Earlier, she had gone to the main house—she supposed it belonged to John and Ingrid Christiansen—to help Stella fix her hair. The wedding party had been in there laughing and getting ready.
She’d spared a quick look at her daughter. With her golden hair piled on her head and in a stunning dress she must have borrowed from someone, she looked like a princess. The look of contentment on her face told Marilyn that her decision to put off going to Vienna was the right one.
Bob’s voice rang out. “A wise man recently admonished me to cherish my wife. I intend to do that…”
She met his eyes again. He gave a slight nod. Yep. That line was for her.
Soon the vows were being said. Marilyn felt she said them along with Vivien. She didn’t miss the wink Bob threw her way.
“Boone, you may kiss your bride!”
Under the starry sky and the twinkle lights, Boone dipped Vivien for a deep kiss. The congregation erupted in applause.
She remembered Bob dipping her at their wedding. At the time she’d been both exhilarated and slightly embarrassed.
Tears threatened again.
She’d come so close to losing him this time. She should go compose herself. No need to be sobbing in the middle of a wedding celebration.
Now, in the hubbub of the processional and the dismissing of the congregation, she slipped away. From past experience, she knew Bob would be tied up for a while getting the license signed and making sure the bridal couple was taken care of.
Head down, she almost ran into Elaine Fox.
“Marilyn! Hi! Taking off so soon?”
“Good to see you again.” Her voice choked up. “I’m glad you’re here. Turns out, my marriage isn’t falling apart.” The words blurted out of her.
“I’m so happy to hear that.” Elaine touched her shoulder.
“Thank you again for your advice. It meant so much to me.” She left Jim and Elaine and made her way back to cabin five. She needed to make it in the door, then she could let herself go.
In the kitchenette, she’d just begun taking off her jacket when she noticed a glow coming from the bedroom.
Her tears dried up and she stared in wonder at the twinkle lights she’d brought from home, now strung in a zigzag over the bed. From one low-hanging strand dangled a sprig. Mistletoe. She reached for it.
“I hope Boone and Vivien don’t mind that I swiped a little of the extra mistletoe from their supplies.”
She whirled. Bob leaned a hip against the doorframe.
“Don’t you need to be out there taking care of things?” She put her jacket on the chair, but it slid to the floor.
“They can handle it.” Bob’s slow smile warmed her from head to toe. “The entire Deep Haven police department and Crisis Response Team are out there. I think they can figure it out.” He pushed off the doorframe and unzipped his jacket. Taking it off, he threw it to the bed. Missed.
“Did you do this?” She motioned to the lights.
In a step, he was beside her. “The lights outside looked so romantic I thought it would have a similar effect in here too.”
Her heart sped up. “I like it.”
He reached for her hand and tugged her closer. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he picked up a small bag she hadn’t noticed before.
“I really think we need to give this a trial run.”
She dug in the bag and slipped out a scrap of red satin-and-lace. Low in her belly, heat pooled.
“What about Stella?” It was hard to breathe.
He tightened the arm around her waist. “I’m sure she will be busy with wedding stuff for a while longer. She told me she was going to play a few songs for the reception too.”
Marilyn reached up and pulled his face down for a kiss. “I love you, Parson Brown,” she whispered against his lips.
He tasted of hot cocoa and cinnamon. She wound her arms around his neck, the red fabric clutched in her hand skimming across his back.
“What about the reception?” she said softly.
His lips whispered against hers. “We’ll skip it.”
In the distance, or maybe just in her mind, Marilyn heard sleigh bells ringing a chorus of joy.
EPILOGUE
How Romeo loved the magic of a Christmas Eve in Deep Haven. With snow drifting from the sky as if stars falling, and tonight, especially, with wedding guests lingering on the deck of the lodge or warming themselves around the bonfire near the lake, their mitten-clad hands cupped around hot mugs of cocoa, with music—Bing or Sinatra—serenading the night.
Yes, magical.
Romeo stood on the deck, the massive deck heaters pumping out enough heat to melt the snow and cut through the deep cold of the north.
Beyond the shoreline, the ice cathedral sparkled with the lights strung from it. Vivien and Boone had donned skates and were dancing in the middle of the ice, the bride wrapped in a parka over her vintage, white fur-lined dress.
Not far from them, Duke, the cop from Minneapolis, was dancing with the guest who wore a Santa hat with a white puffy pom-pom, both swaying on skates also.
In fact, the whole day, maybe even week, had felt magical. Yes, with a few bumps, but really, the happy ending seemed worth it.
“You okay?”
He turned to find Stella holding a mug of cocoa and a donut from World’s Best. She handed him the mug. “I swiped the last powdered donut. Want to split it?”
“You’re the best.” He took his half and let the crumbs mix with the soft powder of snow.
“Nice wedding.” She stepped up next to him at the railing, looking out at the spectacle on the lake.
“Nice save by your dad.”
“He did well.”
“Where are they?”
She raised an eyebrow, smiled.
“Oh. So, everything okay between them?”
“I think so. But maybe I’ll sleep on your sofa again.”
He laughed. “I’ll probably be up late cleaning all this up anyway.”
“The work of a resort manager is never done.”
He raised his mug.
“It’s Christmas Eve.” She turned back to the railing. “I thought I’d be spending it in Vienna.”
“Are you disappointed?”
She looked up at him. “Not in the least.”
Then she lifted herself on her toes, and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her. She tasted sweet, like chocolate, and tempting, and maybe it wasn’t a great idea for her to sleep on the sofa.
But maybe he’d spend the night at the lodge, in front of the fireplace, remembering his first Christmas here when he’d been broken and alone and unwanted. And then, suddenly, not alone. Not unwanted.
God is in the business of miracles. Taking on the impossible.
Yes. Romeo pulled Stella into a hug and held on.
In her pocket, her phone dinged. Stella pulled away and retrieved it. “Oh my. Someone posted a video of me playing the cello.” She clicked on it. “It’s from an Instagram account, and they tagged the resort.” She scrolled down the post. “And I have a message from the Fritz Kreisler Institute.”
She opened it and turned so he could read it too.
Oh. Wow. “They reversed their decision,” he said quietly. Swallowed.
“And they’ve extended me a scholarship.”