Small Town Christmas (Blue Harbor #4) - Olivia Miles Page 0,62
afterward—I had the blankets washed and ready. Four little girls, always so delighted by the ponies, but especially you. Brings back good memories to see you here tonight, Cora.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he grabbed the reins, and just like that, they were off.
“We’re dashing through the snow!” Georgie cried out. “Just like in the song!”
Phil, who was seated in the middle, so Georgie could have an unobstructed view of the scenery, shifted a little closer to Cora. “This was a wonderful idea. Thank you.”
It was a wonderful idea, but Cora was beginning to feel like she should be thanking him as much as he was thanking her. He’d inspired her to resurrect an old tradition, reminding her that there were other traditions than the ones she’d been clinging to—the ones her family was forgoing this year. So the angel wasn’t on the top of their family tree. It was now on hers. And so Christmas Eve was abandoned. She had this.
She still had her traditions. Just not per se with her own family.
The trail led them all through the farm, until the orchard next door was visible. Cora perked up in her seat and pointed, “See that big red barn over there? That’s my family’s orchard.”
“I do recognize it,” Phil said, leaning forward for a better look through the dark. “I remember my grandmother taking me when I visited in the summer. There was a shop in there, right?”
“The Sunday market.” Cora nodded. “It closes for the winter months, but every Sunday we all had to help out, selling my mother’s pies and jams, and of course whatever fruit was in season. My sister Maddie still makes pies each week, to carry on the tradition.”
“There you go again with traditions,” he said. “Makes me wish I had a few of my own.”
An almost untraceable note of sadness crept into his tone, and Cora couldn’t resist the opportunity to circle back to their conversation yesterday.
“What about with your grandparents? They had plenty. Didn’t they pass down a few to your father?”
Phil shook his head. “My father wasn’t interested in that sort of thing. He always felt restless here.”
“And you?”
He waited a beat. “I loved it here. Just hating going back. But each trip to Blue Harbor was like a vacation, a fantasy world. Eventually it was easier to just accept real life than to wish for a different one.”
“This is real life to a lot of people,” Cora told him. “Myself included.”
Phil didn’t look convinced. He didn’t argue with her either.
“It’s not too late, Phil. I mean, look at Georgie. These are memories she will always hold onto, you know?”
They turned to look at Georgie, who was now drowsy with sleep, a smile still resting on her face as evidence of a day well spent a night. The snow continued to fall softly all around them, glistening in the moonlight, and they fell silent taking it all in until they were once again parked in front of the old barn.
Phil stepped down first, then extended a hand to Cora. By now, Georgie was snoring softly, bundled up in the blankets for warmth.
Mr. Healy excused himself to get something from the main house, leaving them alone. Face to face. With the snow coming down around them, dusting Phil’s dark hair.
Cora looked up into Phil’s eyes, knowing that this was her cue. She should really thank him for the night, help rouse Georgie, and go back to her empty apartment for a mug of something warm. Only the way he was looking at her made her think that he didn’t want that any more than she did.
He leaned in, and her heart began to thump. In the hushed night, she was nearly certain he could hear it. She closed her eyes as his mouth met hers, warm, slow, and soft. A perfect kiss for a perfect night.
They were interrupted by the sudden rustle of one of the horses, and Cora pulled back, seeing the desire in Phil’s eyes and smiling to cover up her own feelings as Mr. Healy returned from the barn, holding a basket of cookies.
“Still warm from the oven,” he said, handing them over to her. “My wife would have come out herself but she’s on the phone with her sister in Chicago. Those two could talk for hours.”