Somehow none of those seem like realistic possibilities. Against my better judgment, I sneak a glance at his ring finger.
No wedding ring. My gaze flits back to his face—his handsome, handsome face. Goodness, has his jaw always been that square?
“Oh,” I say. Ordinarily, I’m a much better conversationalist. Truly. But I’m so befuddled at the moment that I can’t think of anything else to say.
Plus, I’m pretty sure Aidan noticed my subtle perusal of his most important finger, because the corner of his mouth quirks into a tiny half smile.
My face goes instantly warm. If a snow flurry lands on my cheek, it will probably sizzle. When Aidan bends down to scoop up the packages I dropped, I take advantage of the moment to fan my face with my mittens. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one of the toy soldiers smirk in my direction. As if I need this surprise encounter with my Christmas past to get any more awkward than it already is.
Aidan straightens, and I jam my mittens back into my coat pocket. I really should get going. My shift starts in less than ten minutes, and Windsor Fine Jewelry is still a good eight-minute walk this time of year.
But something keeps me rooted to the spot, and as much as I want to blame it on simple nostalgia, I’m not sure I can. Aidan is more than my high school sweetheart. He’s the personification of another place and time. And every now and then, the memories sneak up on me when I least expect them—now, for instance. Whenever it happens, I feel strangely empty, like one of those chocolate Santas you don’t realize are hollow until you bite into them and they break into a million pieces.
That’s silly, though. I’m fine, and my life here in Manhattan is great. I’m certainly not on the verge of breaking.
I square my shoulders as if to prove it, but when I meet Aidan’s soft blue gaze, my throat grows so thick that I can’t speak. Not even to say goodbye.
“It was good to see you, Ashley,” he says.
And then he’s gone just as quickly as he appeared, and I’m once again standing alone in a crowd.
Chapter Two
“It’s magical!”
The little girl stands tippy-toe on the opposite side of the glass display case, beaming at me as she wiggles her hand to and fro. Six whimsical silver charms dangle from the bracelet on her wrist, glittering beneath the twinkle lights of the towering white Christmas trees that Windsor Fine Jewelry is famous for at this time of year.
I grin back at her. “I can’t promise it’s magical, but it’s a beautiful bracelet. Perfect for Christmas in New York.”
It’s been hours since I ran into Aidan Flynn on the sidewalk, and I’ve just spent the past thirty minutes helping this sweet child and her father select half a dozen custom charms from Windsor’s new holiday collection. I’m back in my element on the fourth floor of Manhattan’s finest jewelry store, and I almost feel like myself again. Aidan is part of my past. Period.
After much deliberation, my young customer has settled on a silver candy cane with stripes in our store’s signature blue, a Santa hat, a reindeer with a petite ruby nose, a gingerbread man with three Windsor-blue buttons and a snowflake sparkling with tiny diamonds. Upon my recommendation, they’ve also added a shiny silver apple charm to represent their holiday shopping trip to the Big Apple.
All in all, quite an extravagant Christmas gift for such a young shopper. But luxury is Windsor’s specialty and the primary reason tourists flock to the store’s flagship location on the corner of Madison Avenue and 57th Street, especially during the holidays. Everyone hopes to find one of Windsor’s coveted royal blue boxes under their tree on Christmas morning. Locals and tourists alike.
It’s one of the things that makes working at Windsor so exciting. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Manhattan is only a six-hour train ride away from the small lakeside town where I grew up, but glamour-wise, it may as well be on another planet.
“Thank you, Daddy,” the little girl says, turning wide blue eyes toward the man towering beside her. Adorable. My heart gives a little clench.
So do my feet, for less sentimental reasons. I’ve been positioned behind the charms counter for six hours straight with no opportunity to sit. As much as I love my job, the holiday hours are brutal, and with the crush of Christmas shoppers, sometimes it feels like there’s no end in sight.
Except there is one in sight—the most dazzling, glamorous ending imaginable. And it’s headed my way in less than twenty-four hours.
This time tomorrow, I’ll be on a plane to the most gorgeous city in the world!
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from squealing out loud.
Across from me, the little girl’s father rests an affectionate hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “You’re welcome, pumpkin.”
“Shall I wrap it for you, or would you like to go ahead and wear it?” I shift my weight from one throbbing foot to the other.
“I’d like it wrapped, please. In one of those pretty blue boxes tied with white ribbon?” The sweet child bounces up and down as she offers me her wrist so I can unfasten the bracelet.
“Of course.” I wink at her as I release the tiny silver clasp. “I’ll be right back. Have some hot cocoa while you wait.”
I nod toward the wall of big picture windows overlooking snow-dusted Manhattan, where a gloved coworker dressed in a dark suit and blue silk tie serves hot chocolate from a silver tea service to waiting customers.
We have a dress code here at work—black or the darkest charcoal gray only, with small touches of the store’s signature royal blue. The rule applies even during December, which explains both my black turtleneck and the fact that the colorful, hand-knitted Christmas sweater my mom sent me a few days ago is currently tucked away in my bottom dresser drawer. Though in all honesty, the sweater is a better fit for my old life rather than my new one. Novelty Christmas sweaters are all the rage back in Owl Lake, where everyone wears them in a completely non-ironic way. I have an entire photo roll full of texts from my family to prove it. Wearing one in Manhattan, though? That would be a whole different story.
My cute little customer skips toward the hot chocolate stand, and her father follows. I’d be lying if I said watching them together didn’t make me feel the tiniest bit wistful about not making the trip home for the holidays. Again. But working retail isn’t for the faint of heart, and if I ever hope to get promoted to manager, this is where I need to be until I step onto that flight to Paris. I’ve spent the past three Christmas Eves right here, behind the charms counter. Before that, I was always stuck in Boston working at my college internship. And this year…
Well, this year will be a complete dream come true. My family totally understands. Who could pass up a romantic trip to France during the holidays?