Page 12 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
“And, if I’m honest—” She continues.
“Please be honest. This is a safe space,” I say, voice sweet.
She glances over, something vulnerable flickering in those eyes. “To share these secrets with you and then walk away, knowing we shared this night and these stories, and then never seeing each other again? It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced.”
I rub my thumb across the top of her hand, voice dropping. “And to think, the night isn’t over yet.”
“It’s only just beginning.”
We stop in front of a 1950s-style ice cream shop—chrome-trimmed windows, glowing neon sign. The kind with a wraparound red leather bar, polished silver stools lined up perfectly. A relic in a city that keeps reinventing itself.
“Wanna share a banana split with me?” I ask, grinning.
She beams. “I thought you’d never ask.”
We step inside, the place humming with old jukebox tunes and the soft clink of silverware.
At the counter, I let her order. I’m expecting the usual—nuts, whipped cream, maybe a cherry.
But Eslin? No. She starts rattling off toppings like a sugar-fueled mad scientist—gummy bears, crushed cereal, rainbow sprinkles, bits of candy I’ve never even heard of.
I blink at her, stunned. Who the hell is this woman?
And why am I tempted to spend the rest of my life discoveringeverythingabout her?
We settle onto the stools, splitting the monstrosity she’s created, and I can’t resist.
“So... those words. What did they mean to you?”
She takes a slow breath, eyes thoughtful.
“My mom lost custody when I was a baby,” she says quietly. “I grew up in foster care. We didn’t have much. But she loved me. She never stopped trying to make our family whole again.”
I take a bite of ice cream to avoid the inevitable softening on my face that she will interpret as pity. Which is the furthest thing I feel for her. The exact opposite.
“When I was five, she lost track of me in the system. But I never stopped hoping she’d find me. And from what I remembered about her, something inside me knew she didn’t stop looking.”
I stay quiet, listening.
“She finally did. When I was graduating college.” Her voice softens, the weight of it clear. “We became best friends after that. More like sisters than mother and daughter.”
She pauses, swallowing hard. “Before she passed, she...well, she read me like a book. She saw how guarded I was. How hard it was for me to even letherin. And then she said—” her voice catches, and she collects herself, just like Linda had— “she said, ‘Some people stay.’ And that I didn’t have to be so afraid of letting people get close. That anyone has the potential to become family.”
I’m stunned.
“How do you think Linda knew?” I ask, voice low.
She looks at me, eyes shining. “I think you know, Grant.”
“I most assuredly do not know.”
She laughs. “Prophetic insight!”
“Clearly,” I reply, chuckling with her, taking another bite of ice cream.
I take a breath, knowing it’s my turn.
And for the first time—outside of those brutal, useless thirty days I spent in ‘grief group’—I talk about Maddy. Really talk.
