Christmas in Vermont Page 20

  “Let’s not think about that now. You are about to finish your thesis, tomorrow night is the dress rehearsal, and soon this will all be over.” He gestured to the rest of the theater. “We don’t want to look back on this time in ten years and regret we didn’t enjoy it.”

  “In ten years?” Emma looked up from her sandwich.

  “When you’re a hugely successful copywriter and I’m directing plays that receive amazing reviews, and neither of us think anything of buying champagne and caviar.”

  “I don’t see us as champagne-and-caviar kind of people.” Emma smiled.

  “Neither do I.” Fletcher took a bite of chocolate cake. “A lot can change in ten years. Except for the way I feel about you; that will never change.”

  “It better not,” Emma returned, wiping frosting from her lips. “Because then I’ll be stuck with a case of unrequited love. I know from reading Wuthering Heights that it’s the most painful thing in the world.”

  Two Days Before New Year’s Eve

  Snowberry, Vermont

  The door of the Snowberry Playhouse opened and Fletcher heard footsteps. For a moment he thought it was Emma, but Stephen appeared in the aisle.

  “You’re still here,” Stephen said. “You were holding that tape measure when I left.”

  “Stringing fairy lights took longer than I thought,” Fletcher agreed. “I’m almost done for tonight.”

  “I just came from The Smuggler’s Inn.” Stephen joined him at the front of the theater. “Betty and Emma and Lola have been brainstorming all afternoon. They suggested we have someone dress as Santa Claus and hand out presents. Lola said, the more festive we make it, the more money people will donate.”

  “She’s right,” Fletcher chuckled. “Christmas is the season of giving.”

  “Lola is a special girl,” Stephen mused. “I wish you would consider directing the summer festival; Lola would love it. I’m in talks with Nathan Lane to play Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “I love Nathan Lane! That’s fantastic,” Fletcher said, marveling at the thought of directing one of his favorite Broadway actors. The Snowberry Playhouse would be too hot in the summer, and he’d go to bed every night covered with mosquito bites. But Vermont would be lush with foliage, and Lola could ride horses and swim in the lake.

  “I will think about it,” Fletcher said firmly. “Right now I have to get back to The Smuggler’s Inn. I’m taking Lola out for soufflé. If I don’t shower, they might not let me into the restaurant.”

  * * *

  Fletcher knocked on the door of Lola’s room. It was seven o’clock, and their dinner reservations were in half an hour.

  “What are you doing?” Fletcher asked when he finally opened the door. “You’re not dressed.”

  “I am dressed.” Lola looked up from arranging teddy bears on the bed. “I’m wearing jeans and the shirt I made at Color Me Mine.”

  “You’re not dressed for dinner.” Fletcher caught his own reflection in the mirror. He was wearing a leather jacket and twill slacks. “Le Soufflé is pretty fancy, and it’s freezing outside. You need a coat and mittens.”

  “I can’t go to dinner. Betty and I are having a teddy bear party.”

  “A teddy bear party?” Fletcher perched on the bed.

  “Betty has an attic full of teddy bears. We’re going to stitch them up and donate them to SnowBeary Academy. They give them to families who can’t afford to buy their own bears,” Lola explained. “Then we’re going to have a welcome dinner for my new bears, Tiffani and Tasmin. Tiffani is California Bear, because girls in California all have names like Tiffani that end in the letter I. And Tasmin is Broadway Bear, because when I have a little girl I want to name her Tasmin.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to think about having children?” Fletcher asked with a smile.

  “Yes, but time flies. Next month I’ll be ten, and before you know it I’ll graduate from high school.” Lola snapped her fingers. “I bet that’s how you feel when you’re with Emma.”

  “What do you mean?” Fletcher asked.

  “That it was only yesterday you were both in college, and now you’re in your thirties.” Lola’s nose twitched the way it did when she was concentrating on something. “Has Emma changed? Did she always have such long lashes, and was her hair always shiny?”

  “I have no idea—I hadn’t noticed,” Fletcher said abruptly. “I better tell Emma dinner is canceled.”

