Shadows and Broken Glass

The Ghosts We Carry: Part 1

The supermarket buzzed with holiday activity, aisles adorned with tinsel and twinkling lights. Mia's breath misted in the chilled air as she walked alongside Killian. The scent of pine needles and cinnamon hung in the atmosphere, a comforting reminder of Christmases past.

Her Mamie had always said that Christmas was about love, even when the world felt cold. Mia remembered those words as if they were etched into her soul. Mamie had worn her wisdom like a cozy shawl, and Mia had listened, wide-eyed, as they walked these very same supermarket aisles together. They'd pick out candied fruits, nutmeg, and star-shaped cookie cutters. Mamie would hum old carols, and Mia would listen, her small hand tucked into her grandmother's weathered one.

Killian, tall and steady, pushed the cart ahead of them. His dark hair curled at the nape of his neck, and his eyes held a quiet tenderness that made Mia's heart flutter.

They'd met only nearly a month ago, yet he'd become a steady fixture in her life. Was this what Mamie meant? Love that bloomed amidst the mundane—a quiet certainty that whispered, "You're not alone." She stole a glance at him, wondering if this was what Mamie meant—the warmth of shared moments, the quiet understanding that transcended words.

Yesterday evening, Killian had kept his promise. He arrived at her doorstep, his smile as genuine as the stars above. He whisked her away to a cozy restaurant on the outskirts of town—a hidden gem Mia hadn't known existed. The cozy ambiance, dimly lit by fairy lights, had cocooned them in a bubble of intimacy. Mia had sipped red wine, feeling the weight of her past lift just a little. Killian listened as she spoke about Mamie, about the Christmases they'd spent together—the laughter, the secret recipes, and the way Mamie's eyes crinkled when she smiled.

And now, here they were, picking out ingredients for their Christmas feast. Peppery roast beef and a crisp salad—they had decided on that this morning, their laughter mingling with the aroma of coffee. Mia's heart swelled. Mamie's spirit seemed to dance alongside them, whispering that love was in these simple moments—the way Killian reached for the ripest tomatoes, the way he teased her about her obsession with dark chocolate.

As they turned a corner, Mia's gaze fell on the row of gingerbread houses, their candy roofs winking at her. She remembered Mamie's hands, gentle and patient, guiding hers as they built their own gingerbread masterpiece. The memory was a bittersweet ache, like the scent of pine needles crushed underfoot.

But Killian's voice pulled her back. "What do you think, Mia?" he asked, holding up a jar of honey. She blinked, realizing she hadn't heard his question. "For the glaze," he clarified, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Mia smiled, her heart full. Maybe this was what Mamie meant—the love woven into everyday gestures, the shared laughter, and the promise of a cozy Christmas dinner. She nodded at the honey, and Killian placed it gently in the cart.

"What's your favorite Christmas memory?" he asked, out of a sudden.

Mia blinked and glanced at him, her heart fluttering like a snowflake once more.

And as they reached for the salad greens, Mia whispered, "This. Right now."

Together, they continued down the aisle, Mamie's words echoing in Mia's heart. Love, even when the world felt cold. She glanced at Killian, and he winked, as if he knew her thoughts. Yes, Mamie, Mia thought, this is what you meant.

******

The parking lot stretched before them, the cold air nipping at Mia's cheeks. Killian deftly loaded the groceries into the car's trunk, his movements efficient and practiced. Mia watched him, her heart fluttering with a mix of curiosity and concern.