Page 23 of Christmas at Wolf Creek
“It was definitely a team effort,” I say, nodding toward my siblings. “I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“Family is a blessing,” Helen says with a warm smile. “I’m so glad you’ve reconnected with yours.”
I nod, not trusting myself to elaborate on our complicated family situation. The story we’ve settled on—long-lost siblings reuniting after their father’s death—is close enough to the truth without inviting too many questions.
“Come on,” Kori says, balancing four hot chocolates. “Let’s find those seats before the ceremony starts.”
We weave through the crowd toward the front of the square, where Helen has indeed saved us prime viewing spots with a handwritten “RESERVED” sign. As we settle onto the bench, I can’t help scanning the crowd again, an old habit I can’t seem to break.
“You okay?” Kane asks quietly, sliding onto thebench beside me.
“Fine,” I say automatically, then sigh at his skeptical look. “Just... crowds make me nervous.”
He nods, understanding without pressing further. “We’ve got eyes everywhere,” he says, gesturing subtly to where Wren and Mia have positioned themselves with clear sightlines in different directions. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
I offer him a grateful smile, wondering when my paranoia became so apparent to them all. Perhaps because they share it to some degree—Kane especially seems to have developed a protective instinct that rivals my own.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mayor Thompson’s voice booms through speakers set up around the square. “Welcome to Pinecrest’s thirty-eighth annual Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony!”
The crowd cheers as he continues with his usual speech about community spirit and holiday traditions. Nora bounces on the bench between Kane and me, her excitement making it impossible to sit still.
“And now,” the mayor announces, “before we light the tree, please welcome the Pinecrest Elementary School Choir with their selection of holiday favorites!”
A group of children files onto the small stage set up beside the tree, Nora waving frantically at friends she recognizes. They begin a somewhat pitchy butenthusiastic rendition of “Jingle Bells” that has the crowd smiling indulgently.
As they sing, I feel myself relaxing incrementally. This is what normal people do—they attend community events, they sing carols, they drink hot chocolate under starry skies. They don’t constantly look over their shoulders or jump at sudden noises.
I’m so focused on this thought that I almost miss it—a flash of movement at the edge of my vision, a figure slipping between buildings at the far corner of the square. Something about the way they move sends ice through my veins.
My body goes rigid, every sense suddenly heightened. I scan the area where I saw the movement, but the figure is gone, lost in the shadows between storefronts.
“Ella?” Kane’s voice seems to come from far away. “What’s wrong?”
I force myself to breathe, to appear calm for Nora’s sake. “Nothing,” I say, the lie bitter on my tongue. “Thought I saw someone I knew.”
His eyes narrow, clearly not believing me, but he doesn’t press with Nora sitting between us.
The children finish their song to enthusiastic applause, transitioning into “Silent Night” with surprising grace. I try to focus on their sweet voices, on Nora’s rapt expression, but my eyes keep drifting to that corner of the square.
Then I see him again—a tall man in a dark coat, standing half-hidden beside the hardware store. The distance and shadows obscure his features, but something about his stance, the width of his shoulders, the way he holds himself...
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure Kane must hear it. It can’t be him. It can’t be. Mikhail is in Russia, thousands of miles away. He doesn’t know where we are or even that Nora exists.
“I need to use the restroom,” I murmur to Kane, already rising. “Watch Nora.”
He frowns, clearly concerned by my sudden pallor. “Want me to come with you?”
“No,” I say too quickly. “Stay with Nora. I’ll be right back.”
I slip away before he can protest, moving through the crowd with practiced ease. My eyes never leave the spot where I saw the figure, even as I weave between families and dodge excited children.
The man is gone by the time I reach the hardware store, but fresh footprints in the snow lead down the alley beside it. Without thinking, I follow them, my heart in my throat.
The alley is dark, lit only by the spillover glow from the square. The footprints continue to the back of the building, then stop at a service door. I hesitate, suddenly aware of how foolish this is—following a stranger into a dark alley, away from the crowd andmy family.
But if it’s him... If somehow Mikhail has found us...
I reach for the door handle, then freeze as it turns from the inside. I stumble backward, looking frantically for somewhere to hide, but I’m exposed in the open alley.