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The Redemption Road

By Christa MacDonald

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THE JINGLE OF SLEIGH BELLS RANG out as the door to the shop swung open. A blast of cold air swept inside along with a swirl of snow which twinkled like fairy-dust in the overhead lights. A man in an olive green parka shut the door and stood on the welcome mat, stomping his boots and shaking off the new-fallen snow.
Annie watched him push back his hood and unwind a long scarf from around his face. Even with the wintry camouflage, she knew who it was. There was only one person who ever arrived almost every morning, rain, shine, or snow, right after she opened. She started up the espresso machine and took out the coffee beans, knowing his order by heart. A minute later, she looked up to see him standing at the counter in front of her, and she felt her lips form the smile that his presence always conjured. “Good morning, Alex.”
He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. “What is that baking?”
“Gingerbread men. But you can't have any yet.” Her smile broadened at his perplexed look. “They'll need time to cool so I can decorate them.”
“I'll have to stop in later.” His eyes fell on the glass case under the counter where sheets of scones, muffins, donuts, and other treats sat ready to tempt her customers. “What's the special today?”
“You'll love it.” She walked into the back room for the tray of goodies. His face lit up as she returned.
“Cinnamon rolls? I thought you said you hated those.”
“I hate making them. They're a pain, but I love eating them, and it's the Christmas season, so I'm feeling generous.” She took a sheet of bakery paper, pulled a roll off the tray, and placed it on a plate. “Here you go.” She slid the plate across the counter to him and scooted over to the espresso machine to finish his double macchiato.
“Speaking of Christmas, are you going to stay open over the holidays?”
She shrugged. “I'm not going anywhere. Business should be good with all the shops staying open. I'll have regular hours on Christmas Eve, but I'll close on Christmas. No one is likely to be out.”
“You're not going home to your family?”
Annie managed not to wince. She’d had to answer that question a few times already. The simple answer was no, but few people let her leave it there. The real answer wasn’t something she wanted to share. It made her feel broken–in a way, lesser-than. How was she supposed to tell people she still didn’t know very well that she never spent holidays with her family? Talk about awkward. “My parents are traveling, so I'll be here. How about you? Are you headed home for Christmas?” She finished off his drink and slid it across the counter for him to take.
“No.” He gave a brief shake of his head, his short-cropped hair unmoved by the gesture. His tone didn't invite a follow-up question, so she gladly changed the subject. Maybe Alex’s long answer was as complicated as hers. In the many months he’d been coming to her shop he’d never arrived with anyone other than the warden who was training him to take over for him, Pete Coleman. She’d seen him and Pete together a lot—they were almost like father and son, but she’d never seen him with anyone else. She’d never seen him talking to anyone but her, either.
It made her heart ache to think of him alone. “If you're going to be in town, you might want to check out the candlelight service at the Calvary Church. The music will all be carols from medieval times through the twentieth century. It's supposed to be beautiful.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Annie kept her expression neutral as a wave of disappointment rushed through her. It was followed quickly by embarrassment. This wasn’t the first time she’d invited him somewhere and got the brush off. Annie found herself rushing to fill the space between them with words. “I'm planning to go. I love Christmas music, even the hokey stuff. My Aunt and I used to sit in her lounge and listen to the old records she had on this big, wood thing.” She held out her arms to show its size. “The center had a lid you'd lift to put the records on, and it had cloth speakers built in. I loved it. Coming from my parent's place in New York where everything had a remote and was either steel, black plastic, or glass, it was quite a difference. I used to sit on this large poof she had in front of her chair and...” She stopped when she saw a smirk on his lips and realized she was rambling again. She could feel the blush creep across her cheeks. “Why do you let me run on and on like that?”
“You're fine.” He waved it away.
Annie decided it was a good sign that he hadn't already run for the hills, or his usual corner table. She prized any time he chose to spend with her. It wasn’t like she had handsome men tripping over themselves to listen to her prattle. Alex was patient and unfailingly kind. If a part of her worried he was only humoring her, that was her cross to bear. “Do you have any plans for Christmas?”
