Page 48 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas

FORTY-FIVE

MEG

Meg and Jill spent the next hour chatting about babies—names, maternity attire, books, and everything in between.

Jill seemed calmer and more “present, ” as Gam would say, when she left to get ready for the party.

Meg wrapped her in the tightest hug and whispered.

“You’ve got this, and I will be by your side every step. ”

“Thanks.” Jill kissed her cheek. “You’re the best. See you at the party.”

Meg’s thoughts went wild while she showered and changed. Matt’s letter proved once and for all that they were star-crossed lovers. It was too late. He was with Lucinda now.

Regret couldn’t change their fate now.

She had to let him go.

She ignored the crushing in her chest and focused on getting ready. She opted for a simple A-line black-and-green plaid dress with a flared skirt. She curled her hair in funky waves and added extra lip gloss and a shimmery green eye shadow.

A loud bang on her door startled her as she tugged on thick-ribbed black tights. She opened it to find Owen on her doorstep, flushed, snowflakes melting in his hair, and a look of utter desperation and determination on his rugged face.

“Meg, I need your help.”

“Yeah, well, I need some answers.” She scowled, not ready to trust him. A cold breeze sent a shiver down her spine as she glared at him. “You take off, leaving Jill hanging, vanishing without a word, and now you show up like nothing happened. I’m not impressed, Owen. Not at all.”

“Look, I know it seems bad that I took off. But I swear I’m not bailing. I have a plan.” He held up a cream envelope with Jill’s name written in brown calligraphy. “I’ve been trying to plant clues for weeks, months. She’s not picking up on them, and I really need your help.”

“Clues?” Meg asked.

He nodded. “I just need you to give her this. Before the party. Tell her to look closely at the Christmas letters. There’s a message hidden in them.”

“Christmas letters?” Meg was having a hard time tracking. “What kind of message?”

“You’ll see. You’re the one who’s always cracking puzzles, right?” He gave her a faint, coy smile. “Just help her look. Please?”

“Crack the code? I don’t understand.”

“Just give her the letter and make sure she gets to the party, okay?” Owen thrust the letter in her hands and turned around, already taking a step off the porch. “I’ll see you there.”

Meg stared at the letter as he ran off into the fading light. The last hues of dusk bled across the purple sky. Glowing lanterns lit the pathway to the lodge, their warm light dancing off the icy ground like fireflies.

Smoke drifted lazily from the lodge in the distance, curling and vanishing in the air. Every cabin was dusted in a fluffy layer of freshly fallen snow. It looked like something out of a storybook.

But the letter in her hand tugged her back to reality.

Something was happening.

Something big.

Meg hurried back inside, finished getting ready, and headed straight for Jill’s cabin with the letter tucked safely underneath her arm.

At the cabin, Jill greeted her, looking more like her old self. She had showered and changed. Her hair was glossy and tied in a high ponytail, accenting her strong jawline. She wore an emerald green knee-length dress and dangling green earrings.

“Hey, we fit the brief for forest formal, don’t we?” Jill asked, taking a little twirl.

“You look great. You’re practically glowing.” Meg winked. “I wonder why?”

Jill rolled her eyes.

“Have you seen Owen?” Meg asked, glancing around the cabin, half expecting him to be camped out on the couch.

A flicker of sadness washed over Jill. “Nope. Not a word.”

Meg pulled the envelope out and held it for Jill to see. “He stopped by my cabin and asked me to give you this.”

“What is it?” Jill stepped back like she was afraid to touch it. “Is he breaking up with me by letter?”

“No, I don’t think so. He told me to help you decipher your Christmas letters.”

“I don’t know what his deal is with the damn Christmas letters. He hasn’t been able to shut up about them since you mentioned that maybe there was a story there. What the hell does he mean by deciphering? What is there to decipher?”

Meg made a face and shrugged. “No clue. Do you have the letters? These are the ones he’s written to you every Christmas, right?”

Jill’s face softened a touch. “Yeah, he leaves them in my stocking with candy.”

“Do you have them with you?”

