If The Snow Settles.

Snow swirled and danced like tiny confetti in the air, pirouetting before settling softly on the cobblestone streets of Elder Grove. The town square was a postcard of Christmas charm. Warm light spilled from shop windows, carollers sang in harmony by the grand fir, the tree adorned with festive ornaments and twinkling lights. Children giggled as they slipped and slid on patches of ice in a square dusted with a sprinkle of holiday magic. Aaron James, editor of the Elder Grove Gazette, in contrast, did not feel the holiday cheer. He sat at his desk, scrolling through this year's Christmas edition drafts with a scowl deep enough to rival Ebenezer Scrooge. Community centre potlucks. Caroling groups. A local bakery's holiday special. The same stories, recycled year after year. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering, "It's fluff. It's all fluff." He referred, of course, to the content of the articles and not the soft down of his head.

He put on his heavy coat, wrapped his scarf around his shoulders, pulled his hat firmly over his ears, and wandered out into the cold evening air. Maybe a brisk walk through the hustle and bustle of the square would perk up his mood.

Within twenty minutes, Aaron was again adjusting the scarf around his neck, his breath puffing out visible clouds as he stepped from the quaint bookstore, a brown paper bag tucked under his arm. The book, a hefty tome about Mediterranean cooking purchased for his parents, felt like another misstep in his years-long struggle to find the perfect Christmas gift. Maybe Dad will get a kick out of the recipes, he thought. But deep down, he knew better.

Across the square, a woman trudged out of the toy shop, her wool coat dusted with snowflakes. She balanced an elaborately wrapped gift basket with one hand while also burdened by a candy cane-striped bag in the other. She sighed as she paused by the tree, setting her shopping down with a huff. She could almost hear her mother's voice: 'Oh, sweetheart, this is too much—you shouldn't have spent all that money!' But what else could she do?

An icy gust breezed through the square as Aaron passed the tree. His paper bag slipped free, tumbling across the snow-dappled pavement and coming to rest at the woman's feet. She bent down to pick it up and glanced up as Aaron approached. His outstretched hand met her sceptical eyes.

"Still as clumsy as ever, I see," she said, a hint of a smirk curling her lips as she referred to an event many years ago when Aaron slipped and went head over heels on a spot of ice no more than ten feet from where they now stood.

Aaron blinked, caught off guard. Recognition dawned as he took in the auburn hair peeking from beneath her knit hat and those sharp, witty eyes that always got under his skin.

"Well, if it isn't Kay Abbott. How lovely," he said, raising a sarcastic eyebrow in recognition.

Her smirk faltered before she retorted, "Kay Lee, actually." She held the bag out to him. "Went back to my maiden name after the divorce."

"Oh… I didn't realize," Aaron said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he took the bag. "Sorry about that."

She shrugged, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer.  "No big deal. Though I could ask the same of you… Aaron James, right? No hyphen, no extra names?"

His gaze dropped for a moment. "No, just me. Widowhood doesn't change much, except the quiet." Aaron's expression tightened as he took the bag, replacing the now-wet book. "I suppose it's good to see you, though I never thought I'd run into you again after…" He trailed off awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck again, a trait that, for years, betrayed his discomfort in awkward situations.

Kay narrowed her eyes. "After your wife and I stopped speaking?" she offered bluntly, folding her arms across her chest in a gesture of her own unconscious discomfort. "Yes, I'm sure that makes this even more uncomfortable for you."

Aaron's lips pressed into a thin line. "She always spoke highly of you, you know. Even when you weren't exactly speaking back."

The flickering Christmas tree lights cast shifting shadows on their faces as the tension hung in the frosty air. The carollers' voices swelled in the distance, but the bustling square seemed to fade away for the two of them.

"Anyway," Kay said with a pointed shrug, breaking the silence, "fancy seeing you here of all places. As I say, still as clumsy as ever, I see." She nodded in the direction he'd had his slip all those years ago.

"And you're still as stubbornly keen to bring it up," he replied, his tone edging toward amusement despite the lingering awkwardness.

The snow sparkled in the air around them as if the holiday magic was nudging them toward a thaw, but neither of them seemed ready to admit it yet. For a moment, the festive hum of the square seemed to soften, their shared histories hovering between them like faint echoes. The tree lights flickered above them, and the carollers' voices swelled. Still, the world seemed to blur as they stood there, both startled by the sudden, unexpected collision of past and present.

"Running into you after all this time. Just my luck," Aaron muttered, shaking his head.

"Isn't it too!" she shot back, again folding her arms across her chest.

"What's it been, twelve? fifteen years?"

"Not long enough," he quipped, though a faint smile betrayed him. "I'm joking, I meant..."

"You're still terrible at gift shopping, I see," Kay interrupted, peeking into the bag and changing the subject.

Aaron huffed. "It's a cookbook."

Kay raised an eyebrow. "Mediterranean?"

Aaron scowled. "It felt thoughtful when I bought it."

Kay laughed—not just at his choice, but at the nostalgia creeping in.

