Jack’s fingers skimmed the tips of my hair, and the air lodged in my throat.
“I thought it would be. It should have been. After my dad died last year, and I returned home, I was so mad at everything. It was like I was trapped in a dark hole of grief and anger, and all around me, everyone was preparing for the holidays. It didn’t make any sense.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. Losing someone is hard, especially at this time of the year.” My hand rested against Jack’s knee as if my touch could somehow ease the pain in his voice.
“The last time I saw him, we fought, and in those final months that was all we did. He was desperate to expand the farm, and the neighbors wouldn’t sell. They wanted the land to stay in their family and the only way we could get access was if I married into it.”
Jack scoffed. “It was archaic, and I felt like I was being used to further my father’s dream. I went along with it at first, but when the whole thing fell through, I was relieved. But my father was furious. People talked, saying that I was trying to destroy my father’s legacy.”
“Jack, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
“Don’t be. I deserved it. On Christmas Eve, the night before I left, I was so mad after one of our fights that I slept in the barn. I’d been drinking and foolishly left one of the lanterns burning. Somehow it got knocked over and the whole place went up in flames.”
“Jack…”
“The worst part was that year, the farm was running a toy drive for a local kids' charity. All the donations were being stored in the barn. Everything was wrapped and ready to be delivered on Christmas morning. But they were lost in the fire. A rumor started that I did it on purpose, so I left town.”
“That’s ridiculous! You would never—”
“It doesn’t matter, Delia. I ruined Christmas for others, kids without families of their own, just like you once experienced. I let this farm die out of anger. There is no joy to soak up here. But the worst part is for the first time in forever, I thought there might be.”
Jack’s face contorted with anguish as he set his glass down on the table. He pushed off the sofa and stalked to the speaker, silencing it with a jab of the power button. The holiday music cut out, leaving just the sound of the dwindling fire.
“Jack, please don’t go, it’s not—” I couldn’t stop him as he stalked from the room, grabbed his coat off a hook in the hall, and then slammed the front door.
My hands shook as I pressed my fingers against my temple. Learning the truth hadn’t changed how I felt. But it changed the urgency. Now more than ever, I had to complete this job. Even if it broke my heart in the process.
Because I had to face the truth: I was falling for Jack Bradley.
And the only gift I could give him was a miracle with somebody else.
Chapter 12
Jack
Great job, Jack.You stopped physically driving Delia out of your life and switched to emotionally pushing her away. Way to double down.
My hands clenched around the steering wheel until my knuckles ached as I wheeled into a parking spot and slammed on the brakes. The truck was agonizingly quiet, and I had the urge to switch on the radio, but I wasn’t sure I could handle any more Christmas music. A single jingle bell or a lyric about falling in love under the mistletoe would send me spinning back into a dark void.
Which was why showing up at the town’s holiday festival was a terrible idea. There was zero chance of me getting out of this unscathed. But even knowing that, I still had to come. The festival was probably one of the last times I’d get to see Delia with a smile on her face.
Our paths hadn’t crossed much the last couple of days on the farm. Mostly because I’d spent them hiding—I mean cutting down trees—in the field. Ironically, the business had picked up due to word getting out about the donated tree. Customers even paid full price, so I was riding that high, even though underneath it all, I was lower than low.
Christmas was next week, and Delia would be gone for good. My life had turned into an Advent calendar of misery, each door giving me a taste of something sweet, only to lead to the day that would hurt the most. Today was another one of those doors that I just had to open.
I climbed out of my truck and was instantly hit with a wave of merriment in the air. A gut punch all things considered. The streets were lined with people funneling into the town square and the bustling winter market. Every year, vendors set up booths selling homemade items and baked goods. Businesses hawked their wares and special holiday promotions. A band played and hot chocolate flowed like a velvety rich river.
The striking tree I’d cut and had delivered earlier in the week stood in the center of the square, already decked out with glittering balls and bows, and long swaths of lights, waiting for its grand moment.
“Jack!”
I tensed at hearing my name and spotted the mayor stepping down the platform steps. Becky’s father was a gruff man with a trim beard and silver streaks in his hair. He wore a long black wool jacket with the town’s emblem pinned to his chest.
“Mr. Mayor,” I said, angling my head in greeting. Preparing for the worst, I folded my arms over my chest and squared my stance. Might as well get the backhanded comments out of the way so I could move on to the next stop on Jack’s Tour of Misfortune.
The mayor’s features drew together, and he smoothed the lapels of his jacket. He looked uncomfortable as if he wasn’t sure how to start, and he stalled, waving to families as they passed.
“Look, Dad! It’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen,” a little boy crooned, reaching out to touch the needles as his family huddled around the towering tree. I watched as they marveled over the size and took guesses at how many ornaments were used and how many strings of lights it took to reach the top.
