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Christmas carolers begin to sing as they put up the tree in the middle of the square. Taking out the picture, I blink away tears, a new wave of mourning washing over me. I can’t help the small smile playing on my lips as I brush my index finger across a young Simon’s face. We were standing in the spot I’m in right now and like every year growing up, we held a mistletoe over our heads, made a wish, and sealed it with a kiss on the cheek.
In the worn-out photograph that Donner took, Simon’s dirty blonde hair curls under his beanie, and his golden-brown eyes are closed as he gives me a kiss. I’m grinning and blushing. I always blamed it on the cold weather bothering my skin, but that was never the case.
It was Simon.
It will always be Simon.
A tear drops onto the picture, and I wipe it away, wondering where he is. We need a Christmas miracle to save the sanctuary. We need him. We need the heir to the St. Claire fortune to come home to save the lions.
To save us.
For the hell of it, I pull a mistletoe out from my pocket and hang it over my head, wishing I’d find him, and he’d come home.
There’s no kiss on the cheek to seal the wish. There’s only snow.
Even with all the love I have for him, I hate Simon St. Claire just the same.
Chapter Two
Simon
Mistletoe Creek Tree Arrives, Jumpstarting Holiday Cheer.
I don’t know why I continue to torture myself after all these years, but here I am, still receiving the town paper because I need to know that my home is okay. I didn’t leave because I hated it. I left out of fear, guilt, and shame. It’s my fault my father died. If I had been at the sanctuary like I had promised instead of being in town with my Uncle Dash, then my father would still be alive.
But I got into a fight with Dash which ended up turning into a pub brawl. When the fighting was over and I was in handcuffs, Dash was gone, and the one phone call I made was to my father to come bail me out of jail. He never complained. He never lectured me.
The last thing I heard from him was, “I love you, son. We all make mistakes. It’s okay. I’ll be there soon.”
Only he never arrived at the police station. He got into a car accident. That winter was a brutal one. The snow was falling hard. The ice was slicking the roads. The conditions were hazardous. If I had been less selfish, if I had been a better son, I wouldn’t have called him to come get me.
His brakes gave out and his car slid downhill causing him to get into a head-on collision with a semi-truck. My dad died on impact. He didn’t experience any pain which I’m thankful for. I didn’t deserve to stay in Mistletoe Creek and take over Pride Sanctuary. The lions were my dad’s pride and joy. They were better off without me and so was the entire town.
So was Nina.
My feet land on the floor from my desk, my boots hitting with a solid loud thud so I can lean over the newspaper to get a better look at the woman in the corner of the picture.
Nina.
She’s fucking beautiful. All these years have gone by and there hasn’t been a day where she hasn’t crossed my mind. I fucked up leaving her like I did. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t write a note. I haven’t even called. She deserved so much better, especially since she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved. Even when we were kids, playing tag, riding bikes, catching snowflakes, I knew then I’d spend my life with her.
Yet here I am, hiding away in another small town, working as a mechanic because I’m too much of a fucking coward to go home.
I think about going home all the time.
Not to Mistletoe Creek. Not to the Pride Sanctuary.
But to Nina.
She is my home. She was the only person that made that small town worthwhile. I hated Christmas Cheer. I hated that everywhere I turned, there was something else to get everyone in the damn holiday spirit. It happened all year, but then Nina would hang the mistletoe over my head, taming the grouch inside me, then kiss me on the cheek.
The constant Christmas spirit wasn’t so bad with Nina around.
My heart tugs, trying to persuade me to go home, to grovel at Nina’s feet, to beg for her forgiveness, to accept my family fortune, and to breathe life back into my soul.
“Hey, the blue truck ready? Customer is here,” Tim, another employee, and my best friend, at the garage asks.
I toss him the keys, never looking away from the newspaper to memorize all the changes in Nina’s face. She’s so fucking beautiful, prettier than any Christmas Mistletoe Creek could ever celebrate.
