“Oh, she’s wonderful,” Mom replied. “Always willing to help with town events. So kind-hearted.”
Grandma huffed at that. “She’s a busybody. Wants to be in everyone’s business.”
“Better than barely acknowledging those around you,” I shot back, giving her a pointed look.
She paid me no mind, and Mom shuffled from foot to foot, trying to diffuse the tension that now hung thick in the air.
“I have to admit, there’s something a little mysterious about her,” Mom went on. “She just appeared in town one day about five years ago, and no one really knows where she came from.”
“Mysterious how?” I asked, curiosity pricking through the fog of wine.
Mom shrugged. “Just…she always seems to know exactly what people need, you know? Like tonight—she took one look at you and knew you needed something to help you relax.”
I had to admit that was true. Mrs. Patterson had read my exhaustion like an open book and provided just the right remedy. Though now that I thought about it, I couldn’t shake the feeling there had been something more to her questions than simple small-town curiosity.
“See? A busybody,” Grandma declared, clearly satisfied with her verdict.
“I’m going to head up to bed,” I murmured, suddenly feeling the full weight of the day settling on my shoulders—and unwilling to spar with her in my tipsy state. “That drive was longer than I expected.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Your room’s all ready for you,” Mom said with a warm smile.
I climbed the stairs to my childhood bedroom, grateful that Mom had left it mostly unchanged. The familiar surroundings were comforting, even if the vintage boy-band posters on the walls were a little embarrassing. I changed into my pajamas and slid under the quilted comforter, feeling warm and drowsy.
As I drifted off to sleep, I found myself thinking about the white deer I’d helped earlier. There really had been something unusual about him—not just his size and coloring, but the way he’d looked at me. Like he’d been trying to communicate something important.
I was probably reading too much into it. After all, I was a city girl who spent most of her time in conference rooms and courtrooms. All of it, in fact. What did I know about wild animals?
But as I fell asleep, I could’ve sworn I heard the distant sound of hoofbeats on the roof.
Santa must be stopping by early,I thought, amused with myself as I drifted off.
Chapter Three
Sylvie
Iwoke up the next morning with a slight headache and the distinct feeling that I’d drunk more of Mrs. Patterson’s mulled wine than I’d intended. I tried to do an inventory of how many mugs she’d filled for me, and the number led to the only logical conclusion: Mrs. Patterson had a magically refilling pitcher.
The winter sunlight streaming through my childhood bedroom curtains was doing nothing to improve the situation, and neither was the sound of my phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand.
“Sylvie!” Mom’s voice drifted up from downstairs. “Breakfast!”
I grabbed my phone and saw three missed calls from my assistant, two from opposing counsel on the Morrison case, and one very long text message that started withURGENTin all caps. So much for a relaxing Christmas vacation.
I was halfway through reading the text when Mom appeared in my doorway with a cup of coffee and a disapproving look.
“Please tell me you’re not working already,” she scolded, setting the coffee on my nightstand with slightly more force than necessary.
“Just checking messages,” I said, not looking up from my phone. “There’s this case that’s supposed to settle after the holidays, but?—”
“Sylvie Marie Hartwell.” The use of my full name made me look up immediately. “You took two weeks off. They can survive without you. You promised you were here to spend time with family.”
“I am! I just need to handle a few quick things.” My phone started ringing again—Morrison’s lawyer. “I have to take this.”
Mom’s expression darkened. “You’re just like your grandmother. Work, work, work until there’s nothing left.”
That stung more than it should have. Grandma Rose had been brilliant—the first woman to make partner at her firm—but she’d also missed most of Mom’s childhood because of it. I’d always told myself I was different, that I had better work-life balance. The fact that I was taking a work call in my childhood bedroom on my PTO suggested otherwise.
“Five minutes,” I promised. “Then I’ll be down for breakfast.”
