Christmas Eve Love Story

Twenty-One

Braden sat back in his chair. “All right”—he looked at her warily—“I’m listening.”

Annie got up and closed the door partway, leaving it open enough that anyone passing by wouldn’t think anything of it. She couldn’t have her fellow employees thinking she and Braden had something going on, because—uh, they didn’t—except for in her mind. Oh, if only I can convince him.

“Braden,” she said, returning to her chair. She spoke firmly but kept her voice down. “We’re stuck in a time loop.”

“What?” he blubbered out a laugh but caught himself, carefully scanning her eyes. “You mean it.”

“I know how it sounds,” she said, “but I have proof.”

He eyed her carefully. “Proof would be good.”

She shoved her half-eaten sandwich aside, resting her forearms on the table. “You and I?” she said, with her shoulders hunched forward, “first met six days ago.”

“Nooo.” His eyes went wide, and he blew out a breath. “Yeah?”

She nodded surely. “Yes.” Might as well admit the embarrassing truth. It might jog his memory. “I had a bad start to my day and dropped my bag. One of my work shoes fell out of it, and then the other.”

Braden peeked under the table at her feet and slowly looked up.

“I dropped my lip gloss too!” She pulled it from her pants pocket and held it toward him.

He gave it a skeptical glance. “What do you want me to do with that?”

“Take it,” she said, “and give it back to me.”

He did, and his hand froze in midair when their fingers brushed. Current zapped to her wrist, traveling up her arm. Braden yanked back his hand like she’d electrically shocked him. “Did you, uh”—he pursed his lips—“feel something?”

Annie nodded. “Braden,” she whispered, “we’re somehow connected in this. I don’t know why, but somehow.”

He gave her the side-eye and burst out laughing. “Good one, Annie Jones!” He roared at the ceiling.

“Shh! Keep your voice down.”

“What? I thought you’d want me talking louder for the cameras.”

“What cameras?”

“What is this?” He scrutinized her face. “Some sort of Christmas Eve prank?”

She spied a glimpse of red in the hallway. Old Saint Nick was going the other way.

“Hey, Santa!” Braden called cheerfully.

Santa stuck his head in the room, and Braden asked him, “You in on this?”

Santa cocked his head in his Santa hat. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean?”

Braden blew out a breath. “This Christmas Eve joke Ms. Jones is playing?”

Santa surveyed Annie. “I don’t think Ms. Jones is the sort to play tricks.”

She exhaled heavily. “Thank you.”

“Wait!” Braden held up his hand, but Santa had already slipped away.

“I can prove it,” Annie rasped quietly.

Braden crossed his arms. “Oh yeah, how?”

She was ready with her answers. “When we leave here, Patrice is going to stop me in the hall and ask me to have a little chat.”

“For what?”

Annie frowned. “She might have to fire me.”

“Ouch.” Braden’s face fell. “At Christmas? That’s harsh.”

“It has to do with Veronica Lawson taking over the store from her grandfather,” Annie continued in low whispers. “Profits are down, and she’s looking to make cuts. Unfortunately”—Annie blew out a breath—“I don’t make the very best impression on her later.”

This piqued Braden’s interest. “Why not?”

“Because,” Annie confessed, “she comes into the store right after my window display gets totaled.”

“Totaled?” Braden uncrossed his arms. “By whom?”

“These rascally little kids.”

Braden’s eyes clouded over, and he blinked. “No.”

“Wait,” Annie prodded. “Did you remember something?”

“I—don’t think so,” he said. “It was more about a train.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “A toy train?”

“Hmm. Maybe?”

“Braden.” Her tone was urgent. “That’s just it. You help me pick up later, and Santa keeps saying there’s something missing from the window display—that it needs something more. And”—she bit her lip—“you ask me to coffee.”

He laughed, but this was so not funny. “Oh yeah? Where?”

Annie was starting to get annoyed. “The Blue Dot.”

“Hmm. I do like that place.”

Annie collapsed back in her chair. Maybe this was futile.

Braden took a sip of water and recapped his bottle. “So, if what you say is true—and that’s a big if, huge—why is all this happening?”

Annie lifted a shoulder. “I wish I could tell you, but I’m not entirely sure. I think it’s something about us getting through this day by making things right.”

“What have I done wrong?” he asked worriedly. “Other than doubt you.”

“I think it’s more about me than you, honestly.”

“And yet”—he thumbed his chest—“I’m caught up in this too?”

Annie winced. “Sorry.”

“Look.” He softened his tone. “You’re clearly going through something—very tough.”

“Yeah, but—you’re going through it too. So is everyone else at Lawson’s Finest, and all of my neighbors.”

Braden spread his hands on the table. “Maybe you’re just having a bad day, you know? Sometimes we get those déjà vu feelings over things that aren’t really related at all. It’s more about how the experience feels familiar, and not the actual events.”