“Pete and his wife Lauren invited me over for dinner. If nothing comes up, I'll probably go.” Strangely, Alex’s expression clouded over. She wasn’t sure what was in that look, maybe regret?
“You should go.” She urged. “Lauren's a great cook. What I wouldn't give for her talent.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow and pointed down at his cinnamon roll.
“That's baking, it's totally different. Baking is science. I follow the recipe, and it comes out every time. Cooking is an art. It takes a certain degree of creativity to be any good at it, not to mention a level of courage I apparently lack.”
He shook his head. “I don't believe it.”
“No, really, I can do eggs and a decent stir-fry, but sauces or the fancy stuff? No way. I can't even make chili. It always comes out lackluster, watery, or off somehow.”
“Bland chili is the worst. I use my mom's recipe, but I add a few things.”
“See?” She held up her hand. “That's the creativity and courage part. I wouldn't know what to add.”
“You need somebody to teach you the basics.”
Annie huffed out a laugh and lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug while her mind spun through all the possible responses. This was the moment where she could turn that opening into a witty reply about how if he was offering, she'd be happy to let him teach her. In her imagination, it wouldn't be a weird self-invite at all. He'd get it, and he'd give her one of his rare, real smiles, and they'd set up a time. Maybe it would even lead to another date, but instead of any of that she stalled, and the moment had all the time it needed to become awkward. Alex scooped up his coffee and cinnamon roll, giving her a little salute with it before heading to the corner table where, if it were like every other day, he'd sit and read while he ate. Annie tried to bury the disappointment like she had a dozen times before.
The door to the shop swung open again as Claire Murphy, her only full-time employee, swept in with another flurry of snow. “It is so pretty!” She pulled off her coat and hung it up. “The world is frosted over, not a scraggly brown bush or blade of grass to be seen.” Claire took off her knitted hat and fluffed her long, brown hair. Annie thought Claire's hair had to be secretly magic. One fluff and no static, no hat head, only gorgeous waves of shiny brown. Magic.
“You're early.”
“Hockey practice. Normally I drop the boys off and then go back to bed, but it took so long to dig the car out of the snow I didn't feel like doing it twice in one morning, since I heard we’ve got another four inches yet to fall. I figure I can help you with prep or whatever.”
“There's always something.” Annie quickly reviewed all she had planned for the week and knew there were probably a half-dozen tasks she could hand off to Claire. “Do you want to work on the menu?” She pointed to the blackboard where Coffee by the Book, the name of her shop, was written in block letters. The rest of the board was blank, waiting for the daily menu.
“Sure.” Claire inspected the bakery case. “I see we got the delivery of the usual suspects. I can price those up, easy-peasy. By the way, one of the moms on the PTO asked me if you were going to do the peppermint latte through the season, or if she had to come get her fix before they were gone.”
“That one has been super popular, which is a surprise. Coffee and mint together are gross. To be honest, I do not get the draw.”
Claire's jaw dropped open.
“You're going to say that's sacrilege, I suppose?”
“No, the real sacrilege is that you own a coffee shop that also sells books, but that you prefer tea.” Claire took a sheet of paper out of the drawer under the register and started marking down items and prices. “That's what you get for spending half your life in England. Tea is fine, but it's not coffee. Americans love their coffee.”
“Good thing, since it's our main business.”
“The books sell, sometimes.” Claire squinted at the long wall of the shop that was filled, floor to ceiling, with the books Annie had chosen. “And they're great ambiance.”
“That they are.” Annie’s attention drifted from the shelves of books to Alex who sat in the corner, hand wrapped around his coffee, reading a book.
“I see 'tall, dark, and broody' has arrived.” Claire jerked her head in Alex's direction.
Annie rolled her eyes and made sure to keep her voice low when she answered. “He's not broody, he's reserved. There's a difference.”
“Whatever he is, he's in need of a reason to smile.” Claire gave her a long look then fluttered the fingers of one hand at Annie, as if telling her to 'shoo.' “Maybe you could go discuss books or something. Don't you both read mysteries?”
“No. He likes suspense, I read mystery. It's two different things.”
“If you say so.” Claire went back to the list she was working on. “But he really is a bit too serious. It's probably why he's had trouble getting the locals to like him.”
