That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Sara

The bell above the door to the Five and Dime jingles as I walk in for the second time today. A burst of cold night air blows in along with me. The same young clerk who was here before looks up from her People magazine.

“Forget something?” She stuffs the magazine behind the register. Her name tag says Cami, and she’s wearing Rudolph antlers and a necklace made of blinking Christmas bulbs. “I’ve been too busy to restock the bins of ornaments since you and Mr. Fuller practically bought out the entire store.”

Of course Cami knows Three.

Apparently he was her World History teacher two years ago, and now she’s in his Government class. These are facts I discovered when she offered to give us her employee discount as we checked out.

“Oh, we have plenty of Christmas decorations,” I tell her. “I’m looking for something else.”

“I told you we’re sold out of all our Rudolph antlers, right? ”

My lip twitches. “Sadly, yes. But you wouldn’t happen to still have anything for a Hawaiian-themed party would you?”

Cami wrinkles her nose. “Kind of like a luau?”

“Exactly like a luau.”

“At Christmastime? I don’t think so.” She glances around the brightly lit shop, bursting at the scenes with all things holiday. “Why do you need luau stuff in December?”

Yeah. Good question, Cami.

The truth is, I’d been hoping to recreate a traditional Christmas for Three, but when Nella called, I realized that’s not what he’s actually missing. He’s missing the cruise and Hawaii and being with his family. So I’ve been trying to celebrate the wrong holiday. Three needs something different.

Something tropical.

“I just want to surprise Mr. Fuller.”

“I’m sorry.” Cami frowns. “Besides the usual stuff we stock year-round, we’ve only got winter-themed things. What you’re looking for won’t be displayed again for another few months.”

“I understand.” I force a smile, but an ache of failure hits my stomach. At least my coming here gave Three the chance to catch up with Nella without me hovering around the house. “I knew it was a long shot,” I say, turning to leave.

“Hold on.” Cami steps out from behind the register. “I’ll take a quick look in the back storage rooms. Who knows? We might have some leftover merchandise from last summer.”

“Really?”

“It’ll be the dregs, but better than nothing, right?”

I beam at her. “Thanks so much.”

She shrugs. “It’s for Coach Fuller. He’s the best.”

“Coach?”

“I’m on the basketball team.” Cami bobs her head, and her Rudolph antlers slip. “He’s a great coach. Great teacher. He really listens to us, you know? So if I can help out …” Suddenly Cami’s cheeks pink up, and she scurries off toward the back of the shop.

I watch her go, arms hanging at my side, and I let out a little laugh. So, Three’s not only the best coach and teacher, but Cami might have a little crush on him.

While she’s in the back, I check out a display of individual Christmas cards, trying to be patient. After five minutes, I start to fidget, my restlessness kicking up a notch.

This was a silly idea.

Cami’s not going to find anything remotely summery lying around in the back this close to Christmas. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here and Three’s at home alone with no idea where I am. He could be dizzy. Or nauseated. Or sad after talking to Nella. And I don’t want him to spend even more time alone before it’s absolutely necessary.

Come on, Sara . Is leaving him absolutely necessary?

He’s only stuck here because of you.

You could just stay in Abieville and skip Christmas this year .

A wave of hysteria bubbles up in my throat, and I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. I can only imagine what Bristol would say if she could hear the conversation happening in my head. Even worse, my mom and dad would be devastated if I missed the Hathaway Gala. Christmas Eve. My birthday.

Impossible.

Behind me the door to the shop jingles, and a family of five enters. The parents are holding hands, and each of the kids clutches a half-eaten candy apple. They all head straight to a beverage station along the wall offering self-service fountain drinks and coffee. They’re busy filling cups for themselves when Cami finally returns from the back of the store pushing a loaded cart.

“So.” She grins at me. “Will this work?”

In the cart are two Hawaiian shirts—one red, one green—three hot-pink lawn flamingoes, six tiki torches, a pile of multi-colored leis, and a set of four lanterns shaped like pineapples.

“It’s perfect,” I tell her.

And absolutely necessary.

