades.

The mixer whirred as she added the molasses, and she watched the dough come together in dark, fragrant clumps. Philip made another happy sound from his bassinet, and she glanced over to see him still entranced by his mobile, his little legs kicking beneath his blanket.

“Your daddy’s going to be so surprised,” she told him, even though he couldn’t possibly understand. “We’re going to make the prettiest gingerbread houses he’s ever seen.”

Once the dough was mixed, she wrapped it in plastic and tucked it into the refrigerator, then set about creating her assembly line. She cleared the kitchen counter, wiping it down until it gleamed, then began arranging her supplies.

She set out a rolling pin, a set of cookie cutters specifically for gingerbread houses—with shapes for the house front, sides, roof pieces, and even tiny doors and windows—parchment paper, cooling racks, her collection of piping bags and tips arranged by size. She put out bowls for the frosting she’d make right before they got started, and then the edible decorations sorted into small containers—red and green sugar crystals, edible sugar pearls, tiny candy canes, miniature gumdrops.

It was definitely excessive, and absolutely wonderful. She couldn’t wait to surprise Jackson with the impromptu Christmas cookie decorating party she’d come up with. He loved Christmas activities of all kinds, and she knew he’d love spending their evening together like this.

The lights flickered suddenly, and Vanessa’s breath caught. The wind had picked up even more, howling around the corners of the house with a ferocity that made the windows shudder. For a moment, she was worried they might lose power. But the lights stayed on, steadying after that brief flicker, and she released the breath she’d been holding.

“That was close, wasn’t it, Philip?” she said, going to check on him again. He’d startled slightly at the flicker but seemed unconcerned now, his attention back on his mobile.

She could hear the shower still running upstairs—Jackson always took long showers after his days at the diner, wanting to wash off the kitchen smell. She still had time to do a little more to the house before their evening together started.

Heading into the living room, she surveyed the decorations that already adorned every available surface. The house was fully decorated—had been since the day after Thanksgiving—but somehow it still didn’t feel like quite enough. There was a box in the hall closet, she remembered, with a few extra items she hadn’t found places for yet. A garland that could go along the mantel, some additional candles, and a set of vintage-style ornaments that could hang in the window.

She retrieved the box and set to work, humming along to the Christmas music she’d turned on—Bing Crosby crooning about a white Christmas, which felt particularly appropriate given the blizzard raging outside. The garland looked perfect draped along the mantel, interwoven with the pine boughs already there. She added the candles to the coffee table and lit them, their cinnamon scent mingling with the pot roast and gingerbread spices. The ornaments caught the light beautifully when she hung them in the front window, spinning slowly and casting reflections across the walls.

She was adjusting the last ornament when she heard the shower shut off upstairs. Her heart did a little skip—ridiculous, really, after four years together, but Jackson still had that effect on her. He still often made her feel like a teenager with a crush, even while she was standing in their home with their baby sleeping nearby and dinner in the oven.

Vanessa returned to the kitchen, checking on Philip one more time. He’d finally dozed off, his little mouth slightly open. She heard Jackson’s footsteps on the stairs, and he appeared a moment later, his dark hair still damp from the shower, wearing a soft gray Henley and black sweatpants. He looked cozy and handsome, and she smiled, enjoying just looking at him.

“Hey,” he said, returning her smile. His eyes swept the kitchen, taking in the assembly line of baking supplies. “What’s all this?”

Vanessa couldn’t contain her excitement. She gestured to the counter with a flourish, practically bouncing on her toes. “I had the best idea. I was going to make regular Christmas cookies, but then I remembered all the frosting supplies I bought, and I thought—why not make gingerbread house cookies instead? Not actual houses, just the flat decorated kind that look like little facades. The dough is chilling right now, and I’ve got everything set up for decorating, and I thought we could make an evening of it. You know, since we’re snowed in anyway and⁠—”

She stopped abruptly, her enthusiasm faltering as she really looked at Jackson’s face. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He had a pensive expression on his face that made her stomach tighten with sudden concern.

“What’s wrong?” The question came out more sharply than she’d intended, worry making her voice tight. “Did something happen today? At the diner?”

“No, nothing like that.” He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Can we—would you sit with me for a minute? By the fire?”

The seriousness in his tone made her nervous, sending a flutter of anxiety through her chest. But she nodded, following him into the living room where the fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth obliviously despite the tension that had suddenly filled the air.

Jackson sat on the couch and she settled beside him, close enough that their knees touched. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows again. The Christmas tree lights twinkled in the corner, and the candles she’d just arranged flickered gently on the coffee table. Everything looked warm and perfect and exactly right, which made the worry in Jackson’s eyes all the more jarring.

“You’re making me nervous,” she said quietly, reaching for his hand. His fingers closed around hers immediately, warm and strong, and that helped settle some of her nerves. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?