Christmas Eve Love Story

Seventeen

A few hours later, Annie stood at her stove using Leo as her culinary consultant. He sat watching her from the living room after becoming bored with his tiny chipmunk toy. “What do you think, Leo? Not enough chili powder?”

He meowed.

“All right,” she said. “We’ll try it.” She added another dash of the ingredient and stirred her wooden spoon in the pot. She grabbed a fresh teaspoon from a drawer, taking another sample. The chili was hot and smelled aromatically delicious. She slurped carefully. Flavors burst onto her tongue. This was so much better than yesterday’s. Yum! “Your idea about adding a pinch of cinnamon was genius.”

Leo blinked as if to say, “You’re welcome.”

Though it really wasn’t his idea at all. Her mom’s recipe was amazing, but suddenly Annie was spurred to arrive at one of her own. It was a little like her window designs. She sometimes took inspiration from what other visual artists did. Though her displays were unique, it was informative to see how others put their windows together. Their individual twists encouraged her to come up with her own themes. Just like she was doing with this chili recipe. She’d stayed up late poring over recipes online, getting to bed just before midnight.

She paused in her work, setting the wooden spoon on a spoon rest.

Of course! That’s what she should do!

Stay up until midnight.

Annie groaned. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? That way she’d break through into Christmas. Yes. And tomorrow would be another day!

Annie turned off the gas burner, believing the chili was just right. Not too spicy, but with exactly the right amount of heat. She couldn’t wait to take it to Harrington, and when she did, he was so appreciative.

As she gave him her phone number to call when he was ready to return the casserole dish, she said, “Maybe you should put my number in your wallet?”

He leaned into his walker, seeming perplexed. “I won’t be taking your chili pot with me to the market.”

She smiled. “No, but you never know? Maybe you’ll be out somewhere, and—” She’d been about to say “need help,” but that would only make him feel helpless, which he wasn’t. Besides that, Harrington was clearly a proud man.

“And?” His forehead creased below his short-shorn gray hair.

“Need something,” she said. “Say. If you’re on a trip. Visiting your brother or something, and want to know what the weather is like back home?”

“That’s what the weather forecast is for.”

“Those are sometimes local.” She knew he didn’t own a smart phone or a computer, so he could hardly check the weather on those.

“If I didn’t know better, young lady, I’d say you were hitting on me.” He held a mischievous gleam in his eye, and Annie knew he was joking.

She smirked. “I’ve always liked mature men.”

“In that case, I’m right in that category.”

“Come on now.” She handed him her number on a piece of paper. “Keep it with you. Just in case. You might get stuck somewhere. Need someone to call a car.”

“Seems to me I could do that rather than phone you.”

“Harrington, please take this. And call me. If you need anything. I mean it. I’m in and out of here almost every day for work, and—even during my days off—it’s easy enough for me to run a quick errand.” She passed him the paper, and he took it. “There’s no need for you to go all the way to the store if I can grab something for you when I’m there anyway.” Annie was aware there were grocery services that delivered, but they were pricey, and it seemed Harrington lived on a budget.

“It’s good for me to get out,” he said, being stubborn. “That’s how I keep my youthful figure.”

She cocked an eyebrow, and he relented.

He folded the piece of paper with her number on it and tucked it in his wallet. “Thanks for this,” he said, waving his wallet in the air before sliding it into his hip pocket. “And thanks for the chili too. I know I’ll enjoy it.”

“What did you do?” she asked him, curious. “For a job back when you worked?”

He smiled proudly. “I was a conductor for the MTA.”

“You drove the trains?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I did. For a good forty years.”

She noted a framed black-and-white photo of a young couple on an end table by the sofa. Wait. That face. She glanced at Harrington. That was him—years younger. With a broad smile and beaming dark eyes. The woman with him was gorgeous.

“That’s me with my Gracie,” he said, seeing her eyes on the picture. “She was my everything.”

Annie’s heart ached at how he’d said that.

Harrington hung his head. “Lost her six years ago in May. Mother’s Day weekend too.”

“I’m so sorry. Did you and she—?”

Harrington peered up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “No kids. We wanted them. But life?” He shrugged. “Had other plans.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She was a very gifted woman,” he said. “Worked at Our Savior of Peace as their administrative assistant. She also played the organ.”

“How nice. Did she sing?”

He appeared lost in a happy fog. “Beautifully.”

“May I?” she said, asking permission to pick up the picture.

“Go right ahead.”

She admired the couple and how happy they seemed, a well-matched pair. “How about you?” she asked, looking up. “Did you sing too?”

“Not so much.” Harrington chuckled. “I tried joining the choir, but they asked me to leave.”

Annie gasped. “You’re kidding?”

“The choir director was very serious about the music there.”

