Christmas Eve Love Story

Thirty-Four

Braden jumped back just in time, the heel of his boot hitting the curb and sending him tumbling backward. He careened to the sidewalk, landing on his back, and the poinsettia burst out of his hold, its pot smashing apart on the icy road. It was a miracle he hadn’t been hit.

A vehicle whizzed past him and screeched to a halt, turning on its flashing emergency lights. “Hey, sir!” A youngish man stepped from the SUV. “Are you all right?” Through the blinding snow, Braden spied a woman in the passenger seat wearing a heavy coat, her hands wrapped around her middle. The man jogged toward Braden. He looked to be in his thirties. “I’m so sorry.” His labored breath clouded the air. “I didn’t see you, I—”

Braden clambered to his feet and grabbed the shopping bag handle. “I’m fine,” he said, a little shaken. That had been a very close call. Too close for comfort. “You really shouldn’t be on the road. Not today in this storm.”

“I know.” The man said, panting. He placed his hands on his hips and hung his head. “It’s my wife.” He looked up. “She’s in labor.”

“You didn’t call 9-1-1?”

“This is our third,” the man explained. “The doctor told us not to wait.”

“David!” the woman called in a panic through the open driver’s side door.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “I wish I could give you a lift.” His eyes watered as he surveyed Braden. “Can I take you to the hospital maybe?”

Braden dusted the splattered soil from the broken poinsettia pot off his ski pants and jacket. “No, no. Seriously. I’m good.” He stared down the street, spotting his mom’s apartment building. “I’m almost to my destination anyway.”

David eyed the destroyed plant and reached for his wallet. “Can I give you something for that?”

Braden picked up the broken pieces of the poinsettia pot and deposited them in a public waste can. “No worries. It’s fine.”

David’s wife moaned in the car, and he hurried along. “Okay,” David said to Braden. “Stay safe.”

“Yeah,” Braden said, “you too.”

Braden climbed the front steps to his mom’s building and took out the spare key she’d given him. The key jammed in the lock, but he jimmied it open. He glanced down at the torn gift bag from Lawson’s hanging from his arm. At least the gift-wrapped package inside it was pretty much untouched. He’d covered the top of it in plastic to keep it from getting wet. That poinsettia though—he stared back at the snowy street—was a total loss.

He entered the foyer, and the heat of the building enveloped him, taking the bite out of the cold. He shut the door behind him and shook the snow from his jacket, dusting off his hat with his gloves before heading up to the second floor and knocking on his mom’s door.

“Braden, you made it!” She held out her arms to hug him but cast an eye at his damp clothing—pulling back. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

“Something smells great.”

“I made a standing rib roast,” she said. “It’s probably a lot for the two of us.” She shrugged. “But I wanted to do something special.”

“Thanks, Ma.” He handed her the gift. “This is for you.”

“How sweet.” She smoothed back her hair. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know that.” He smiled. “I wanted to.”

She pulled the present from the gift bag, removing the plastic shopping bags Braden had used to cover it . “Smart of you to keep this dry,” she said. “Whoa, what a big box! I’ll tuck it under the tree.” She glanced at the four-foot Fraser fir that she’d decorated. “Santa left something there for you too.”

Braden smiled at his mom. “Can’t wait.” He unzipped his jacket and removed it, bending down to strip off his boots. The corner of an envelope caught his eye. It was mostly covered by his mom’s entryway doormat. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling it out from under the mat.

“Looks like a piece of mail?” She walked toward him. “Maybe it landed in the wrong post box and one of the neighbors—” She took it from Braden, seeing it was hand addressed:

To my neighbor in 2-B

“That’s funny,” his mom said. “Let’s hope it’s not someone complaining about my TV being on at odd hours.” She broke the seal on the small envelope and removed a note card.

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH YOUR NEIGHBORS!

CHRISTMAS DAY AT TWO O’CLOCK, APARTMENT 3-A

His mom frowned. “Oh my, I didn’t see this. I wonder when it came?”