“What game warden is popular with the hunters?”
“Pete Coleman was before he retired.”
“Pete's one of the nicest people on the planet. He practically adopted me when I first moved here. Of course, he was popular. Alex has to enforce the law, so it's only natural he'll get attitude.” Annie frowned, thinking Alex really did need to take her up on the town events she invited him too, not for herself, but to get to know the locals. “If people would give him a chance, they'd find out he has a good heart.” Annie turned to see Claire staring at her with narrowed eyes, speculation all over her face. Annie could tell she was about a half-minute from asking some very personal questions about Annie's feelings for Alex, and that would not be good.
“Hey, can you mix up a bowl of royal icing?” Annie pointed at the back room with her thumb. “I've got gingerbread men on the menu today, and they'll be cool enough to decorate soon. I need to be at the school in a few hours, so if you can give me a head start that would be great.”
“Sure,” Claire answered brightly before heading to the back. “I love decorating.”
“I know.” Annie chuckled. With disaster averted and Claire distracted, she made a plan to buzz by Alex's table. He might need a refill, or she could ask how he liked the book she'd recommended yesterday. She couldn't help but notice he was reading it today, and it looked like he was more than a few chapters in. She wondered what he did in his off time since she never saw him around town if he wasn't either on shift or about to be.
As she got ready to leave the counter and walk to his table, she saw he was in motion already. He had his phone to his ear and was heading for the door. This was a familiar sight. He often had to rush out on a call. His coat was on before he whirled to face her, still holding his phone, one hand fishing through his pocket.
“You can pay me tomorrow.” She waved him off. “Go. It's fine.”
“Got it.” He pulled the phone away from his head. “Thanks.” He waved to her as he ran out the door and into the swirling snow. She looked at the coat rack and realized he'd forgotten his scarf. She left the counter and grabbed it, but when she peered out the glass door, she could see him pulling away in his truck. It was no matter. He'd be back tomorrow. As she rehung it on the pegboard, she could smell pine needles, wool, and bergamot. She wondered if he drank Earl Grey tea like her Aunt Delia or if the bergamot was his aftershave; another puzzling detail to Warden Moretti. Despite his daily trips to her store, she felt like he was still a mystery.


Roger Cook stood about a foot too close while he stuck his index finger an inch from Alex's face and continued to shout. His face was a spectacular shade of red, beyond florid and headed for heart-attack scarlet. Alex waited for the man to either run out of steam or throw a punch. It could go either way. The facts of the situation were undeniable. His snowmobile wasn't registered, and he'd been operating it on private land. Alex had gotten the call from the landowner during the hour he usually reserved for hanging out at Annie's, and he wasn't happy about it. All that was saving Roger from being slapped into cuffs and sitting in the back of his truck was the fact that Alex knew Roger wasn't really angry at him. From the scattering of previous years' registration stickers on the sled, Roger had probably realized that he could have avoided this drama by registering it as usual.
Alex had stopped Roger at the mouth of the trail and let him know the landowner had closed this path and it was posted. He had planned to let the guy off with a warning, but the unregistered snow machine turned this into a situation. He knew Roger was angry at himself and taking it out on Alex because nobody likes to be stupid. Knowing this made Alex calm. He could let the guy scream himself hoarse if that made him feel better about the ticket.
Roger spluttered to a stop as a car pulled up. A disheveled woman got out from the driver's side. It looked to Alex like she'd thrown a parka over her pajamas. As she stomped closer, he saw the pajama bottoms had little bunnies on them. Her feet were stuffed into a pair of unlaced boots, and a knit hat was shoved down over her long, brown hair. She rolled right up to Alex and got in his face despite being about a foot shorter. The pom-pom on the top of her hat bobbled as she yelled at him.
“What's going on? Roger called me saying you're towing him?”
Between her getup and the way she was defending what he assumed was her husband, it was hard not to smile.
Roger stepped in between them. “Lucy, chill.” Roger seemed to have found his calm. “I thought the snowmobile was registered this year, but I guess I forgot. No big deal.” He shrugged. “My fault, babe.” Roger's tone was placating.
