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A Christmas Delight 13. Chapter Thirteen 41%
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13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Joel

M aisie stays quiet for a while. My heart pounds uncomfortably against my ribcage. I shared too much. I let myself imagine, just for a moment, that there could be something between us. That I wasn’t imagining it. But when I look at her, so pure and full of joy, I can’t allow myself to get close to her. I would stain her with who I am. She doesn’t want to get involved with anyone anyway.

“Can I eat my donut now?” she asks.

I hand her one of the red-glazed donuts, and bite into my own. A groan of pleasure escapes me, I can’t help it. Maisie laughs.

“I could eat these until I die,” I tell her. “It’s like a drug.”

“Sorry, I guess. But also, thanks.”

I glance at her through my glasses. I purposefully kept those on because I’m afraid my eyes will betray me, and she’ll see things I don’t want to show. I bite back on a smile. “You have icing at the corner of your mouth.”

Maisie looks at me, her mouth full, still chewing. She doesn’t wipe it away. “You have some in your beard.”

“No, I don’t.”

In one quick motion, she reaches over and brushes her thumb over my upper lip, then shows me the icing staining her finger.

“That’s nothing,” I say. “You should see yours.” I wipe the corner of her mouth before she can pull away. “Are you trying to wear it as lipstick or something?”

She giggles, holding a hand over her mouth, and her laughter gets to me. I have laughed more this morning than the past few years. Something is tugging at my chest. A thing that made me get up early this morning to get Maisie her favorite donut. The thing that made me want to cut her Christmas tree for her. And now this thing is wanting me to open my mouth and talk to her about things I’ve been trying to forget.

Maisie’s laugh is dying down, and she turns back to the view, a smile still clinging to her mouth.

I take my sunglasses off. “She cheated on me.”

Maisie’s head snaps back in my direction.

“The woman I almost married. I made a few friends over there. This guy, Noah, and I became buddies. Really good friends. She cheated on me with him. For months. And when I found out, she almost succeeded in convincing me that it was my fault.” I exhale, pausing. “That’s what happened. So, I called the wedding off.”

Her green eyes are fixed on me, her gaze roving over my face. “That must have been really hard. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Not as bad as being offered shapewear, though.”

“There’s no going back from that. The trauma is real.”

I hold out my hands, weighing the options. “Being cheated on, getting shapewear for Christmas. Really, I’m the lucky one.”

Maisie laughs softly, though the smile doesn’t stick to her face very long. “I wonder why someone would insist on staying with a person they don’t like. You can’t love someone, or even like them and respect them if you can cheat on them for months while planning your wedding. I honestly don’t get it.”

“I wish I knew.”

“I guess that’s the reason I didn’t have long-lasting relationships. These guys, they just didn’t like me. Didn’t like who I am.”

The words escape my mouth before I can stop them. “I like you.”

We look at each other. We’re sitting closer together than I thought.

“At first, I thought you kinda hated me,” she says finally. “Or found me annoying, at the very least.”

This stings me a little. I came off as aloof and unsympathetic. My social skills aren’t as polished as Brent’s are, and I hate to think that Maisie thought she was to blame for my standoffish behavior. “No. Never.”

“Not even when I almost broke into your house?”

“I was caught off guard, that’s all. And your key wouldn’t have opened the door anyway. No big deal.”

A soft smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “What about when you found out I was the owner of the donut shop?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know. You made a face. As though you weren’t expecting to see someone like me.”

I think back to that moment. I can see how once again, I seemed rude. “I was surprised, that’s true. That someone as young as you and Nina could open their own business. It’s admirable.”

If I leaned over, just a few inches, I could kiss her. Every fiber of my body is longing to do so. I thought I was imagining things, but Maisie doesn’t move, still looking at me softly. No one has looked at me like that in a long time, if ever.

Her phone beeps, breaking the spell. Maisie turns away to read a text. I inhale and exhale quietly, gazing at the view and pretending I wasn’t just about to kiss her.

“It’s my mom,” she says. “She just figured out I’m not at work. Gonna get an earful when I get home.”

“How long is she staying?”

“Undetermined, unfortunately. She and my stepdad had a fight, and she showed up at my door one night. Couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Couldn’t you?”

She shrugs, a sheepish smile on her face. “She’s my mom. What am I supposed to do, kick her out?”

I make no reply. She’s in a tough spot. I would never turn Dad away if he needed help or support. That said, Dad never threw a fit over a Christmas tree or embarrassed me in public.

“We don’t have much in common,” she keeps going. “But I would like nothing more than to connect with her in some way, you know? I’ve tried liking the things she likes, but I can’t say she did the same for me. Instead, I get judgements thrown in my face.” Maisie turns to me suddenly, a finger raised at me. “By the way, my house is not a pigsty, like she would have you believe.”

A chuckle escapes me. “I never thought it was.”

“It’s bad enough that she says these things to me, but I hate when she puts me on the spot like that in front of someone else.”

I nod, giving her space to speak. It makes me feel good, listening to her. I like that she feels like she can talk to me.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m rambling about my mother on such a good day,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s alright. Ramble away.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about her anymore.” Maisie sighs, crossing her legs. “I just wonder when she’s going to be home. I was hoping I could decorate my tree while she was still out.”

“Is she out now?”

“Yeah. She just popped by the shop. She said on her text that she was going to eat lunch somewhere.”

“We better hurry, then.”

She raises her eyebrows at me. “What do you mean?”

“If we leave now, we’ll have time to install your tree before she gets home. You may even be able to decorate it. Or most of it.”

That soft smile of hers illuminates her face. “I’ll go faster if I have help.”

“You have it.”

