Kissmas Wishes (Love In All Seasons 3)

I want to fucking throw it all in the fire. I don't. Instead, I bury it under a stack of books wishing I'd never read the damn thing. Fucking Asher Martin and his zoning regulations and rules. I wanted to build something — something great, something for Snowy Valley. Sure, he can label it a strip mall, but it was going to be so much more than that.

I've spent my life working with my own two hands, a toolbox and a tool belt, with my days spent on construction sites, saving all my money to build something new, something bigger and better. It's not going to happen. At least, not like this. I thought a shopping center would be a good place for expansion in Snowy Valley. To bring in some new business and to breathe some new life into this town. Not that I want to spend much time in the town myself, but I know a girl like Maple would.

Asher said no and his word is final, no matter how much I hate that fact. I sit on the couch thinking about the day, how it started so high and got so damn low. This letter, the final nail in the coffin, takes all the hope out of my sail, leaving me deflated.

I fall asleep in front of the fire with Sammy at my feet, angry that I fucked it up with Maple, that Asher took what I wanted, and that this cabin, which has always felt so cozy, suddenly feels nothing but cold.MapleThe last thing I want to do is walk into the soup kitchen and break the news to Jody and Isaiah. They are two people with big hearts and the idea of letting them down breaks my own. Still, I don't want to leave them in a lurch right after Christmas.

Bundled up in a coat and mittens, I walk the few blocks down Jingle Bell Lane and head to Main Street. Along the sidewalk tiny snowflakes fall, wreaths hang on everyone's doors and chimney smoke rises to the sky. It feels like Christmas in so many ways.

On the outside, it certainly looks like Christmas. There are red velvet ribbons on the streetlamps and the city square has a giant Christmas tree towering thirty feet tall. But inside my heart, it doesn't feel like Christmas at all.

Inside, I feel cold in a way I haven't been since my parents died. Is it really possible to hold that kind of pain for twenty years and never let it go? This year, with Granny gone, I’m realizing that it is.

I wish I was a different person. Someone who could just drive up to Filson's and tell him what's what. Beg him to love me the way I love him, but I've never been that kind of girl. If I was, I would have forced the issue back in high school when I asked him to that dance, but I didn't then, and I won't now. Instead, I smile as I'm stopped on the street corner, putting on a brave face.

Lindy, the local candle shop owner, tells me she has new candles in her shop, including one scented like sugar cookies. “Made them with you in mind, Maple,” she says.

“Really?” I say, laughing. “Well, that's pretty sweet of you. I'll be sure to pop in and smell one.”

That answer elicits a beaming smile from her. I keep walking, only to be stopped by Thomas, an older man who is always out walking his French bulldog. “You’re looking mighty fine this morning, Maple,” he tells me.

“Lucky is pretty darn cute too,” I say, kneeling down and rubbing Lucky’s ears. “He needs a red Christmas ribbon around his neck though. Don't you think?”

Thomas nods, giving me a warm smile. “You’re right as always,” he says, wagging his finger the same way his dog is wagging his tail. “I think I'll get right on that.”

I like being known in this town where I’ve lived for so long. Snowy Valley feels like a part of my bones, part of my essence, who I am at my core, and I wonder if Filson feels that way when he walks through this town. I have a guess that he doesn’t. He stays off the beaten track for a reason and I just wish we were closer now to understand what his reason is. I wonder if he's still carrying the pain from his childhood, the same as I am.

Longing fills me up, and I wish I hadn’t bolted from my bedroom last night and had instead stayed in bed with him, the man who I want to hold my heart.

I tell myself not to dwell on that and instead I drop a few dollars into the collection box for the Salvation Army before I walk into my soup kitchen through the back door. Inside, I see Jody and Isaiah are already here heating up lentil soup and kneading the dough for loaves of bread.