  “You can’t cancel dinner!” Lola jumped up. “I mean … that wouldn’t be polite. You two can go without me.”

  “I don’t think so.” Fletcher pictured sitting across from Emma at a candlelit table. “The three of us can go another night.”

  “There’s only two more nights, and we’ll be busy with the talent show,” Lola said urgently. “Emma was looking forward to it.”

  “Emma said she was looking forward to it?” Fletcher repeated.

  “Emma’s never had soufflé, and she always wanted to try it.” Lola sank back onto the bed with a smile on her face. “Can you imagine never having had soufflé? I’m so glad you and Mom took me to Paris. Cammi has never been to Europe.”

  “I’ll tell you what—why don’t you and Betty and the teddy bears join us?” Fletcher suggested.

  “You want the teddy bears to eat at Le Soufflé?” Lola’s eyes were wide. “I guess we could. But Betty and I would have to eat with the bears. There wouldn’t be room for everyone at the same table.”

  “It’s a deal.” Fletcher shook Lola’s hand. “You go tell Betty and round up the teddy bears, and I’ll tell Emma about the change of plans.”

  * * *

  Fletcher waited in the parlor of The Smuggler’s Inn, fiddling with a shot glass. What would he and Emma talk about without Lola’s constant chatter? And what if Megan called or texted? She hadn’t returned his call, and there was a photo of her on Instagram getting into a town car. She was wearing a cocktail dress and diamond teardrop earrings that he had never seen before.

  There was the sound of heels on a hardwood floor, and Fletcher looked up. Emma stood at the top of the staircase in a navy coat. Her hair was pinned back, and she was wearing gold earrings.

  “Where’s Lola?” she asked when she reached the living room.

  “She’s getting Betty and the teddy bears. I hope you don’t mind.” His eyes twinkled. “They were going to have a tea party, and I asked them to join us instead.”

  “Why should I mind?” Emma laughed. “I loved the whole morning at the teddy bear factory.”

  “I hoped you’d say that.” Fletcher grinned. “Don’t worry—Lola insisted that she and Betty and the bears have their own table.”

  * * *

  “I’m glad we came,” Fletcher said to Emma, scooping up a spoonful of goat cheese soufflé with fig jam. The table was set with a silver bread basket, and there was a bowl of spinach salad with walnuts and slices of orange. Betty and Lola and the teddy bears were sitting at a round table on the other side of the restaurant.

  The dining room of Le Soufflé was like something out of a French guidebook. The stone floor was strewn with woven rugs, and brass pots were hung from the ceiling. The waiter had suggested a French cabernet to accompany the soufflé, and Fletcher sipped his wine and enjoyed the warmth rising from the fireplace.

  “I’m glad too,” Emma replied, glancing across the room to where Lola was feeding soufflé to a teddy bear. “Betty and Lola have grown very fond of each other. Betty bought Lola’s favorite English toffees from the General Store, and Lola drew a map of places for Betty to see if she ever visits London.”

  “I was at the playhouse this afternoon and ran into Stephen,” Fletcher added. “He thinks it would be wonderful for Lola to spend the summer in Vermont.”

  “Are you considering it?” Emma asked. “I thought Megan wanted to get married at the Plaza.”

  “I don’t know if that’s going to happen.” Fletcher took out his phone and flipped to the photo of Megan on Instagram. �
�Megan has only been gone for a day, and she seems to have forgotten us. She was all dressed up and getting into a town car.”

  “That is a gorgeous dress,” Emma said, glancing at the phone. “But she could have been going anywhere.”

  “I know Megan’s jewelry, and I’ve never seen those diamond earrings before,” Fletcher remarked.

  “Are you saying someone bought them for her?” Emma asked.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. What’s important is Lola,” he replied. “Megan has to see that Lola comes first; that’s what having children is about.”

  “But you haven’t broken it off?” Emma asked. “There is a chance you’ll work things out.”

  “Megan and I haven’t spoken since she left,” Fletcher admitted. “My friend Graham will shoot me if we end the engagement. Megan is educated and beautiful and talented.” He smiled wryly. “He thinks she’s a miracle, and I would be a fool to mess it up.”

