“Employment law, actually. Workplace disputes, contract negotiations, that sort of thing.”
The light in her eyes died almost instantly. “Oh. That sounds…practical.”
Before I could explain that yes, it was practical—and also paid for my Manhattan apartment and designer shoes—a voice interrupted from behind me.
“You must be Sylvie! I’ve heard so much about you.”
I turned to find a woman who looked to be in her seventies, with silver hair braided into an intricate crown and the kind of bright, twinkling eyes that belonged in fairy tales. She wore a red wool dress that looked hand-knitted and held a large ceramic mug steaming invitingly.
“Mrs. Patterson,” my mother said, appearing at my elbow. “This is my daughter—the one I was telling you about.”
“The one who works so hard in the big city,” Mrs. Patterson remarked, and there was something knowing in her voice that made me pause. Her eyes seemed to take in everything about me in a single glance: the expensive but wrinkled blazer, the designer bag with the coffee stain on the strap, the shadows under my eyes that no amount of concealer could completely hide.
“Oh my, you look absolutely exhausted, dear,” she continued, her voice full of grandmotherly concern. Not that I would really know whatthatwas like. “I’m afraid I’m too old to understand all these modern careers, but whatever it is you do in the city must be terribly demanding.
“I brought my special mulled wine,” she offered, holding out the mug. “You look like you could use something to help you unwind.”
The smell hit me immediately—cinnamon and cloves, with undertones of something rich and warming. It was exactly what I needed after the day I’d had.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, accepting the mug gratefully. “I have to admit, I was really looking forward to the Christmas market, but I got held up on the road.”
Mrs. Patterson’s eyes sharpened with interest. “Oh? Car trouble?”
“Not exactly. I stopped to help an injured animal.” I took a sip of the mulled wine and immediately felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. Whatever Mrs. Patterson’s secret ingredient was, it was working. “A deer, actually. Really unusual looking—completely white, and huge.”
“How interesting,” Mrs. Patterson murmured.
“Yeah, I had to bandage him up. Poor thing looked like he’d been in a fight.” I took another sip, feeling the warmth spread through my chest. “By the time I got here, everything was closed.”
Mrs. Patterson was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “You have a kind heart,” she said at last. “Not everyone would stop to help a wild animal.”
“It seemed like the right thing to do.” I was starting to feel pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. This was definitely the strongest mulled wine I’d ever had. More words than I intended were tumbling out of my mouth. “Though I have to admit, there was something almost…human about the way he looked at me. Probably just my imagination.”
“Probably,” Mrs. Patterson agreed.
Mom appeared again, steering me toward the couch. “Come sit down, honey. Tell us about your job. Are you still working at that big firm?”
I let myself be guided to the couch, grateful for the cushions and continued warmth of Mrs. Patterson’s wine. The questions came in waves after that—the usual interrogation about my career, my love life, my apparent inability to visit more than twice a year. But the wine was doing its job, making everything feel softer around the edges, like I was watching someone else’s life through a pleasant haze.
Mrs. Patterson hovered nearby, occasionally refilling my mug from a large ceramic pitcher. Every time she did, she made sympathetic clucking sounds about how tired I looked.
“I should probably slow down,” I muttered, looking at my mug with some surprise. I couldn’t remember drinking that much, but it was nearly empty again.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Patterson chided, filling it once more. “It’s Christmas. You deserve to unwind. Whatever this job of yours is, it’s clearly taking too much out of you.”
She was right. I did feel depleted. Burned out. Like I’d been running on fumes for so long I’d forgotten what it felt like to actually have energy. The wine was helping, though. For the first time in months, I felt relaxed.
The evening continued in a pleasant blur of conversation and laughter. At some point, people started leaving, and I found myself helping Mom clean up glasses and plates while Mrs. Patterson packed up her empty pitcher.
“Thank you for the wine,” I told her as she pulled on her coat. “It was exactly what I needed.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” she replied, and there was something almost triumphant in her smile. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very interesting Christmas for you, dear.”
After she left, I helped Mom finish tidying up, though I had to concentrate harder than usual to make sure I was putting things in the right places. The wine had definitely been stronger than I’d realized. I was a lawyer, for god’s sake—I could handle my alcohol. It was practically a requirement for passing the bar.
Eventually, Grandma Rose decided to grace us with her presence. I ignored her.
“Mrs. Patterson seems nice,” I said, hanging dish towels on their hooks.