Annie clasped her hands together. “You might think differently later.”

“Okay.” Braden squared his shoulders. “Let’s wait and see.” His smile was more to humor her than comfort her. Great. He thought she was unhinged. Time to bring out the heavy artillery.

“Braden,” she said. “I know things about you. You and I, we’ve spent time together. Chatted a bunch at the Blue Dot, and right here at Lawson’s—on more than one occasion. Many more. I told you some personal things about my family, about losing my parents—”

His frown was sincere. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Now that she was on a roll, she barreled ahead. “And you told me about Harper.”

“Harper?” He blinked. “What? When?”

“And Beth,” she said, naming Harper’s wife, “and their toddler, Theodore.”

Braden shook his head. “I’m not sure how you’re doing this, or why.”

She lowered her voice. “You also told me about Baghdad.”

His face clouded over. “No. I wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have done that.”

“We’ve been growing close.” She reached her hand across the table, and he cautiously took it. The moment their hands linked, he squeezed hers. He seemed to do it instinctively, like muscle memory.

He met her eyes, and her heart pounded. “This is all really weird.”

“I know.”

“Maybe we’re dreaming?”

“Both of us—at once?”

“Isn’t that a thing?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. Maybe it can happen?” She squeezed his hand tighter. “But not with total strangers.”

“But we’re not total strangers—according to you.”

“Will you at least wait and see what the day brings?” She felt like she was begging, but she badly wanted him on her side. “Maybe then you’ll finally believe me.”

He stared at her like he was in a trance. “Sure, Annie.” He firmly held her hand, and hope bloomed in her heart. “I can do that.”

Kira pushed open the door. “Oh, hi there,” she said slyly. She looked pointedly at their linked hands, and the two of them broke apart. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Annie stuffed her partially eaten sandwich back in its bag. “No, no. It’s fine.”

Braden rolled up his trash. “Yeah.” His face was all red. “I was just going.”

***

Braden kept trying to process what Annie had told him, but it didn’t compute. Time loop? Sure. He would have known about that from the get-go, if it were for real. He dumped his trash in the waste basket and refilled his water bottle, popping it back in the fridge.

“So”—Annie turned to him on her way out the door—“guess I’ll see you later.” He couldn’t help but have compassion for her. She seemed like a really nice person. But time loop? No. She’d clearly put in too many hours and was stretched thin.

“Yeah, Annie. See ya!” His pulse quickened. That sounded awfully familiar. He’d probably said that to her earlier when they first met on the salesfloor. No, wait. They’d met beside the lockers. An image of them both holding her shoe came back to him like a big blurry thought bubble. So did a flash of her rolling lip gloss tube and her staring up at him from beneath her bright-red pom-pom hat, and saying she believed in— stop .

He set his hands on his duty belt and trailed her at a respectful distance. A polished middle-aged woman stepped out of the conference room. She wore a cranberry-colored suit and matching large-framed glasses. “Annie,” she said, capturing her attention. “Have you got a minute?”

“Er. Sure, Patrice.”

Patrice stepped aside, motioning for Annie to enter the conference room. “For a little chat?”

Annie peered over her shoulder at Braden.

His heart thumped. He got it, but that was just one thing. Hopefully not the thing that Annie dreaded, meaning she was about to learn her job was on the line. Braden’s cell phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket, pausing in front of the elevators.

It was his mom. He took the call. “Hey Ma, how are you doing?”

“Good, sweetheart, how about you?”

“It’s been an, um”—he glanced toward the conference room as Patrice shut the door—“unusual day.”

“Busy, I bet! Christmas Eve at Lawson’s.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m checking in about tomorrow, on account of the weather.” She sounded worried he wouldn’t make it, and he rushed to put her at ease.

“I’ll be there, I promise. Rain or shine.”

“Yes, but.” The pause was deafening. “They’re calling this storm a blizzard.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” he said, not sure of that at all. The reports did look dire, but—worst case scenario—if public transportation shut down, he could get to his mom’s on foot. She was on her own since losing Fred, and she would be lonely. “You still working tonight?”

She sighed. “They’ll need me in the ER. Lots of folks slipping on ice, I’m sure.”

“Hope not too many.”

“Same.”

His mom was a great nurse, and the hospital was lucky to have her. Her manner was so reassuring and calm. “If the snow gets too bad, hon,” she said. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll understand.”

“I’ll be there, Ma.” And this time he wasn’t letting anybody down. Hurt lodged in his throat as he relived the bomb blast. He’d been in the hospital when his mom had buried Fred, so he hadn’t been there to support her. He maybe couldn’t have avoided that, but he could prevent his mom from being on her own on Christmas Day. Though she put on a brave front, she had a soft heart underneath. Sometimes lately, when he’d stopped by to see her, her eyes were red-rimmed like she’d been crying. Losing two husbands she loved had to have been hard.

