Page 42
The morning air was sharp enough to sting Christopher’s lungs as he pulled his truck into a parking spot near the Snowdrift Diner. The world was still blanketed in white, the storm having finally exhausted itself for a second time sometime around dawn. The sky had cleared to a pale, crystalline blue, without any clouds left.
He cut the engine and glanced over at Layla in the passenger seat. She was bundled in the coat he’d lent her, and she’d wrapped a scarf around her neck that he’d seen her wearing for the past couple of days. Her cheeks were already pink from the cold, and her dark hair was back in its usual ponytail under the beanie she’d borrowed from him again as well.
She was beautiful. The thought made his chest tighten in a way that was becoming increasingly familiar. “Ready?” he asked, his voice coming out less steady than he’d meant for it to.
Layla turned to him, her expression softer than usual. “Ready,” she said, and she smiled.
They climbed out of the truck, boots crunching in the snow, and Christopher led the way toward the front of the diner. But as they rounded the corner of the building, he heard Layla’s footsteps falter behind him.
He turned back to find her standing completely still, her mouth falling open in an expression of pure surprise. Christopher had to bite back a grin.
The scene before them was something out of a storybook—or at least, that’s what he imagined Layla was thinking. Townspeople were coming in and out of the Snowdrift Diner, bustling around as their breath puffed in the frigid air.
But it wasn’t the people that had made Layla’s jaw drop.
It was the sleighs.
There were three of them, to be exact, each one hitched to a pair of sturdy horses that stamped their hooves and tossed their heads, their harnesses jingling with bells that sang out with every movement. The sleighs themselves were beautiful—wooden runners polished to a shine, benches cushioned with blankets, already being loaded with large, insulated containers that Christopher knew held soup from the diner’s kitchen.
Mabel was directing traffic, her voice carrying across the parking lot as she pointed and gestured. “Those containers go in the red sleigh! Mind the weight distribution—we don’t want them tipping on the hills! And someone check that the Johnsons’ address is on the list. They’re out on Valley Ridge, and I know their power’s out!”
Christopher watched Layla’s face, cataloging every flicker of emotion that crossed it. First surprise, then confusion mixed with wonder.
“What on earth,” she said slowly, her eyes still fixed on the sleighs, “are those for?”
Christopher chuckled and moved to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “We can’t get cars to a lot of the houses,” he explained, keeping his tone casual even though he was thoroughly enjoying her reaction. “The roads are still too bad, especially the ones leading out to the more rural properties. But sleighs?” He gestured toward the horses. “Sleighs can go just about anywhere.”
Layla turned to look at him, and the expression on her face was priceless—incredulous but also… excited. There was a spark in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before, an enthusiasm that lightened her entire face. He was touched to see how thrilled about the whole thing she looked, that she seemed to still be game for it.
“You’re serious,” she said. “We’re actually going to deliver soup via horse-drawn sleigh.”
“Unless you’d rather stay here and help Mabel organize,” Christopher offered, although he was already moving toward the nearest sleigh, knowing she’d follow.
She did, shaking her head with a laugh that sounded almost disbelieving. “No, I—this is insane. This is completely insane.” But she was smiling as she said it.
Christopher thought back to the woman who’d arrived in Fir Tree Grove just days ago, who’d looked at the town with barely concealed disdain and made it clear she couldn’t wait to leave, who’d treated every quaint tradition and small-town custom with a detached amusement.
This woman—the one standing beside him now, her eyes bright with anticipation as she watched the horses—was someone entirely different.
He thought that maybe, she was finally letting herself relax and open up to things that she hadn’t anticipated before.
“Christopher! Layla!” Mabel’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned to see her waving them over. “You two are taking the blue sleigh. I’ve got your route mapped out—twelve stops, mostly families with young children or elderly folks who can’t get out. The soup’s already loaded, and there are extra blankets in the back in case anyone needs them.”
“Got it,” Christopher called back, then turned to Layla. “You game?”
She looked at him, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of hesitation. But then she squared her shoulders and nodded. “I’m game.”
The next twenty minutes were a flurry of activity. Christopher helped load the last few containers into their sleigh, checking that everything was secure and properly insulated. The soup—a hearty vegetable beef—had been reheated in the diner’s kitchen and transferred into specialized containers designed to retain heat for hours. Each one was labeled with a family’s name and address.
Layla pitched in without being asked. More than once, Christopher caught himself watching her instead of working as he took in the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when it fell forward, the way she bit her lower lip when she was concentrating.
He was in trouble, he thought. Serious trouble.
Finally, everything was ready. Christopher climbed into the driver’s seat of the sleigh, taking up the reins with the confidence of someone who’d done this before. Layla settled beside him, and he reached behind them to pull out one of the thick wool blankets that had been provided.
“Here,” he said, draping it across both their laps. “It’s going to be cold once we get moving.”
Layla tucked the blanket around herself, and Christopher tried very hard not to think about how close they were sitting. He could feel the warmth of her body next to his.