“Yeah, they’re in my art journal. He insisted I bring them because of you.” Jill glanced toward the bedroom. “But why?”

“I don’t know, but go get them!” Meg waved her arms. “He said they contain clues.”

“Clues?” Jill scowled. “I don’t think so.”

“Just go get them.” Meg made herself comfortable in the living room, keeping a hand on Owen’s newest letter.

Jill returned shortly with her sketchbook. She opened it to reveal six letters, all in the same cream envelopes and with the same brown calligraphy.

“I didn’t realize Owen was a calligrapher,” Meg said, passing the newest letter to Jill.

“He’s a man of many talents—like bolting when he learns he’s having a baby.”

“Let’s just take a look,” Meg encouraged.

Jill hesitated, then carefully peeled open the letter. Her eyes scanned the first line.

Every day, I wake up next to you and wonder…

“No, I can’t.” Jill turned the letter upside down on the coffee table as if it had burned her fingers. “This is just cruel.”

“Jill, I have a good feeling about this.” Meg leaned in, careful not to push too hard. “Owen didn’t seem like a guy ready to leave you for good. He said he had a plan and was very specific about the letters. He said they contain a clue.”

“There’s no clue.” Jill shook her head. “They’re just love notes. Sweet, sentimental stuff. A holiday tradition. We do them every year—it’s our thing. But there’s nothing more.”

“Are you sure?” Meg asked, scanning Jill’s face. She wasn’t convinced, and she wasn’t going to let it go. “Can I take a look at them?”

Jill didn’t answer.

Silently, she slid the envelopes across the table.

Meg took them with quiet resolve, feeling like she was on the cusp of solving a mystery. She read the first letter, which was dated seven years ago, on Christmas Day. It began with:

My sweet Jill.

The M was bold, underlined with a little squiggle and surrounded by tiny snowflakes. The next letter read:

Are you ready for your first Irish Christmas?

Again the A was underlined with the same hand-drawn snowflakes.

Meg tore through the rest of the stack.

Remember last Christmas, sipping mulled wine and kissing under the mistletoe?

Rembrandt once said, I can’t paint the way they want me to paint, and they know that, too.

You are remarkable, beautiful, talented, and my only Christmas wish.

Merry Christmas, as you say in America!

She flipped over Owen’s newest letter.

Every day, I wake up next to you and wonder what I possibly did to deserve this life.

“Jill! Oh, my God, Jill. Look at these!” Meg forced the first letter into Jill’s hand. “Look at the first letter in the first word.”

Jill took the first letter. “Yeah, what?”

Meg laid the letters on the table in sequential order. “Jill, spell it out. Come on! Spell it out.”

“M—A—R—R—Y—M—E.” Jill’s eyes doubled in size as she scanned the letters and read it again. “Marry me? They spell ‘marry me’?”

Meg’s knee bounced with excitement. “This is the most romantic gesture I’ve ever seen.

” She collapsed against the back of the couch and let her mouth hang open.

Then she sat up and fanned her face with a letter.

“You realize Owen’s been asking you to marry him for seven years? Seven freaking years, Jill.”

Jill shook her head. “No, it doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t want a traditional life. And how would he have planned this for so long?”

“He must have known from day one that he was in love with you and intended to marry you.”

Jill read the letters again, circling the first letter with her finger as if they might magically vanish from the page. “But he’s been so upfront about not wanting a traditional life.”

“You keep saying a traditional life, but what does that mean?” Meg pressed.

“That could be interpreted a million different ways. Maybe he just means he doesn’t want to work a traditional nine-to-five office job, or wants to travel and carve out your own way of being in the world.

It doesn’t mean he’s not madly in love with you or anti-marriage. ”

“You think he’s actually been planning a proposal for seven years?” Jill shook her head in disbelief.

“I think the proof is right here on the page.” Meg clapped softly, unable to contain her delight.

“I could write an entire love story about these letters. We need to get to the party because I have a feeling there might be more than one proposal tonight. One of them is going to be very hard to stomach, but I’m not about to sit on the sidelines and miss out on Owen taking a knee. ”