Deck the Halls - Sample

Chapter Two

Amy drove down Darling, VT's main drag and wondered how George Reilly had ended up here. It was so quaint and. cute. Like a postcard. Not that she didn't like small towns; she did. But Darling, with its colorful buildings and mom-and-pop businesses, reminded her of a set for something like Gilmore Girls. A little too perfect, right down to the charming little bridge right in the town's center. And George...well, the George she remembered was a little rougher around the edges, a bit dangerous and exciting. A bad boy. Ian had told her once that George had grown up in the foster care system and that the army was the first stable place he'd ever felt he'd belonged. Seeing him crafting Christmas wreaths today had been a shock.

And then seeing his face, meeting his gaze with hers...another shock. He'd aged, looking older than forty. There were creases beside his eyes and a dusting of gray hair at his temples. And yet there was still a rough attractiveness about him that echoed back to the soldier she remembered. The strong jaw, she thought, and the determined set to his lips. What she didn't recall was the rudeness. She'd come all this way to talk to him and he'd been, well, "curt" was probably the best word she could think of. And the most favorable. Jerk had come to mind a time or two since she'd got back into her car.

She stopped at one of the few stop signs and waited for her turn to proceed through the intersection. It was six o'clock and snow had begun to fall, just fat, fluffy flakes, but in the darkness of an early December evening, she wanted to find her accommodations and get settled. She touched the gas, felt the tires slide a little, and eased through the intersection, scanning for a sign that said Bridge Street. She had to take that and then turn onto Sycamore Avenue and then she'd be at the cottage she'd rented for the two weeks leading up to Christmas.

Two weeks was all she had to convince George to tell her, once and for all, what had happened to her brother, Ian. Oh, her family knew what the official report said, but there were so many unanswered questions. Had he been happy in those last days? Had he died instantly, or alone? Her heart nearly broke thinking of her twin brother being alone on some battlefield, taking his last breath. What she and her parents were missing was some sort of closure.

George was the only one who could give them that, and ever since he'd returned from deployment, he'd fallen off the radar. Now that she'd tracked him down, she wasn't going to let him slip through her fingers.

She found Bridge Street, appropriately named as the parking lot to the town's icon, the Kissing Bridge, was on the left. She passed it and kept her eye open for Sycamore. Walnut, Beech, Maple...she sighed, squinting through the snow. Was every damn street named after a tree? White Birch Crescent...for Pete's sake.

Then there it was. Sycamore Avenue. The houses were further apart here, and back from the road a little. Tree-lined driveways obscured the view, but the house numbers were visible on reflective signs at the ends of the driveways. She braked, reached over for her directions, and double checked. Number 153.

She kept driving, using her wipers to brush away the increasing snow. How far out of town was this place, anyway? On the vacation rental site, it had said less than five minutes to downtown Darling. Now she knew even the term "downtown" was a stretch. The groceries in the back seat were from the only full-service market in town.

Finally she saw the number and carefully turned in the lane. The cottage was set back from the road about fifty feet, with only a smattering of evergreens in the front yard. A little white-and-black sign swung from a post, announcing Bedford Cottage. She skidded past it and stopped in front of a small garage. The opener was inside the house, and tonight she figured she'd just leave the car outside and move it in the morning. Right now she was tired, hungry, and relieved to be done with the nearly seven-hour drive from Brooklyn. Her first meeting with George had been less than satisfactory, but she hadn't come this far to give up after one ten-minute exchange.