and then looked at him again. “I’m still figuring out who I am when I’m single.”
“Fair enough.” He couldn’t quite tell what she was trying to say. That she liked being single and wanted to stay that way? That she was flexible and open to change? That she wanted him to take her to bed and do all the stuff he thought about when he thought about her?
Which was pretty much all the freaking time.
“You must miss something,” he said.
“Shopping for the kids, I guess. That was always one of my favorite parts. I mean, it’s one thing to pick out the perfect cashmere bathrobe for your mother, or a BugZooka for your dad, but shopping for the kids is the best.”
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “This way.”
He took her to the local toy store. It was nice, the way her face lit up when she saw the window display—a model train circling its figure-eight route through the fake snow and trees, and a lit village in the background. There was a robot endlessly lifting hand weights, dolls and boxing gloves, bikes and musketeer swords.
“It’s fantastic,” Darcy said. “Every kid’s dream toy shop.”
“Yep.” He nodded at the manager, a woman named Guinevere who had been working here since she was a teenager. He drew Darcy over to a display of the latest and greatest. “I’d like to get your help,” he said. “We’ve got a bumper crop of kids this year, and my ever-efficient older sister China sent me a text message with suggestions.”
They spent the next hour channeling the kids. What would light them up on Christmas morning? What would make them laugh, excite them, give them warm memories of their Christmas at Saddle Mountain?
“We have to try stuff out,” said Darcy.
“That’s right, you’re all about testing gear, aren’t you? Let’s steer clear of the things that need to be plugged in,” he suggested.
“Are you expecting a power outage?”
“No, but up on the mountain, it happens. Nonelectric toys are more fun, anyway.”
“Agreed. Remember Battleship?” She pulled out the classic board game.
“Good one. Everyone’s going to want that.”
“Then let’s get it for the pickle prize.”
He scratched his head. “The pickle prize?”
“You don’t do the pickle tradition?”
“Never heard of it. But if it involves a pickle, I’m game.”
“You need a pickle ornament and you have to hang it in some very arbitrary spot on the tree. And whoever finds the pickle first on Christmas morning gets a prize.”
“Gives new meaning to hide the pickle.”
She sniffed. “I can’t believe you never heard of it. The tradition goes way back. According to Wikipedia, anyway.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Look, they’ve even got pickles for sale.”
They were displayed with the stocking stuffers. They chose one that had eyes and a mouth, a sprinkling of glitter, and a movement activated switch that caused it to yodel.
“How have I managed to live my life without a yodeling pickle?” asked Logan.
“It’s a new world order,” she said.
Toy-shopping with Darcy, just like cooking with her, snowshoeing with her, surfing with her, did not suck. She was very serious in her deliberations, weighing the merits of the slingshot versus the potato catapult, a xylophone versus a recorder. He couldn’t remember laughing with a woman so much. He’d just come from a stressful work meeting and he needed this, needed a change or some shift in perspective.
In the middle of doing a yo-yo trick—an impressive one at that—she looked up at him and grinned.
“What?” he asked, liking the grin.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. For what?”
She gestured at the toys they picked out. “I thought I’d have to miss out on this.”
He paused. “You don’t have to miss out on a thing.”
“Picking out toys is one of the best things about Christmas. It’s part of the magic.”
“For somebody who doesn’t like kids,” he said, “you sure like kids.”
“You’ve got it wrong,” she said. “I do like kids—a lot. The whole nieces-and-nephews thing is right up my alley. I’m just not into parenting.”
“Aunting, then.”
“Yep.”
“Sounds good.” He changed the subject. “Okay, there’s one gift we haven’t nailed down yet.”
“Angelica,” she said. “She’s adorable. What should we get her?”
He thought about the conversation at breakfast. Great big round eyes, soft lisping voice.
Logan O’Donnell was dangerous. Darcy concluded this halfway through the toy store spree. Whenever she was with him, she felt herself getting way too interested in him. That was the dangerous part. Interest led to a deeper crush, which led to passion, which in turn would lead to an emotional entanglement she wasn’t ready for.
She said as much to India when they all met for the Christmas parade later that day. It was hugely fun for the kids, waiting for the hometown processional to pass by. Everyone was bundled up, faces aglow in the twinkling lights.
Darcy kept sneaking glances at Logan, who was like a human jungle gym crawling with nieces and nephews. He looked impossibly sexy to her, even covered in small children. At his side, Charlie was a smaller, cherub-faced version of him, reveling in the excitement of the holidays. In his own way, Charlie was as dangerous to her heart as his father, because when she looked at him, something happened inside her. She yearned to reach out to him, to make him laugh, to gather him into her arms—just as she had done with her ex’s kids.
“Remember the definition of insanity?” she asked India, who was taking pictures on her smartphone. “Doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.”
“Your point being?” asked India, framing a shot of the glittering pillars of the Avalon Free Library.
“Look, I really like your brother—I think you knew I would. But being with him...it’s got disaster written all over it.”
“You guys are great together. I’m not seeing how that’s crazy.”
“He’s a single dad—like Huntley. He wants more kids—like Huntley. It’s crazy of me to think going down that road again will lead to anywhere but disaster.”
“It’s not the same. Huntley is a tool,” she said simply. “Logan isn’t.”
“Why does it not make me feel better to know I was married to a tool? I think I was right to swear off any kind of relationship. I’m simply not any good at it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is not like you, Darce. You don’t shy away from things just because they might be difficult.”
“I do now.” She wondered if she would ever get over the searing pain of betrayal, the sense of loss.
“Look, if you refuse to let yourself go with a guy—a good guy, like my brother—then guess what you’re doing?”
“Protecting myself. India, I’m doing the best I can.”
“But if you hold back, then you’re letting Huntley win. You’re letting him walk away with everything he got in the divorce, and he’s taking the most vital part of you. He’s taking your heart, your soul, your sense of joy and optimism, your belief in love. So ask yourself—do you really want to give him that? Do you really want to surrender