We gather the cooler and the blanket. I put my jacket back on, chilled by staying immobile this whole time. During the trip back home, we talk about other things—Christmas, my dad and my brother, Nina and Andy—and I make sure I tune back to the radio station that plays Christmas songs. I couldn’t care less about these songs, some are even annoying, but Maisie likes them.

“How can I help?” she says after I parked my pickup truck.

I open the trunk and give her one of the stands I brought. “Take this. I can handle the tree. Just open your door.”

She watches me hauling the tree inside, barely containing her excitement, her eyes sparkling.

“Where do you want it?” I ask.

“In the corner near the window. That way I’ll face it when I knit.”

I lean the tree against the wall, glancing at the big armchair she pointed at. There’s a bag with red and white yarn spilling out of it, needles stuck in it. With just one glance around the space, it’s clear Maisie’s mother was making things up, or exaggerating at the very least. My place is messier than this. The only thing vaguely disorderly is the knitting bag.

I get to work on the tree. It takes me all but a few minutes to install it in its stand.

“Should I put water already?” Maisie asks.

“Not yet. Better decorate it first, and then move it exactly where you want it. Once you know you won’t move it anymore, you can water it.”

“Okay. I’ll get my boxes.”

Maisie trots out of the living room. She didn’t ask for help, but since she said ‘boxes,’ plural, I decide to follow her so I can give her a hand. We come back with two big boxes of Christmas decorations that we set on the couch.

“I need to put some Christmas music on. Unless it annoys you. I don’t have to, really—”

“Go for it,” I say.

She doesn’t wait a second, and soon, Christmas music fills the space. We start with putting the lights on. I follow her around the tree with the garland rolled up while her fingers work at placing each light where it’s supposed to go. Then, we get to the ornaments. I bite back on a smile when she opens the box. I don’t know what else I was expecting, classic ornaments aren’t her style. Instead, the tree gets filled with gingerbread men, snowflakes, bows, candy canes, penguins, and other cute things.

I initially didn’t intend to stay and decorate with her. It’s her tree, and I assumed she’d want to decorate it on her own, but I end up having way more fun than I thought I would. It reminds me of when we’d put up the decorations with my family, when my mom was still here.

“Every year we’d go chop a tree with my parents when I was a kid,” I hear myself say as I hang a candy cane. “Brent and I were always on a mission to find the biggest tree that we could. And our parents let us do it.”

Maisie pauses what she’s doing, her gentle eyes finding me. “That sounds awesome.”

“It was.”

“So, there was a time you cared about Christmas.”

I gaze at the tree. “My mom was a bit like you. Always excited about all these things. We were too.” I turn to the box to find something new to hang, my fingers shaking slightly.

“Where is she now? Your mom?” Maisie asks, her voice soft.

“She died,” I say, avoiding eye-contact as I hang a colorful sock. “Breast cancer.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s awful. How old were you?”

“Thirteen. Brent was ten.”

A small gasp catches in her throat, and her hand flutters to her chest. I usually avoid talking about it. It’s a scar that’s never really healed. But today, under Maisie’s compassionate gaze, it’s soothing. Therapeutic, almost.

“My dad kept taking us to the mountain every year to chop down our tree, but it was never the same for any of us. Especially when we’d get home, and she wasn’t here to blast Christmas music and make cookies. But my dad did his best to keep all the traditions going.” A smile tugs at my lips. “We could never get our lights to look right though.”

She chuckles, though her eyes are a bit misty, and I hope I didn’t ruin the mood. “Those are precious memories.”

I nod. Today, they don’t hurt as much as they usually do. “What do you put at the top of the tree?”

Maisie reaches inside one of the boxes and pulls out a big, sparkly, golden bow. “This thing.”

“Need help putting it up?”

“Um…” She hesitates, eyeing me, then one of the dining chairs, weighing her options. “A part of me wants to do it, the other is wondering if me standing on a chair isn’t the worst idea, considering what happened the other day.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“I have a feeling it happens to me more often than others. Maybe you should do it.”

“Well, there’s always the third option.”

She cocks an eyebrow at me. “And what’s that?”

“Stand here.” I make her face the tree and stand behind her. My heart beats harder against my ribcage as my arms circle just below her waist, and I lift her off the ground.

She lets out a little surprised yelp followed by laughter, her hand gripping my arms. “You’re gonna break your back!”

“I’ve lifted a lot heavier.”

Maisie laughs again and raises her arms to tie the bow to the top of the tree. I could stay like this all day, her body pressed against mine, but after a handful of seconds, she announces she’s done. I put her down gently, and we admire her work.

“You know, it’s funny,” she says. “I was planning on making cookies after that. I’ll give you some if you stick around a little bit longer.”

“Is that because of what I said? You don’t have to do that—”

“I’m not making them for you, I promise. I genuinely want to make some. But if I eat them all, my mother will give me the side eye and call me chubby. So, help a girl out?”

My irritation at Maisie’s mother is ever growing. “Alright, I got you.”

“Great. I’ll get started.” She rushes to the kitchen and starts putting ingredients together.

While the cookies are in the oven, she serves me a cup of coffee, and we talk, me sitting on the stool on one side of the kitchen island, her standing on the other side. The smell that fills the kitchen is enough to make my mouth water, and as I watch Maisie, my mind wanders around, imagining what it would be like to live with her. Today gave me a glimpse of what I thought I’d never want or need again. To have a connection with someone. I don’t want it to end.

It does end, however, when the front door opens and clicking footsteps fill the foyer. Maisie’s demeanor instantly changes. Her fingers around her mug tighten. She keeps a smile on her face, but it has nothing to do with the genuine one she had on just a few seconds ago.

And just like that, our day of fun is over.

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