Page 2 of A Winter Wish

Well, quite. And Lexie couldn’t help thinking about the one big wish she’d made when she was seven, the one she’d put into the jar with such hope. The one that hadn’t come true.

She’d started the wish jar when she was four—and it was one of her earliest memories. It had been her mum’s idea—a Christmas activity—but Lexie had loved it and had made sure to get her jar out every Christmas, thinking carefully about what she should wish for. The first few had been silly, in hindsight, though they’d felt like a big deal at the time—a new bike, a pet hamster. And those first few had actually come true, and even though as she’d gotten older she’d known that magic couldn’t really exist, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking that maybe her wish jar did hold some Christmas magic, like her mum always told her it did. Until the year that illusion had come shattering down around her and she’d learned the hard way that wishing for something was futile.

It hadn’t stopped her from continuing the tradition, though. There was something cathartic about writing a wish down and putting it in the jar—like she was letting the wish go, setting it free.

“You don’t know that,” Bree said, sounding hurt. Bella had the grace to look a bit guilty, shifting from foot to foot. Perhaps because she’d nearly let it slip about Santa earlier in the week and had gotten a look from her mum.

“I want to do it,” Bree announced, already looking around for paper. “I want to put a wish in the wish jar. I think I’ll wish for a puppy. Julie has one and he’s SO cute.”

Bella huffed. “You can’t tell us what you’ll wish for—then it won’t come true.”

“So you do believe in wishes, then,” Bree said slyly.

Bella just rolled her eyes. It’s an art form, isn’t it? The eye roll. And Bella had it down.

“Where’s the paper?” Bree asked.

Lexie felt a little flutter of panic. She knew it was stupid, but she didn’t want someone else to put a wish in her jar—even little Bree. So she put it down and clapped her hands. “Hey, I’ve got an idea!”

Bree looked up at her out of those big blue eyes.

“How about we make you a wish jar?”

Bree was all for this, and although Bella refused to make her own, she did help Bree decorate the jam jar they found, and that activity was enough to keep them busy until Nicole and David got home.

Lexie was in her own room after saying good night to the girls when a message came through on her phone.

Lounge?

Mikkel. She smiled a little as she thought of leaving him in bed this morning. Of how easy it would be to go home with him again tonight—no strings for either of them.

She gave it half a thought, then quickly changed, grabbing a top that wasn’t covered in glitter but not worrying too much about what she was wearing—a lot of people would have come straight from the slopes, so it wasn’t like she had to dress up. She put on a subtle shade of lipstick, dashed on some mascara to try to make her brown eyes look less dull. After a moment’s thought she put on a pair of star stud earrings as a nod to the festive season. Then she pulled a hand through her dark curls and considered herself ready. She tapped out a quick response to Mikkel.

Be there in ten.

—

Mikkel caught Lexie’s eye as she stepped into the warmth of the bar, pulling her bobble hat off her head. He grinned and gestured her over to where a group of them were sitting on benches in one of the corners of the bar, up against the wooden walls, which were decorated with forest-green tinsel. Lexie wove her way through the crowd, past the huge Christmas tree that she had absolutely no idea how they’d gotten inside, breathing in the smell of pine laced with beer and sweat. Mikkel moved up to make room for her on the bench and pushed a full pint of beer over to her as she sat.

“Good day?” he asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Lots of glitter with a side of sarcasm.”

“You must make sure you get onto the slopes tomorrow.”

“I will,” she said firmly. “The girls are in ski school for the morning, so I have a few hours to myself.”

“Good. I have a gap at eleven—we’ll do a few runs together.” He smiled and placed his hand on her knee under the table.

“What about you, Lexie?” Amelie, one of the regular seasonal workers, looked over and Lexie frowned as she took a sip of her beer, trying to catch up on the conversation. “Christmas next week, what are you doing?”

“Oh, I guess the family will expect me to be with them, won’t they?”

“You should ask,” Amelie said. “We’re all going to do Christmas dinner at Mikkel’s—a turkey, the whole lot. If you’re free, you should come.”

“Yes, you should definitely come,” Mikkel said. He had great eyes, Mikkel—gray-blue to go with his light hair and pale complexion, a classic Scandi look. He was also the advert for a nomadic lifestyle, in Lexie’s opinion. So confident and content, even though he never spent longer than six months in any one place, spending every winter as a ski instructor and every summer teaching surfing in a different location. Despite being in his early thirties, he showed no signs of being tired of all the moving—and Lexie wished she could hold him up with a Ha! to her friends at home, who often wondered when she was going to “get a proper job” and “settle down” like the rest of them.

Lexie shrugged out of her coat with some difficulty, sandwiched as she was on the end of the bench, and slipped her phone out of her pocket. One missed call. She bit her lip when she saw who it was from.