Fern’s Date with Destiny: A Heart Falls Novella by Vivian Arend

Author:Vivian Arend [Arend, Vivian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The snick of Fern’s Bluetooth stylus whispered through the gallery’s upper rooms. Below, Chance’s voice drifted up now and then as he led a small school group past the new landscape series. Outside, Heart Falls slogged through an unexpected mid-December drizzle. Neither snow nor rain, just enough slush to smear the windows and grey the sky.

Fern forced herself to focus on the layout proofs for the spring art auction pamphlet. She highlighted an entire paragraph, deleted it, rewrote it, deleted it again.

Cody hadn’t texted in three days.

Not since she’d sent him a dumb selfie. Her wrapped in a scarf with frost on her eyelashes, teasing him to come rescue her from freezing in the parking lot. Normally he’d fire back some smart remark. Instead…

Nothing.

Downstairs, the front door chimed and soft laughter mixed with the hush of December wind. A few minutes later, Chance’s shoes thudded up the stairs.

He ducked under a hanging display of dried paper lanterns and propped himself against her desk. His expression was soft but edged in that big-brother caution Fern had learned to spot.

“Got a sec, sunshine?”

“Always.” She twisted her stylus between her fingers, heart picking up speed. “What’s up? If it’s about the promo⁠—”

“It’s not gallery stuff.”

Chance dragged a stool over, flipped it backward, and straddled it, arms folded over the backrest. He looked every inch a scruffy Irish artist. Paint under his fingernails, hair barely tamed by a halfhearted tie at his nape.

He didn’t look like a hammer blow, but that’s what his next words felt like .

“Cody’s gone home for Christmas.”

Fern stared. “Home— you mean Red Boot? Or Toronto⁠—”

Chance’s eyes softened. “Ireland.”

The stylus slipped from her fingers, clattering on her tablet. “What? When?”

“He flew out this morning.”

A rush of confusion and something cold crawled up her neck. “Why didn’t he say— I mean, he didn’t⁠—”

“He didn’t tell you,” Chance finished gently. “Aye. I told him he was a feckin’ eejit for it. For the record.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

“For how long?” she asked, her voice smaller than she liked.

Chance shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t say. Maybe a couple weeks. Maybe more.”

For a moment, the bright lights of the loft seemed to flicker. A pulse behind her eyes she blamed on the gallery lighting. She blinked until the room sharpened again.

“I thought—” She bit the inside of her cheek. You thought what, Fern? That he was too happy to leave you? She’d made a wrong assumption at some point.

Chance must have read every word of her silence. He reached across the desk, brushing his knuckles against hers.

“I’ve known for a while, you know.”

Her breath hitched. “Known what?”

“That you two are daft about each other.” His grin creased the corners of his eyes. “It’s not exactly subtle, little sister. Well, not to me, anyway.”

Fern laughed, except it cracked in the middle and turned into something watery. “Does Rose know? About us being daft?”

“No. Which surprises me because she’s usually more aware of things of the heart.” Chance gave Fern’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Your reasons to stay quiet are your reasons.

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