Christmas at Fireside Cabins - Jenny Hale Page 0,29

the rest of the place. To her left were tables of children decorating their chocolates with all shapes and sizes of candies, while Santa’s elves buzzed around with silver trays offering them options. Straight ahead was an enormous spiral staircase leading to the second floor, the entire roof of the place a peak of glass, showing off the electric blue sky. The temperature was still low enough to retain the little piles of snow that had settled on the edges of the roof, giving the whole place a magical feel.

“Let’s head upstairs,” Edie suggested, pointing to a sign that said, Chocolate rum cocktails this way.

“Apparently, upstairs is where all the grown-ups are,” Piper said.

“What else is up there?” Lila asked Eleanor.

“The tasting rooms with wine and chocolate pairings, and the café where you can get your Sugarplum Christmas Bomb. Shall we go?”

“Absolutely,” Piper said.

“Mind if we forego the stairs? The elevators are just over there.” Eleanor pointed to an elevator sliding smoothly upward as kids pressed their foreheads to the glass, their eyes round with excitement.

“Not at all,” Lila replied.

They waited their turn for the elevator and took it up to the second floor. The view from the top was incredible. What Lila hadn’t realized until she’d seen the aerial view was that the rainbow path spelled out the word chocolate in curly script. Eleanor was right: this would be an amazing place to bring a child. Lila could just imagine bringing her own children here one day. If she allowed herself, she could picture being a mother so easily in this quaint little town—pushing a stroller down Main Street, stopping in at the market to get local veggies for dinner, reading children’s stories in the little pillowed area at Imagination Books… Lila pushed the thought away. She was far from being at the stage in her life where she’d have a husband and children.

The doors pinged open and they stepped out into another magical space: a line of booths offering different experiences. The first had a red-and-white striped awning, with tables full of gifts wrapped in festive paper and enormous ribbons. A chalkboard sign by the doorway said, Surprise your loved ones and yourself with a mystery chocolate bundle!

“Should we all buy a little one to put under the tree?” Lila said. Then she explained to Eleanor, “Normally, we take our trip just before Christmas Eve so that we’re there for the big day, and then we all wake up on Christmas morning and open our presents, but we couldn’t make it happen this year, so we’re going to open our gifts the night before we leave.”

“You don’t have families to visit?” Eleanor asked.

“Nope. I don’t have any relatives. My mother died just after I was born, and I lost my dad to cancer when I was twenty.”

“Oh my dear…” Eleanor laid a gentle hand on her arm.

Lila smiled in gratitude at her gesture. But she didn’t want to think about being alone because it would remind her that her dad wouldn’t be there for yet another holiday, and the ache that came with that settled upon her like a sack of bricks when she let it. “The others live so far away from their families that they don’t travel to be with them every year,” Lila continued, shifting the focus to her friends.

“I usually go to see my parents in San Diego on Thanksgiving,” Edie explained. “That’s when my brothers prefer to visit, because they want to spend Christmas at home with their own kids.”

“And my family lives in Portland,” Piper said. “But my parents travel over Christmas so we usually get together for other holidays. Last year, we all flew home for my nana’s birthday.”

“Want to be an honorary member of our little club?” Lila asked.

“I’d love to.” Eleanor’s eyes shone with happiness.

“Everyone pick something,” Edie said. “It’s on me.”

Lila chose a narrow, rectangular mystery chocolate bundle, with gold wrapping and a deep red bow.

After they’d chosen their presents, they filtered through the rest of the booths, sampling their signature peppermint chocolate drops, little squares of the fried homemade banana bread the brochure had promised, and all sort of confections—all free for tasting. Finally, they ended up at the café.

“I barely have room for anything else,” Piper said, rubbing her thin torso through her red suede vintage fringe jacket, which she’d fashionably paired with an oversized knitted cream scarf that now hung loose over her shoulders. “But I have to try that Sugarplum Christmas Bomb. There’s been