Christmas in Bruges
âItâs a fairyland,â Paula whispered.
It was two days before Christmas. She was sitting in Café Terrastje, a cozy bistro lit entirely by candlelight, eating the best lasagna sheâd ever tasted, a glass of excellent red wine next to her plate. Her table was beside the window, and she had the perfect view of what had to be the most perfect part of Bruges. Great flakes of snow drifted down to the cobblestone street while, gracing the branches of every tree, a million white fairy lights sparkled, their reflections dancing on the canal.
âExcuse me. I donât mean to interrupt, but isnât the line really, âItâs an effing fairylandâ? Pardon my language.â
Deep and rich with a playful edge, his voice was familiar. Familiar in a good way, reminding her of someone sheâd always dreamed of seeing again but had lost all hope of re-encountering long ago.
But it couldnât be. Not here in Bruges.
She looked up, feeling a rush of excitement, a shiver that had nothing to do with the blast of cold air as he closed the door behind him. Brushing the snow out of his dark hair, he smiled down at her. That was familiar too.
Then his eyes caught the candlelight, and she knew it had to be him. There couldnât be two men on this planet with eyes quite that shade of green.
A sunlit forest
, sheâd told him, looking into them for the first time.
Thatâs what they remind me of . . .
Heâd laughed.
I think youâre in love . . .
âJames?â His name came readilyâit was never far away, as much as sheâd tried to forget it. Still, sheâd forgotten how absolutely sexy he was. Or had the years made him sexier?
He smiled even wider. âI saw you through the window watching the snow fall. I recognized you instantly, though I swear youâre even more beautiful than Iâd remembered. I had to come in. I hope thatâs okay.â
âOf course! I canât believe weâre in Bruges at the same time. What are the chances? Itâs been, what, eight years since . . .?â
âNine, but whoâs counting? Itâs so wonderful to see you, Paula. And you really do look amazing.â
âYou look pretty terrific yourself. What brings you to Belgium?â
âThat line you said, about Bruges being a fairyland. Thatâs from
In Bruges
, right? Thatâs why Iâm here. I saw the movie and decided I had to come for Christmas.â
âItâs why Iâm here too. I could hardly pay attention to the story, I was so distracted by the scenery: the medieval buildings, the canals, the lights. I like how Bruges acts as one of the characters, a serene and peaceful contrast to the violence . . .â She trailed off, thinking she was sounding like a freshman arts student.
But thatâs what Paula had been when they first met. She, from Toronto, was studying drama at New York University, while he, from New Jersey and four years older, was in his first year of medical school there. Her very first boyfriend. They spent Friday nights making love and watching movies together, entwined on her couch drinking cheap red wine.
She wondered if she should remind him of this. Instead, she looked out the window at the snow dusting the stone gargoyles on the building opposite.
âRemember all the movies we watched together?â he asked. âWe tried hard to be intellectual in our tastes, but it really was the action films we enjoyed best. I never dreamed youâd get the same idea. A Christmas miracle, I think.â
The door opened behind him with a jingle, and he moved aside. âHey, about time,â the owner called out to the newcomers. âCome and try my eggnog!â
âWeâre going to do more than try it,â one of the group replied. Leaving the door ajar, they stomped the snow off their boots and joined the owner at the bar. Paula had discovered the bistro on her first night