Page 66 of The Christmas Arrangement
I scan the barn again, hoping I missed him somehow. But no—he’s not here.
Beside me, Rachel’s shoulders slump as she realizes the same thing.
Then I spot the photographers near the entrance, cameras at the ready, and my heart thumps.
“If he stands you up, it looks bad,” Rachel murmurs, giving voice to my exact thought.
Our eyes meet and we wordlessly agree to protect the public narrative we’ve both helped create.
“We could say we planned to partner together,” I suggest. “The two most important women in Dash’s life want a chance to get to know each other.”
“That’s perfect.” Relief floods her face.
We claim the last empty table just as Quinn rings the cowbell to start. Around us, teams spring into action—sorting candy, piping icing, fitting gingerbread walls together. The room buzzes with excited chatter and laughter.
Rachel and I work in awkward silence at first. I pipe a careful line of white icing along one wall edge while she holds two gingerbread pieces steady. We’re building a small cottage—nothing elaborate. Just a simple house with a peaked roof and a red candy door.
“You’re good at this,” she says, watching me create scalloped shingles with green icing.
“I like detail work.” I hand her a bowl of mini marshmallows. “These can be snow on the roof.”
She presses them carefully into place, one by one. Her hands are shaking slightly.
“Ivy,” she says after a long pause. “Can I be honest with you?”
My stomach tightens. “Of course.”
“You seem like a lovely person. And I can see why Dasher is drawn to you and to this town, this life. It’s charming.” She adds a peppermint to the path leading to our door. “But he has a life in Los Angeles. A career he’s worked toward since he was six old.”
I focus on piping white icicles along the roof edge. “I know, Rachel.”
“Do you?” Her voice is gentle but urgent. “There’s a role—the lead in the new Lin-Manuel Miranda musical. It’s Dasher’s dream. The audition is next week and he won’t commit to it. Because of you.”
The icicle I’m piping goes crooked. I set down the piping bag.
“I didn’t ask him to give up his career.”
“Maybe not intentionally.” She places a gumdrop window with precision. “But staying here means walking away from opportunities. From everything we’ve—everything he’s—worked for.”
“I don’t want that.” I force the words past the hard lump in my throat.
“I know it’s hard to think about letting him go.” Her hand covers mine briefly. “Especially given your … situation. Believe me, I know better than anyone.”
My situation? I have no idea what she means, but the sympathy in her eyes makes my chest ache. Maybe them spending Christmas here is a bigger deal than I realize?
“Did you?” I ask quietly. “Let someone go?”
She swallows. “Dash’s father. I was young—younger than you. I loved him.” She places a chocolate kiss on our chimney. “But he had dreams. And I was pregnant with Dasher. I had to choose what was best for him and best for me and the baby, not what I wanted.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I still love him,” she says simply. “But he got to pursue his dreams. And I got Dasher.” She looks at me. “That’s what real love is, Ivy. Wanting what’s best for someone, even when it breaks your heart.”
Around us, teams are laughing, showing off their creations. Cameras flash as photographers capture the festive chaos. Rachel and I smile for them, two happy women decorating a gingerbread cottage. Meanwhile my world crumbles.
We finish in silence. Our cottage is sweet and simple—a red door, marshmallow snow, a chocolate kiss chimney. It looks like a home filled with love.
Chapter 26