A Snowed-in Christmas - Cover

A Snowed-in Christmas

Copyright© 2025 by DB86

Chapter 8

“So, what do you think I should do about Karen, Kid? I mean, I can’t help still having feelings for her. We have a lot of history together. When I saw her, it felt like I was thirty years younger.”

“But...” Nick prompted.

“But she left me to chase her dream. She traveled the world; she lives in New York. What if she gets bored of small-town life and leaves Middletown again?”

“If you want my honest opinion, Bert, you’re welcome to date Karen, just as you’re welcome to slam your testicles in a car door,” Nick said bluntly. “In both cases, you’re just going to get hurt. I wish I could say something more hopeful, but I’m your friend. I’m not going to sugarcoat it.”

Bert sighed, deflating before his deputy. “Right. Thanks for being honest, Kid.”

“I mean, she left you once. You being a cop wasn’t enough for her. She had wanderlust. What’s changed now? You’re a sheriff, and you love Middletown. She’s a widow and free to travel again.”

Bert stared at a spot above Nick’s shoulder, lost in thought.

“Bert?” Nick waved a hand in front of him.

“Yeah, yeah, Kid, I heard you. I was just thinking.”

“I’ll drive around and see if some tourist gets stuck in the snow,” Nick said, adjusting his hat before heading out into the cold. “There’s always some idiot driving a vehicle that isn’t equipped for slippery roads.”

Bert just nodded and waved him off.

As the sheriff sat in his office, he recalled a quote his sister, Hope, used to say: “Sometimes our hearts just need time to accept what our heads already know.”

Bert answered a few emails, checked his calendar for the next week, and tidied his desk. Then he stared out at the garden visible from his office window. The wind was whipping snow around, making it hard to tell how much had actually fallen.

Middletown was his home. He never regretted staying here, dedicating his life to keeping the town safe.

But as he sighed, Bert couldn’t shake the thought that he was nearing fifty-four. He had no kids, no wife, and no family, except for his sisters—who were a pain most of the time.

“Good morning, Bert. Mind if I come in?”

He looked up to see Karen standing there, shivering.

“It’s a public building,” Bert replied with a shrug.

Bert was clearly older than when Karen had left, but now, without the Santa suit, she could really study him. She saw the lines on his face that hadn’t been there before, the creases around his eyes, and the deep line between his brows.

With just one blink, Karen could picture Bert thirty years younger. She’d loved that young man since they were kids, long before she even truly understood what love was.

It felt strange being here with him again. He was still the boy she had loved, but he wasn’t a boy anymore.

When her gaze drifted back to Bert’s face, he was already watching her.

Which meant he had definitely caught her staring.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Bert asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“A little bit.” Karen’s body trembled from head to toe.

“Come closer to the heater, Karen.”

Bert stood and walked over to the coffee pot. “Want a cup?”

“Yes, please.”

“Cream and three spoons of sugar?”

Karen smiled. “You remember.”

Bert poured two cups and handed one to her. As soon as Karen took the first sip, warmth spread through her chest, and she sighed with relief. “Thank you,” she said, lifting her mug in acknowledgment.

Bert gave a slight nod in response.

Karen continued sipping her coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug to soak up all the warmth she could.

“You didn’t wait for my call,” Bert said at last.

“Were you going to call me?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. Did you write to me like you promised when you left town?”

Karen bit her lower lip, which was still blue from the cold. “I did. I just never sent the letters. I thought a clean break would be better for both of us.”

“For both of us or just for you?”

Karen felt the jab. Probably because Bert was right.

“Talking about that, I brought you something I’ve been keeping all these years,” Karen said sheepishly, taking a box out of her pocket and holding it in her hand toward Bert.

He placed the empty cup on the table, looked at the box, looked at her, and back at the box like it was a trap. “What is this, Karen?”

“Please,” she begged, placing the box on his desk, and pushing it closer to him. “Just open it.”

Bert sighed, unfolding his arms, and took the box. He tore the paper open unceremoniously, ripping the ribbon off and letting it all fall to the ground. Then, he popped the lid on the small, rectangular box.

 
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