Page 54 of Postmarked December

Marion smiled. “That’s why he has to be the one behind the notes.”

Then suddenly, their first conversation floated back to Heather. “Hang on. When we met, he said there was something freeing about having no expectations with people he met on a plane.” Her stomach dropped.

Marion’s lips parted, and Heather could tell her attention was narrowing.

“He’d said you could be truthful, or to use his words, ‘You can be any version of yourself you want for a couple of hours…because your actions won’t follow you when you land.’ Then he said, ‘I’ll disappear into the swarms of passengers, and you’ll be on your way.’”

Realization dawned. “You don’t think he was pretending to be this charismatic person just to pass the time with a friendly stranger, do you?” she asked them. “And maybe he knew all along that he’d disappear and never see me again?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to answer when I’ve never met him.” Marion looked at Anthony for his view on it, and he shrugged.

Feeling exposed, Heather turned back to the view, trying to get herself together. A church sign still announced their Christmas Eve candlelight service, and a rustic nativity scene stood in the open churchyard beside a split-rail fence. Beyond the structures, the mountains loomed in a cloudy blue that blended against the sky. But that conversation went around in her head, every breath, every word under scrutiny.

While she didn’t want her happiness to be wrapped up in someone else right now, her heart was fragile, and she feared that Nick’s actions might have shattered her trust. He had to be behind the messages. If not, she might not recover from any other outcome. A winter wind blew through the carriage, carrying her delicate confidence with it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The carriage came to a stop outside Mason’s Bookshop. Its windows were fogged with warmth. Anthony hopped out and held out a hand to help them down. Once on the sidewalk, Marion and Heather folded their blankets and tucked them under their arms. The scent of pine drifted over from a wreath hung slightly askew on the bookshop door.

The horses shifted, their hooves clacking against the street, the bells around their necks jingling. Anthony insisted on handling payment for the driver, and then they went inside. Paper snowflakes dangled from twine above the old wooden counter, and a strand of lights glistened along varnished shelves, the edges worn smooth by decades of browsing hands. Anthony stopped in front of the business section, leaving Heather and Marion right outside a wide passageway with The Local Mug coffee shop next door, open so people could get a warm drink and settle into the oversized chairs on the Mason’s side with a good book.

Outside, snow gathered along the curb, but inside, time slowed, every second lingering over paper cups of cocoa, whispered recommendations, and the gentle thrill that every gift wrapped in brown paper held a story waiting to be opened. With a loud whistle outside, the horses snapped to attention. The carriage wheels turned and soon it was out of view.

“Should we get something?” Marion asked, leaning around a few people to see the drink options through the passageway.

“A drink would warm me up for sure.”

After a quick check with Anthony to see if he wanted anything, they made their way to the coffee side of the shop, where patrons gathered around steaming mugs and gooey pastries.

“I think I’m getting a cup of apple cider,” Marion said. “How about you?”

Heather eyed a mug on another table—dark chocolate rimmed with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. “The hot cocoa looks good.”

“Okay,” Marion said with purpose, “I’ll get our drinks. Go grab us a table if you can.”

Heather accepted the mission and snaked through the small space, finding an empty table tucked away along the side shared with the bookshop. She waved to Anthony through a small open cutout, getting his attention so he’d know where they were.

A couple beside her sipped their drinks quietly, their noses in their books. She and Toby used to do that. She eyed the woman. Did she realize how lucky she was that her significant other was perfectly content to read next to her? Would Heather ever find someone she could be entirely herself with again? She’d come a long way this holiday, but Nick’s silence continued to rattle her, and a sense of outrage and hurt was building.

Marion set a tray with two mugs and a plate onto the table. “I couldn’t help myself.” Sitting on the plate were two flaky, buttery croissants the size of her hand, filled with dark chocolate that oozed out the sides and topped with almonds, curled chocolate, and powdered sugar.

“Oh my.” Heather picked one up. It was still warm. She took a bite. The chocolate had the consistency of mousse and, mixed with the crunch of the toppings and the slightly sweet and salty toasted flavor of the croissant, it was pure indulgence. She followed it with a creamy swig of rich hot cocoa. “These have to be the staple of every future girls’ weekend.”

“We could do some real damage in this town on a girls’ weekend,” Marion said, tearing a piece off her croissant and popping it into her mouth.

“We definitely could—and will!”

In all of this, Marion had been a ray of sunshine, the one constant who never failed her. She truly was the best friend a girl could have. “I’m so glad you and Anthony were able to share the holiday with me.”

“Me too.” Marion’s gaze flitted through the open window between the shops, and she straightened, her hands stilling, her eyes widening.

“What’s wrong?” Heather asked.

Marion’s lips parted, but nothing came out at first, as if disbelief were stopping her. “Look at Anthony.”

Heather craned her neck to see through the crowded spot in the wall’s cutout until she found him, standing in front of the parenting section, leafing through a book. She sucked in her lips. “You don’t think he’s reading something from that shelf, do you?”

She and Marion looked back at each other in hopeful shock.