“How about you?” he asked. “You going to be fine commuting home at o’dark thirty?”

“Our head nurse has a four-wheel drive. He’s been known to drive home those of us who live in Brooklyn before. So, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Well, call me if you aren’t?” he said, pushing any dark thoughts away. The last thing he wanted was his mom—or anyone he cared for—getting hurt, ever again.

“Of course. I’ll have my phone on me.”

***

Braden took up his post at the main entrance to Lawson’s, welcoming new customers and wishing happy holidays to those departing. The storm outside kept getting worse as predicted, and instead of closing at six, as it normally did on Christmas Eve, Lawson’s was now shutting its doors at four. Shoppers scurried everywhere, scooping merchandise into their arms and rushing to checkout counters. Here comes Annie.

She was dressed mostly in white, painting a very attractive picture against the holiday decorations around her. She held a large package in her hands and wore a serious look, like she was on a mission. Braden glanced at her window display, where the lights on the Christmas tree had gone out, guessing what that mission was. She’d seemed so sure of everything when they’d talked at lunch. Had convinced herself entirely of this time loop idea, and yet it was ludicrous when you viewed things rationally.

Annie jumped back as a man leaving the jewelry counter nearly ran into her. “Oh! Sorry!” he said. The guy seemed to be in his thirties and was dressed very well in an overcoat over a business suit. He held a small black bag with embossed gold letters, L and F, for Lawson’s Finest.

“Incoming!” Annie warned a gaggle of teenagers as she scuttled around them. Why was she in such a hurry? That Christmas tree wasn’t going anywhere.

“No, Dylan! Let me!”

Two boys darted through the crowd, with their mom in hot pursuit.

“Dylan! Marcus! Come back here!”

Braden’s senses went on high alert.

No way. They were zooming straight for Annie’s window!

Braden cut Annie a glance and she blanched, dropping her box of lights. She raced toward the boys, and so did he.

“ Stop! ” their mom called, but it was too late.

The sequence unfolded in unbearably slow motion. The boys went down with the retractable belt. There went the Christmas tree! So did the icicle lights, everything on the mantel, and Santa’s cookies and milk. Braden stared up at the snowflakes and sugarplums twirling above the wreckage.

Annie gasped. What a disaster.

A big whoosh of wind washed over Braden like an icy blast of artic air, and images raced past him at breakneck speed: the mom taking out her wallet, Santa speaking with the boys, Annie telling Santa he’d been so good with them…

“ What happened here? ” a shrill voice intruded. Santa strode toward his workshop, and the mom walked away with her boys, holding hands with each one on either side.

Annie shrank back. “Ms. Lawson.”

Braden goggled at the stylish blond dressed in green and wearing a big fancy hat. “It was just an accident, ma’am.” He caught his breath, getting his bearings, and mashed the button on his mic, reporting the incident.

“Roger that,” Mike said. “We’ll get Lou on the door.”

Annie stood up straighter. “Don’t worry,” she said to Ms. Lawson. “We’ll pick everything up.” She glanced at Braden. “I mean, I will.”

“No, no,” he assured Annie. “You got that right the first time. I’ll help you.” He turned to Ms. Lawson. “It will all be good as new when Lawson’s reopens after Christmas.”

“Let’s hope so.” She scanned the window. “We have after-Christmas sales to think of.”

Braden seized the opportunity. “I bet they’ll go just great when customers get a load of this window.”

“Yes! It will be better than ever,” Annie said. “Even better than before.” She peeked toward Santa’s workshop and added, “You’ll be very impressed.”

Ms. Lawson eyed her quizzically. “Will I?” She glanced at Santa too, and her expression filled with whimsy. “Oh, right,” she said as if she’d remembered something but wasn’t quite sure what. “I, um.” She stared at Annie. “I can’t wait to see what you do with it. I’m Veronica Lawson.” She extended her hand. “You must be our window designer.”

Annie nodded and shook her hand. “Assistant Visual Artist, yes, ma’am.”

Veronica considered the wrecked display before carefully climbing over the low divider and into the fake snow piled high on the floor. She bent and picked up an envelope, holding it up in her hand. “Is this a note for Santa?”

Annie grinned. “Yes, it is.”

“Huh.” Ms. Lawson thumped the envelope against her hand and carried it over and set it carefully on the mantel, propping it against the wall. She stepped over the fake cookies and milk and the upended train track, making her way back to the fallen Christmas tree. She pulled the Christmas stocking from it and carried it to the mantel, hanging it on a nail. “There!” She patted the stocking and gave a self-satisfied smile. “That’s better.”

She climbed out of the window and stumbled. A man held out his hand, catching her. Veronica startled. “Quinn?” Braden identified the man as the guy who’d nearly run into Annie while leaving the jewelry counter. “What are you doing here?” Her expression indicated surprise and maybe something more. Attraction?