Annie couldn’t believe it. “I know, but still.”

“It’s all right.” He grinned. “I’d only done it to capture Gracie’s attention anyway. That’s how we met—in church.”

So this was historic data. “How long ago was this?”

“Ooh.” He tapped his chin. “Going on fifty years now.”

Annie teasingly chided him. “So you were hitting on her .”

“I suppose I was.” He chuckled. “In a godly way.”

Annie carefully set the photo back on the end table. “Maybe the Man Upstairs had something to do with getting you two together?”

“Hmm. Maybe?” He smiled. “That’s what Gracie and I always believed.”

Annie knew she had to go. She wanted to see Eric in the hall and be ready when Bea came by later. She really liked Harrington though. He was such a nice man.

“Thanks, Annie.” When she opened the door, he stopped her. “You really are some kind of angel, you know.”

But she knew that she wasn’t. Not really. She was merely being a good neighbor, something she maybe should have thought of being before. She nearly missed Eric as he ducked in his door, holding his stash of mail. “Oh hey!” she said. “Good to see you.”

“Oh yeah, Annie. You too.” He stared at the door behind her. “Checking on Harrington?”

“Yeah. Took him some supper.”

“That was nice. How’s he doing?”

“Better than before.”

Eric nodded, preparing to go.

“Eric!”

He peered over his shoulder.

“What was your favorite treat on Christmas morning?”

“That’s easy,” he said. “Cinnamon rolls.”

Great. That gave Annie an idea.

***

She got ready for bed that night, humming a happy Christmas tune. While she’d not made it out of the time loop, she’d made the most of each day, to the extent of her abilities. Leo snuggled down on the covers, and Annie reached into her closet for the extra pillows she kept on her closet shelf. A canvas caught her eye in the darkened corner. The painting was one of her dad’s, and he’d made it years ago when she was a girl. The colorful oil stood seventeen inches tall by twelve inches wide and was whimsical in its own way. Her dad had painted her Christmas snow globe, and tiny snowflakes drifted inside it. The sign in the snowy white yard said: Believe .

Annie hadn’t dared to dwell on it for years. And yet, it had been impossible to part with this gift from her dad’s heart. She reached for the frame with trembling fingers and lifted the piece out of the closet, setting it on her desk, propped against the wall. Hurt welled in Annie’s throat and in her eyes. When she’d gotten that special snow globe for Christmas, she’d loved it dearly, believing with her whole heart that it had been made for her by Santa’s elves. But it was made from real glass and not plastic, and she was worried sick she might break it.

Having a kind and sensitive heart, her dad had created a special painting capturing the essence of the snow globe, so that—no matter what happened throughout the years—the lovely image would always be hers. He’d given it to her the morning that he and her mom went out with Aunt Susan and Uncle Bob to the show. “If anything ever really does happen to your snow globe, Annie,” her dad had said, “you’ll always have this.” He’d winked, and his longish dark hair had dipped forward.

Her dad held out his arms, and nine-year-old Annie raced toward him, getting embraced in his big, strong hug. He smelled of sandalwood and sawdust. Apart from painting oils, he did woodturning too. “I love you, Annie”—he lightly stroked her hair—“and always will.”

Her eyes filled hot to brimming.

Annie sniffed and grabbed a tissue from her nightstand, wiping her tears.

“Don’t cry, Annie.” It was her mom’s voice, soft and faint like the distant tinkling of sleigh bells. “We’re here.” Annie clutched her hands to her chest and stared around the room.

“Mom? Dad?” Her voice trembled.

Leo lifted his head from his spot on the covers, but all she heard was the fierce whistling wind blustering up against the window.

“Yeah, boy”—she blew out a breath—“I need some rest.”

But she wasn’t going to sleep before midnight, because now more than ever she wanted to get through to Christmas Day—so she could text Tina and do something nice for her neighbors. Move past those boys trashing her window design and find a way to salvage her career. And maybe, just maybe, develop a future with Braden. She felt a sharp tug on her heartstrings. Oddly, she was going to miss their store Santa. But he never worked after Christmas Eve, for obvious reasons.

Annie considered her dad’s painting. Though she’d had it in her childhood room at Grandma Mable’s, she’d never put it up here. Maybe she’d bring it into the living room tomorrow and leave it out for the whole day. It would be a way to keep her parents present, and maybe it was time. She fluffed a couple of pillows against the headboard, settling in to read the new book she’d borrowed from the library. It was a rom-com like those films she liked to watch. That made her think of Braden.

What if they were meant to be together after all this craziness ended? Even if her repeat Christmas Eves never stopped, she ached to continue seeing him again. He was so tender and caring in a way that made her feel more positive about the world. Like she could conquer any calamity and maybe even finally get her own merry Christmas after all.