"So," Aaron asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, "what brings you back to Elder Grove?"

"I needed a change. I got tired of the city, plus things were going off the rails with Mark and me. Well, I think we both knew it was over and wanted to be around our families. It's nice to be back home, but the big bucks are back in the city."

Kay exhaled, watching the snow settle on her sleeves. She shrugged, her gaze lingering on him a moment longer. "Well, I guess we all make mistakes... Mine was, I married him."

Aaron blinked, his brow furrowing. "What, the guy who thought he was God's gift to Elder Grove High?"

Kay rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mark Abbott. And yes, you were right about him being an ass who'd let me down. Happy now?"

Aaron couldn't help the grin tugging at his lips. "I'm not saying 'I told you so,' but… actually, yes, I am saying it. I told you so."

Kay groaned, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "You're insufferable."

"And you're stubborn," he shot back, his tone edging toward playful despite the lingering tension.

"I know... and for what it's worth, I'm sorry about what happened to Angie. We had differences in the end, but we were really good friends once."

"Thanks, and I know. Angie hated that you guys fell out like you did."

The snow sparkled around them, the holiday magic now shoving them headlong toward that thaw.

"Still doing art?" Aaron asked?

She nodded. "Trying to."

Aaron hesitated, then gestured toward the Elder Grove Gazette building across the square. "I might have something for you. We're putting together a holiday piece—We could definitely use a creative mind."

Kay tilted her head, intrigued. "That sounds suspiciously like you offering me a job, Mr James."

Aaron smirked. "Call it a second chance—for both of us. Do you deserve one?”

"Do you?" Kay quipped back.

"We'll see. Call me at the Gazette if you're interested; we could meet at the Cozy Hearth for a business lunch and a catch-up.”

"I might do that. Nice to see you again, Aaron. Goodnight."

Aaron watched Kay totter away across the slippery surface, her arms burdened with her wares again. He knew it was wrong, but a little part inside him wanted her to slip. She didn't.

"You too, Goodnight, Kay," he called after her, feeling a bit guilty.

…...................

Kay's modest home office wasn't as grand as her office in the city. That one had everything at her fingertips, including a full digital design studio with the best technology, such as state-of-the-art scanners, copiers, and printers. The truth is, she was spoiled there. It made her lazy but, absurdly, more productive. She preferred the old-fashioned manual working method. She'd perfected it through long hours of practice, year after year. The tech was all good, but real art came from a mind and a pencil coupled with the hard-learned skill of knowing how to put them together to create art. Everything else wasn't really art at all. The tech made the process quicker, but the result wasn't as good. That's why she was perfectly happy here: pads and paper, pencils, pens, brushes, easels, pastels, and paints - what else did she need?

She threw the pencil across the room. "Clients," she answered her own question. She still had some, and in fact, their loyalty surprised her. Many aspiring illustrators would envy even her current client list and the work she'd become somewhat famed for. Moving back to Elder Grove came at a price, though. The city was where the lucrative work was, and operating out of a small town office and studio was not conducive to maintaining credibility with the bigger clients. Now that the divorce has been finalised, she should move back. Pick up where she left off. Another pencil flew across the room to join the first.

Kay stood and then marched to the big panoramic window. She looked down the snow-covered hillside upon the beautiful, Christmassy town below. There was no going back. Once her new home was set up here, she realized how much she'd missed it. She'd missed its beauty, its ambience, the sounds and smells. Elder Grove had a soul of its own. And the people...

"Oh yes, the people," Kay said out loud, though no one could hear. "The person." Her emphasis on that last word carried an air of spite.

She finally got around to why she could not focus on her work. Last night set her on a trajectory into the past she couldn't escape. Their chance meeting in the square played on a loop in her mind—the way his eyes lingered for a second too long, the slightly forced polite smile, and then the banter. Finally, he'd walked away as if the past wasn't sitting between them. What did it even matter? It didn't.

She'd spent years convincing herself that Aaron James wasn't worth her thoughts. They weren't friends. Not really. Sure, they had history—childhood adventures, teenage friction, the awkward collapse of a bond she once cherished—but they weren't close after everything that happened, not after Angie. Kay clenched her jaw, turning from the window with a huff.

Angie.

That wound was so much older, so much deeper. Aaron never understood it, how could he? Kay never told him, and Angie was too 'nice' to have done.

Kay, pacing her office, pondered things. Her life looked nothing like it had five years ago. She had her independence back. She built a career that was hers alone and would replace the absent clients sooner or later. Kay Lee didn't need anyone to define her anymore. Not Mark. Not Angie. Not Aaron. But then, why had one brief encounter with him dragged all those buried emotions back to the surface?

Kay sighed, rubbing her temples. Maybe because she never got to explain herself. Maybe because Aaron had walked away, never asking why everything fell apart. Perhaps because she wasn't sure she'd ever fully forgiven him.

Kay took a deep breath, refocusing. There were emails to answer. Deadlines to meet. A business to run. She didn't have time to wonder whether Aaron James still carried his own ghosts from the past, nor did she care. Did she?