“No date?” Braden asked.

She shook her head. “Just a signature.”

“You think it’s on the level?” Something in his head urged caution. This note had totally come out of the blue.

“I assume so.” His mom’s shrugged. “I haven’t met any of my new neighbors.” She’d only lived there since losing his stepdad. She’d moved to this smaller place then. “And I certainly don’t know this one.” She handed him the card, and his heart thumped. The note was signed, Annie .

Not the Annie. Not Annie Jones? She’d said she lived in Brooklyn, but near the museum. Although that actually wasn’t very far away, in his view, the library was closer.

“What a kind thought,” his mom said. She stared at the wintry scene through the window. “No one’s ever gotten all the neighbors together before, as far as I know. That’s really nice.”

Who does that? Annie Jones, that’s who. Braden searched his mind, not sure how he knew that. He and she hadn’t spoken that extensively yesterday. “Yeah,” he agreed. “What a gesture.” He took off his ski pants and hung his wet things over the towel bar in his mom’s bathroom, returning to the living room where she still puzzled over the note card. “What do you want to do?” he asked her.

“We’re running a little late,” she said. “But not that late.” She smiled decisively. “I think we should go.”

“And your roast?”

“We can bring it to the party!” She stared at the blustery weather. “I hate to say this, but you’re probably stuck here overnight. Maybe two nights.”

Yeah, he wasn’t looking forward to doing that trek again today. It was also doubtful that Lawson’s would be open tomorrow, given the storm. Braden pulled the napkin from his pocket and stared at it. He’d asked Annie out for coffee, but she definitely hadn’t gone. He would have remembered that. He saw a flash of two jelly donuts inside a paper bag. What silliness. No.

“What’s that?” his mom asked, stepping nearer.

He handed her the napkin. “Believe Annie?” she asked. “About what?”

Braden shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.”

Her fingers traced over the napkin. “That looks like your handwriting though.”

Distant memories flitted through him like small snowflakes in a snow globe, but none of them were clear. It was like trying to grasp at sand that kept sifting through your fingers. His mom scanned his eyes. “Do you know this Annie? The one in my building?”

“If her last name is Jones, I might.”

***

Harrington hobbled back to the table using his walker and picked up the mistletoe he’d given Annie earlier. “Say, Eric?”

Eric deposited a few dishes in the sink and turned. “Yeah?”

Harrington held the mistletoe toward him. “Hang this up for me, why don’t you?”

Eric glanced at Annie, and she laughed. “Sure. Why not?” she said. “There’s some masking tape in the top drawer to the left of the refrigerator.”

Eric retrieved the tape and stared up at the ceiling in the kitchen. “Not sure where—?”

“On the doorframe leading into the back hall,” Annie decided. The short hallway led to bathroom at the end of it. Her bedroom was on the right and the coat closet on the left.

Cari tugged at Jane’s arm as the adults cleared the dishes. “Mommy?” she asked, “can I play with the kitty?”

Jane glanced at Annie while holding the bread basket.

“Oh, sure,” Annie said. “It’s fine. Leo’s one big fluffy marshmallow.”

“Gently,” Jane urged the little girl.

Cari squatted low in the living room and held out her hand. Leo bounded toward her from his place by the front door. He’d been guarding it, seemingly waiting on their final arrival: the person in 2-B, who at this point was unlikely to come. Annie checked her watch and saw that it was after three.

Jane reached for some unused silverware on the table. Annie had borrowed extra cutlery and dinner plates from Bea. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have had enough.

“Why don’t we leave those for dessert?” Annie suggested. “Our water glasses too.”

Harrington moseyed into the living room, pausing to examine Eric’s progress with the mistletoe. “Looks good.”

Eric hopped off the sturdy chair he’d pulled over and returned it to the kitchen table. “Yeah, thanks.”

Bea smiled at the decoration. “That does lend a festive air!”

