A New Year Reunion
Part Two of Christmas in the alps
The air near the cheese stall was sharp and damp, carrying the scent of winter rain and aged cheddar. Kerra, bundled in her favourite brown wool coat, was examining a selection of artisanal bread when the light shifted. Not the sun—it was the sudden, magnetic presence of a history she had carefully filed away.
She looked up. A few aisles away, heading toward the flower merchants, was Doogan.
He was the same yet slightly altered—a sharper outline around eyes that had seen too much, perhaps. He was dressed in tailored grey, exuding the effortless confidence of a man accustomed to having his way in the world. He moved with grace that drew glances even in the bustling, familiar chaos of the local market.
As he turned, seemingly sensing her gaze across the milling crowd, their eyes met. His face, initially neutral, cracked into a slow, meaningful smile. He altered his trajectory instantly, weaving through shoppers and prams until he stood directly before her.
“Hello, long time no see,” Doogan said, his voice deep and smooth, resonating with the echo of snow-capped mountains and shared secrets.
Kerra gripped the baguette tighter. The intervening year had done little to dull the memory of their strange, intense connection forged in the luxurious isolation of an Austrian ski resort—a connection overshadowed by tragedy.
“Hello, Doogan, how are you?” Kerra replied, her voice steady despite the hammering pulse in her throat.
“I’m ok.” He paused, his gaze searching hers, looking for something he seemed to remember.
Kerra couldn’t help but touch the raw nerve of their shared past. “It must be challenging for you this time of year.”
A flicker of bewilderment crossed his features. “Why?”
“Well, with what happened last Christmas in Austria.” The mention of Mary-Lyn’s demise hung heavy between them—the beautiful, enigmatic wife who had died under mysterious circumstances.
“Ohhh, Yes,” he conceded, the single word weighted with an unreadable mix of sorrow and perhaps, evasion.
Kerra watched him closely. His composure rankled her. Mary-Lyn had been laid to rest a year ago, but Doogan seemed remarkably unburdened. Although the official ruling had been an accident, Kerra, like many others, had harboured lingering doubts about how swiftly Doogan had moved on. Had he loved her at all? Or worse, had he played a part in her fate? Kerra felt a professional urge—the instinct of a woman who wanted facts—but submerged it under social niceties.
He leaned slightly closer, dropping his voice. “Kerra, I know this is sudden, but… would you have dinner with me tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Kerra raised an eyebrow. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Are you not busy?”
He looked surprised, then sheepish. “No, ohm, I never thought. Are you going out with your friends?”
“I am, actually. Alice, Toni-Ann, and Amy have a dinner and club night planned.”
A shadow of disappointment crossed his face, quickly replaced by determination. “Oh. Well, what about New Year’s Day then? The world will be quiet, and we could actually talk.”
Kerra hesitated for a moment, weighing the sensible urge to keep her distance against the undeniable tug of curiosity and attraction. The danger he represented was intoxicating. “Yes, alright,” she heard herself say. “That would be nice.”
New Year’s Eve was a blur of sequins, laughter, and expensive champagne. Kerra, Alice, Toni-Ann, and Amy partied until the early hours. The air thrummed with the joyous, reckless energy of a fresh start. Kerra was celebrating, living fully in the moment, yet Doogan intruded on her thoughts, a persistent, compelling phantom.
She kept picturing the elegant line of his jaw and the gravity in his eyes when he spoke of Austria. She tried to justify her decision to accept the date—it was just dinner, after all. But deep down, she knew she wanted answers, and perhaps, she also wanted to see if the chemistry that had sparked a year ago was still volatile.
The following afternoon, New Year’s Day, dawned crisp and bright, washing the town in clean winter sunshine. At five o’clock, the roar of a powerful engine vibrated through Kerra’s quiet street. Doogan was early.
He arrived in a sleek, obsidian Masadis, a car that spoke of unrestrained wealth and impeccable taste. He looked impossibly handsome in an immaculate charcoal suit, offering her a genuine, unguarded smile that instantly melted away her reservations.
They drove to a secluded Italian restaurant on the outskirts of the city, a place of dimmed lights, rich leather, and the tempting scent of truffle oil.
The conversation flowed instantly, effortlessly. They skirted the immediate past, focusing instead on shared ambitions. They discovered they were both intensely career-minded, driven by a desire for mastery and structure. Kerra spoke of her work in international finance; Doogan discussed his global investments. They laughed easily, their hands occasionally brushing across the small, linen-draped table. It felt less like a first date and more like picking up a suspended conversation.
But as the main course arrived, Kerra knew she couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room—or the ghost.
“Doogan,” she began, setting her fork down. “I appreciate you asking me out, and I’ve really enjoyed this evening. But I need to ask you about Mary-Lyn. I need to know what sort of man I’m having dinner with.”
His easy demeanour tightened instantly. He took a slow sip of wine, his eyes serious as he studied the rim of the glass. “I knew you would ask this. I wished you wouldn’t, but I understand why you must.”
He sighed, the sound heavy. “Mary-Lyn was really good to me, Kerra. She was beautiful, smart, and a fierce ally. But she knew I never loved her. Our marriage was a business arrangement, a merger of assets and influence.”
Kerra’s breath hitched. “A business arrangement?”
“Yes. We were effective partners. And I swear to you, Kerra, I wished her no harm. Whatever happened in Austria was a terrible tragedy, a genuine accident. I mourned the loss of my partner, and yes, my friend. But I did not mourn a love that never existed.”
The honesty, brutal and direct, was compelling. It didn’t fully negate the mystery, but it explained the speed of his recovery.
He then reached across the table, his fingers gently covering hers. The contact was warm and utterly grounding.
“What I didn’t anticipate last Christmas was meeting you,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. “I spent that week watching you, talking to you, realizing what real chemistry felt like. And I realized that if I were ever going to feel something real, it would be with you.”
He looked directly into her eyes, the gravity of his expression silencing the bustling restaurant around them.
“I have fallen for you, Kerra. And I have been looking for you ever since, we both left the hotel in Austria. This meeting today was not a coincidence. I found out where you
were, and I came here specifically to pursue a meaningful relationship with you. I want to start over, with you, now that the past is finally behind me.”
Kerra’s heart, which had been wary and analytical moments before, surrendered. His confession was bold, romantic, and startlingly straightforward. The ghost of Austria still lingered in the air, but the weight of his gaze, the sincerity of his words, and the undeniable resonance between them were too powerful to ignore.
In the quiet elegance of the Italian restaurant on the first day of the new year, Kerra smiled back, a slow, hopeful warmth spreading through her chest. The memory of the snow-covered mystery faded, replaced by the thrilling uncertainty of a future with this complex, compelling man.
“New Year’s Day,” she whispered. “A good day for a beginning.”
Thank You for Reading
Deborah C. Langley
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