  “I know what you mean,” Emma said, drinking her wine. “Bronwyn would be furious if she knew we were talking about Megan and Lola.”

  “Why would she be angry?” Fletcher asked.

  Emma blushed the color of the wine. She took another sip and leaned forward. “I shouldn’t tell you this, and I may have drank my wine too fast, but she’s worried that if we don’t discuss other things you’ll think that I’m boring.”

  Fletcher noticed the impish smile on Emma’s lips and laughed.

  “You’re not the sort of woman who could ever be boring,” he responded. “But we can talk about something else.”

  “I don’t mind,” Emma said, suddenly serious. “I liked hearing about your problems in college. Don’t you remember? The theater was more interesting than repressed sexuality in nineteenth-century English literature.”

  “I don’t know. I enjoyed it when you read Lady Chatterley’s Lover out loud,” Fletcher returned. He reached across the table and touched Emma’s hand before he could stop himself. “It is good to see you; you make me happy.”

  Emma busied herself dipping French bread into the soufflé, and there was an awkward silence.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Fletcher said, changing the subject. “All I know is that you live in New York, and you don’t mind being with a screaming two-year-old at Disney World.”

  “I adore being a godmother,” Emma acknowledged. “But I enjoy other things; I love window-shopping on Fifth Avenue, and attending outdoor concerts in Central Park.” She paused. “And I like my job. Writing copy to sell cosmetics might sound frivolous, but it’s never boring, and I’m quite good at it.”

  “I’m sure you are.” He leaned back in his chair. “And it doesn’t sound frivolous. I stand in the back of a theater and watch people act out stories that have nothing to do with real life. At least you help women feel good about themselves.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Emma mused. “You’re doing what you always wanted to do: helping a theater full of people escape their lives for a couple of hours.”

  “We both are where we wanted to be.” Fletcher finished his wine. “Except for the fact that my fiancée would rather be at some theater party than a romantic Vermont inn, and your boyfriend is sitting on a beach in Maui without you.”

  “Except for those two things, yes,” Emma said, and the impish smile was back on her face. “Life turned out just the way we planned.”

  * * *

  After dinner, Betty and Lola and the teddy bears took a sleigh back to The Smuggler’s Inn, and Fletcher and Emma strolled through the village of Dorset. They saw a covered bridge and clapboard houses strung with Christmas lights, and the Christmas tree in the village square. Behind them, the snowy hills were dotted with barns.

  “I should have made Betty and Lola stay,” Fletcher said. “Dorset is so pretty at night.”

  “Apparently the teddy bears have a bedtime that can’t be missed.” Emma grinned. “But actually, I think we’ve been set up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lola is concerned that without Megan, you’ll get lonely,” Emma explained. “And she knows we were friends in college.”

  Fletcher let that sink in. “She asked me if I thought you’d changed,” he recalled. “She wondered if your eyes always had such thick lashes, and if your hair was always so shiny.”

  Emma was quiet. Fletcher heard the clip-clopping of horses. A sleigh drove by with a young couple huddled under blankets.

  “I said I hadn’t noticed, but that’s not true.” He stopped walking and gazed at Emma. The night air was crisp, and it suddenly felt so romantic: the velvet sky and stars like diamonds, the Christmas tree lit with colored lights.

  “I did notice. You’re even more beautiful than in college. Your cheekbones are more defined, and your eyes are even bigger than I remember.” He touched her cheek.

  Emma was completely still, and Fletcher wanted nothing more than to kiss her. But red and green lights lit up the sky, with the sound of something popping.

  “What’s that?” Emma jumped away.

  “It’s fireworks.” Fletcher gazed at the silver rockets sizzling above them. “The village of Dorset has a fireworks display every night between Christmas and New Year’s. There’s a parade and free Christmas cookies. I thought Lola would enjoy it, but we can stay and watch them.”

  Emma looked at Fletcher and there was something new in her eyes.

  “I should go back to the inn,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to finish some work.”