He stealthily slid the gift bag behind his back. “I could ask the same of you, Ronnie.”

She shifted the animal-print coat in her arms. “I thought I’d pay a Christmas Eve visit to Lawson’s Finest. See how sales were going.” She frowned at the window, and Quinn shook his head.

“Shame about that,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Shame.” She smiled flirtatiously. “We still on for dinner?”

“How about we head out early?” Quinn nodded toward the exit. “Grab a drink along the way?” He extended his elbow, and she hooked her arm through his.

“Great idea,” she said with a smile.

Annie watched them leave and heaved a breath. “Well, that was a positive turn—I think.”

Braden studied her. “That didn’t happen last time?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Definitely didn’t.”

“So, wait.” Braden’s head went all fuzzy. “Are you saying certain things repeat themselves, and others don’t?”

Relief flooded her. “ Yes. ”

He tried to wrap his mind around the concept, but logic kept putting up roadblocks. Don’t let her suck you into her fantasy, man. That had to be what this was. Some sort of contagious delusion. Braden snatched a peek at Santa’s workshop and, even from way across the salesfloor, Santa noticed Braden’s eyes on him and waved. Braden’s heart hammered.

Santa Claus is not real. Come on.

This guy did a pretty darn good imitation though.

Braden had a million questions as he helped Annie pick up, and she answered every one. It was still hard to fathom they’d reconstructed this very same window scene six times, although Annie was very clear to point out that they’d added something new and different to the display each day. The guy in the red suit paused on his way out the door as Braden tacked up the icicle lights. “Nice going, you two.” He considered the scene. “Just needs—hmm.”

“A little something more?” Braden asked him.

Santa held his big, round belly. “Ye-es.”

Annie widened her eyes at Braden, and he had to concede, she’d been very right about everything so far. How could she possibly have known?

Santa snapped his gloved fingers. “Are you familiar with my biography?”

“Pardon?” Annie appeared amused, and Braden found this funny too. Did this actor imagine he was a celebrity?

“‘The Night Before Christmas’ some call it,” Santa said. “It’s a storybook and a poem.”

“Oh sure, sure.” Braden climbed down the ladder. “‘’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…’”

Santa linked his hands behind him and bowed forward. “Not a creature was stirring…”

Annie wrinkled up her nose, trying to get what Santa was telling them. “You want us to add a mouse?” She flashed Braden a look, her eyes huge. She was right. That was looney tunes. Not a real mouse. Wait. Maybe that’s not what Santa meant. “You don’t happen to have a mouse—?”

“—in back?” asked Annie. “Hang on.” Her face lit up. “I think I do!” She glanced at Santa and explained, “I helped Julio put together a window display for our baby nursery sale last June. Its theme was ‘Hickory Dickory Dock.’”

Braden turned to Annie. “You got a spare mouse there?”

“Yeah, one or two.” She set her hands on her hips. “I also happen to have some props I can use. A cute little blanket. A tiny bed.”

“A stocking cap for a sleeping mouse?” Braden asked her.

She batted her eyelashes at him. “You’re very good at this.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. “So are you.”

They both turned to Old Saint Nick. “Thanks, Santa!”

He departed with a ho ho ho. “Merry Christmas!”

Braden stared straight at Annie, and she stared back. “I think I’m going to need that coffee,” he told her.

Annie nodded. “Me too.” She pulled her cell from her pocket to check the time. “But it will have to be a short one.”

“You got someplace to be?”

“I do.” She nodded earnestly. “I’ll tell you all about it when we go grab Mickey.”

“Mickey?”

She grinned. “Our mouse.”

He laughed, feeling happy all over. Maybe she had sucked him into her fantasy, but that was okay. This wasn’t such a terrible place to be. And, if he was dreaming, or jointly dreaming with Annie, he’d wake up from it tomorrow.

Over coffee at the Blue Dot later, she filled him in on all the details of the past six days, telling him about things that had happened at Lawson’s Finest and what their interactions had been, and weirdly a lot of her reports rang true. She also talked a lot about her neighbors, and they all sounded really nice. It was very cool how much she cared for these people she’d only begun getting to know. Sort of like he was starting to care for her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, checking her phone. “I need to get going.”

Braden gently touched her arm before they stood from the booth. “Hang on. I want to be sure I remember.” He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “You got a pen?”

She nodded and pulled one out of her purse.

He held out his hand, and she gave it to him.

He scrawled out his reminder and held up the napkin to show her. Believe Annie . He underscored it three times and returned her pen, tucking the napkin in his jacket pocket and zipping it up. It was better than anything else he could think of and, if this worked, he’d know for a fact he wasn’t dreaming. Nobody’s dreams were that precise , and Braden almost never remembered his.

“What’s that for?” She wore a hopeful smile.

He patted his chest above where he’d stashed the note. “Insurance.”