“I told you to get that thing registered.” Lucy wasn't chill. She didn't seem interested in being calm either. She had her arms crossed over her chest, her anger directed at Roger now.
“I know, I know. I said I forgot.”
Instead of telling him off, Lucy seemed to deflate slightly. Her shoulders slumped a little, and her tone changed. “Like you forgot to order oil yesterday?” Her head tilted to the side, and her face softened. “I told you to let me take care of this stuff for you. You're working killer hours, Roger. You can't do it all.”
Roger glanced over at Alex and drew his wife away a few feet. Alex pulled out his notebook and mindlessly scribbled trying to make it clear he wasn't going to listen. He watched though, and after only a minute or two he saw Roger nod. Lucy reached up to him and placed her hand against his cheek, her thumb stroking his whiskered cheek. It was a small gesture, but Alex was moved by it all the same.
“Hey,” Alex called over to them. “Do you live close by?”
Roger looked up and nodded. “Number seven Oak. Two streets over.”
“Okay.” Alex radioed in and canceled the tow. “Here's what we’ll do. You're going home and getting online. Go to this web address.” He wrote it out. “And get this machine registered. Then you'll email me a screenshot of it.” He added his email address to the paper before tearing it from his notebook and handing it to Roger.
“Seriously? Thank you.” Roger seemed both shocked and pleased.
“You get that done, and we're good. You don't, and I'll be at your door before the end of my shift with your summons.” Alex raised the citation he'd been about to write so Roger could see it. “Have a good day, folks.” He nodded first to Lucy and then to Roger and strode to his truck. He followed them for a bit to be sure they made it home. Once they arrived, he drove around the corner and up the long driveway to the house of the landowner who had called about Roger zooming over his fields. Once out of his truck, he waded through the snow that had yet to be cleared from the walk and up to the front door. He didn't need to knock since the homeowner was right there, waiting for him.
“I assume the situation is resolved?” The man was older, probably in his sixties, dressed in a cardigan sweater and wearing LL Bean slippers. His accent hinted that he wasn't a local product. He sounded like a transplant from Massachusetts.
“I know you said that the land is posted, but there's no sign at the head of the trail or at the exit at the road. I can help you with that if you’d like. I've got a few signs in my truck and can hang them for you. That would go a long way to keeping the ATVs and snowmobiles out.”
The man shook his head. “No. Thank you. I wanted Cook to know he has to stay off my land. I can deal with the occasional trail rider.”
“Uh, okay.” That was odd, but Roger was this guy's neighbor, and if there was one thing Alex had learned in his six months on the job, it was that neighbors made the best enemies. “Give us a call if you need us again.” Alex backed away, and the man shut the door in his face. He brushed off the insult since it was a rare one. Most of the time landowners were glad to have help. As Alex got into his truck and drove away, he thought over the call. He rarely gave anyone the kind of pass he had given Roger. For some reason, seeing his wife pull up and defend her husband had stirred something inside. He wondered what it would be like to have someone on his side like that. A 'ride or die' partner for life.
Annie would be that kind of partner. He thought about the first time he'd met her. He'd walked into the shop to order a coffee and had been rendered speechless when she'd looked up at him with those lavender eyes. She was short but built like a perfect hourglass. Annie had projected a kind of strength and kindness combined. He was left staring at her, taking in her heart-shaped face surrounded by black curls. He often wondered if it was natural or if she walked around her apartment in curlers. He smiled at the thought. Not that he was likely to ever be close enough to her to know. A stab of regret hit his gut. Annie needed, no she deserved, a good guy, a man who had a life he could be proud of. Alex was not that man.
“Shake it off.” He'd told himself a hundred times that it was probably stupid to keep showing up every morning, ordering coffee, and eating whatever she'd made, pretending she'd made it with him in mind, but he couldn't stop. It was the one comfort he allowed himself. Every day he'd wait at the table until she came by with a refill or with a book recommendation. She'd sit across from him, and he'd pretend that they were indeed friends, or something more, something infinitely better. It never lasted, but if life had taught one lesson, it had taught him that nothing good ever did.

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