  “During Christmas week?” Fletcher said wonderingly. “Nothing can be that urgent.”

  Emma tightened her coat and smiled. “That’s what Lola said, but it really can’t wait. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  * * *

  Fletcher unwound his scarf and draped it on the bed in his room. It wasn’t late, but he didn’t feel like sipping brandy in the library. And he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Thankfully, Betty and Lola were in the attic putting the teddy bears to bed when he arrived.

  Would he have kissed Emma if the fireworks hadn’t started? How would she have responded? Her work couldn’t have been so urgent; she merely wanted an excuse to end the evening. Was that because she didn’t enjoy his company, or did she have feelings for him and was afraid to act on them?

  And then there was Megan. He couldn’t just follow her Instagram feed; he had to make a decision about their relationship. Either they had to talk things out, or admit it was over.

  He picked up his phone and called Megan’s number.

  “Hello.” Her voice came over the line.

  “I’m glad I caught you—it’s Fletcher.”

  “I know it’s you,” Megan said. “Why are you calling? Did you decide to come back to New York?”

  “You know I can’t do that.” Fletcher gripped the phone. “And besides, what if I had? It seems you were out all night.”

  “Have you been spying on my Instagram?” Megan demanded.

  “You didn’t respond to my voicemail, and it came up on my feed.” Fletcher paused. “But if you think it’s spying, I’ve answered my own question.”

  “What do you mean?” Megan asked.

  “Couples in love don’t spy on each other,” Fletcher returned. “Maybe you were right—I needed to get my priorities straight. We tried to want the same things, but it didn’t work. I have to put Lola first, and you can’t see beyond your own ambitions.”

  “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” Megan snapped. “I’ll leave the engagement ring on the kitchen counter, with all your passwords. It’s late, and I’m going to bed.”

  Fletcher hung up and paced around the room. Thank god the scotch was all the way downstairs in the library; it would have been too easy to reach for a glass. But then he thought about Emma in her red dress with the fireworks going off behind her, and realized he didn’t need a scotch at all. Perhaps there was some kind of magic Christmas spell over The Smuggler’s Inn, because right this moment, he’d never felt bet
ter.

  Seventeen

  One Day Before New Year’s Eve

  Snowberry, Vermont

  EMMA SAT AT THE DESK in her room and tapped at the computer keyboard. It was mid-morning, and the sky was a cobalt blue usually reserved for photos of glamorous ski resorts in magazines. Emma always envied the models in those photos, their cheeks bronze from skiing; they held coffee mugs as big as cereal bowls, looking happy and relaxed.

  Instead of sitting by an après-ski fire, she was sitting alone in her room, thinking up copy to sell lipstick. She hadn’t been completely honest with Fletcher last night. Her boss Helen wasn’t expecting the copy until next week. But Emma had been afraid that Fletcher might try to kiss her, and she needed an excuse to go back to The Smuggler’s Inn.

  Had Fletcher been trying to kiss her? He’d stood so close, and then the fireworks had started and she’d jumped. She couldn’t kiss him; he was still engaged to Megan. But it had been a lovely evening; the moment had felt so heady, with the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree and the diamond-painted sky.

  There was a knock at the door, and Emma wondered if it was Fletcher.

  “Can I come in?” Lola poked her head inside.

  “What a pretty dress,” Emma commented when Lola entered the room, wearing a red pinafore with a Peter Pan collar and oversized pockets.

  “My mother made it.” Lola perched on the bed. “We were supposed to Skype this morning, but I overslept. By the time I called, she was out.”

  “You overslept?” Emma repeated. “I thought all children woke up at the crack of dawn. Bronwyn has to wear a sleep mask because Sarah comes in at six in the morning and opens the curtains.”

  “I went to bed late.” Lola stifled a yawn. “Stephen showed up as we were finishing putting the teddy bears to bed. He told Betty they needed to go over the donations, but that’s not why he came. Knowing how many T-shirts with pictures of moose the Stowe Mercantile Company is donating could have waited until morning.”

  “Why do you think Stephen was there?” Emma asked.