As if it required a moment of silence, the women stared at the picture of their parents, dressed in their wedding attire and standing less than six feet away from where they now sat.
“It’s hard to believe we’re here again,” Bridget said as she joined her sister.
Lori glanced up, her eyes growing glassy. “I miss them, Birdie.”
“So do I.”
Bridget stared at the image of their parents. The couple wasn’t looking at the camera. No, the photo captured the newlyweds staring into each other’s eyes. Bridget had seen her mother and father do this, hundreds, maybe thousands of times. She also couldn’t count how many times, as a young girl, she’d rolled her eyes at her lovey-dovey parents. But frozen in time, it was impossible to look away, and there was no eye-rolling employed now. No, she’d give anything to see them gazing at each other again.
Gently, she took the photo from her sister and turned it over to reveal Delilah and Roger, Wedding Day at Kringle Mountain, scrolled in Grandma Dasher’s handwriting on the back.
Lori ran her finger over the inscription. “I wish they could be here.”
Bridget nodded. “Me too.”
She lifted her gaze from the picture, then stared at the place where her parents once stood—where they’d all once stood together many times over the years when they used to come here as a family.
“But you know, Lori, I think they are here. Can’t you picture them? Standing there and holding hands as if it were their wedding day all over again?”
Lori threaded their arms together. “I can. I can also hear Mom telling us to stop standing on the benches.”
Bridget blinked back tears as she laughed. “You were good at jumping across the aisle.”
Lori cocked her head to the side. “Why didn’t you ever try, Birdie? I can’t remember you ever doing it?”
“I guess I was too scared to make the leap.”
Just as the words left her lips, a heaviness settled in her chest.
That was true even today in nearly every aspect of her life.
She’d always thought that her parents and Grandma Dasher would be proud of how she’d cared for Lori—how she’d been a part of securing her sister’s success. But what now? This wedding marked the end of the part of her who’d become more like a mother than a big sister. Lori was starting a new life with Tom. She had a partner. She’d found her soul mate.
Where did that leave her? She’d put her sister first in her mind for so long; what came next?
They sat there, each staring at the spot on the altar where their parents had stood when a whoosh of wind made the lights flicker, and the women gasped and clutched each other, startled and laughing until something sharp dug into her side.
“Ow! What have you got in your pocket?”
Lori patted her coat. “I almost forgot. Tom said a courier delivered it to the mountain house for you,” she replied, pulling a small box from her pocket.
“Tom’s awake?” she asked carefully.
“Yes, he’s been up for hours. But I haven’t seen Scooter. Tom said he and Scooter had quite a night—a real nostalgia-fest. They talked about their boarding school days, college conquests, and stupid pranks they’d pulled on each other over the years.”
“Really? That’s all?” Bridget replied, going for casual.
What did she care?
But the uptick in her pulse betrayed her attempt at nonchalance.
“He also said Scooter drank about twice as much as he did, which Tom also said isn’t like the guy. Why do you ask? Is there something going on with you and Scooter?” Lori added, eyeing her closely.
“No, of course not!”
Shoot! She couldn’t have Lori thinking that she…what? Thought about Soren? Cared about Soren?
Did she care about Soren?
No, she was there to run defense and keep an eye on the man. And so far, she’d succeeded, that is, until last night when Tom intervened and requested a guys’ night.
What was she supposed to do? Steal a Santa costume to go all Kringle incognito, search the village until she found them, then eavesdrop on the pair? No, once they’d all gotten back to the mountain house, sans the groom and the best man, Cole and Carly had kept her busy answering questions about Christmas fairies. There was no way she could have snuck back into the village.
She gathered a few stray pine needles from the bench. “So, that’s all they talked about—old times?”
“I think so. Why?”
Why?
Bridget twisted the pine needles into a zig-zagged bunch, then crossed and uncrossed her