“Yes, but the only one who’s getting kissed under it,” Annie said jokingly to Harrington, “is Leo.”

Harrington snapped his fingers and play frowned. “Darn.” He sat on the sofa to watch Cari and Leo’s cozy interactions. The cat purred as Cari squatted down to stroke his head.

“I think that kitty likes you,” Harrington told the child.

“I like Leo!” She hoisted the heavy animal into her arms and cradled him, grinning at Harrington. “He’s sweet.”

Leo purred louder, and Cari kissed the top of his head.

He blinked at her with doting kitty eyes.

Annie smiled as she observed the scene. She’d badly wanted a pet while she was growing up but had never had one since her dad was allergic. Her Grandma Mable too. Maybe if she’d had a neighbor’s pet to cozy up to that would have sufficed.

Bea glanced at Annie and over at the kitchen. “Can I help you wash up?”

“Thanks, Bea, we’ll get the rest of it.” She stole a peek at Harrington and whispered, “Why don’t you go keep Harrington company?”

Bea went and took a seat in the armchair near Harrington, still holding her wineglass.

Sam held two items in her hands. “Jam and butter?” she asked Annie.

“Those can go in the fridge,” Annie answered. “Thanks, Sam!”

Leo squirmed in Cari’s hold, and she carefully put him down. Annie watched the action from the kitchen as she transported things to the counter. Everyone was getting along so beautifully. What a wonderful Christmas.

Cari pranced over to Annie’s little Christmas tree. “Ooh, look Mommy,” she cooed as Jane brought a wine bottle into the living room. “A snow globe!” she said, picking it up.

“Ahh.” Jane grimaced at her child, topping off Bea’s wineglass. “Careful, Cari.”

“I am!” She grinned and hugged the snow globe against her sweater. Annie walked over to her, not minding Cari’s interest, but she felt very protective of this memento.

Cari held it out in front of her and shook it vigorously.

Annie’s heart raced. “Here,” she said gently, extending her hands. “Let’s set it back down.”

Jane apologized to Annie, adding a splash of wine to Harrington’s raised glass. “I’m really sorry.” She lightly admonished her kid. “You should have asked.”

“Sorry, Miss Annie,” Cari said with sad, dark eyes.

“It’s all right.” Annie tousled the top of her head and said, “It’s just a very special snow globe to me.”

Cari nodded, mesmerized by the cascading miniature snowflakes. They twirled around Santa’s sleigh and his reindeer team, landing on the candy-cane-striped North Pole and the sign in the snowy white yard that said: Believe .

Annie was transported too—all the way back to that long-ago Christmas when she was nine. Then, she was catapulted into Lawson’s Finest on Christmas Eve and her abrupt run-in with that department-store Santa. Afterward, she’d met Braden Tate, and—later—he’d helped her pick up. Her heart sighed. He was such a nice guy. She hoped she’d get to see him again at Lawson’s. Above all, she hoped he’d remember knowing her.

“It’s so pretty,” Cari said, in awe of the snow globe.

“It plays music,” Annie told the child. “Want to hear?”

Cari nodded eagerly, and Annie turned over the snow globe, cranking its key. The tune for “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” flitted through the air like fairy dust falling around them, all sparkly and joyful. Cari covered her mouth and giggled. “It sounds like magic.”

“Yeah,” Annie said. “It does.” She placed the snow globe back under the tree, suddenly filled with comfort and joy. Something else too. Hope. And a sense of miracles past, and those that might happen.

“Where did you get it?” Cari asked as the dainty music filled the air.

“From Santa.” Annie smiled at the girl. “When I was just about your age.”

“Did you do the painting?” Harrington asked her. “It’s very good.”

“No, that was my dad.”

Harrington nodded. “Talented man, your father.”

“Yeah,” Annie said wistfully. “He was.”

Someone knocked on the door, and all heads turned in that direction.

Bea grinned in her chair. “That must be 2-B!”