Back at the house, I have to make two trips to transfer all the luau supplies inside, and I temporarily pile everything next to the Christmas tree. By now, the fire’s died down to a few glowing embers. Bags of ornaments and decorations crowd the floor. On the coffee table are a pair of scissors and strips of green and red construction paper.

Three must have cut those out while I was gone to use for our advent chains. His phone is beside the bowl of abandoned popcorn. But the man himself is nowhere in sight.

“Hello?” My pulse picks up. Maybe I shouldn’t have left him alone so soon. He seemed pretty good all day, but we also did a lot. Maybe too much. “I’m home!” I call out louder this time.

“I’m in here!”

I cross the dining room into the kitchen, and find Three hovering over the stove, holding a spatula. On the counter is a loaf of bread, a brick of cheddar, and the butter dish.

“Grilled cheese?” I come closer, drawn by the dreamy scent of melted butter.

Three keeps his gaze on the bread sizzling in the pan. “I made one for you too.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, even as my stomach rumbles. “But it smells amazing.”

“Not as fancy as the dinner you were planning, but I got hungry, and I don’t know how to cook a turkey.”

My eyes widen. “Your appetite’s back?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “And I figured we wouldn’t have time for a big meal at this point anyway, so …” He tips his chin to point at the cheese.

“Sandwiches are perfect.”

In fact, some comfort food and a good night’s sleep is probably just what we both need. Then, if Three’s up to it tomorrow, we can attempt Abieville’s first-ever Hawaiian Christmas luau mashup after the evaluation.

The results won’t be magazine-worthy—not like the Hathaway Gala—but I’ll be giving Three a little bit of everything he’s missing out on because of me. Then, if all goes well, and the doctor clears him to go home on Tuesday, I can head back to the city by Christmas Eve, just like I’d always planned.

“I haven’t had grilled cheese in years,” I say, as my heart squeezes at the thought of leaving him alone.

“Been a while for me too.” Three flips the sandwiches. “But you’ve been taking care of me the past two days, so I wanted to take care of you for a change.”

Whoa.

Three wants to take care of me? Now my heart’s not just squeezing. It’s starting to melt. He glances at me, then adds more butter to the pan. “Where did you go, anyway?”

I swallow hard, not entirely sure I can speak without giving away my emotions. “That’s a … it’s a … just a little surprise,” I manage. “But we should definitely eat first since you’re hungry.”

“Well whatever you did,” he says, “thanks for giving me a chance to talk to my sister.”

“Of course.” I blow out a breath, grateful for the change of subject. “How is she? How’s the family?”

“Nella says they miss me, but she wasn’t exactly sobbing into her mai tai.” He presses the sandwiches with the spatula and cheese oozes out the sides. “But honestly, I’m glad they’re good. They shouldn’t have to suffer because I’m not there.”

“That must be a relief.” I fold my arms across my middle. “I’m not sure my mom and dad would ever get over me missing Christmas. And they definitely wouldn’t be okay with finding out so last minute.”

“Yeah, well.” His jaw ticks. “Your family really likes their plans.”

“I’m not suggesting my mom and dad care about me more than yours do. It’s just …” My voice trails off.

“No, I get it.” He lowers the heat and covers the pan. When he turns to face me, his brow’s pulled down. “Christmas Eve is your birthday. And you’ve got that fundraiser thing every year.”

“The gala.”

“The gala. Right.” He sets down the spatula. “That night’s a double big deal for the Hathaways. Of course your mom and dad want you there.”

“Yes.” I let out a long, wistful sigh. “But can I tell you a secret?”

He meets my gaze, holds it for a moment. “Sure.” The reply is casual, but the way he’s staring at me doesn’t feel so nonchalant.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to go at all.”

“Wow.” Three blinks. “Really?”

“Sometimes.” My shoulders sag. “It’s not so bad now, but being in the spotlight was a lot of pressure when I was young. My parents counted on me and my story to up the ante on the auction and donations.”

“Huh.” Three crosses his arms. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I’m not complaining, believe me. They have the best intentions, and I’m proud of all the money we’ve raised for Children’s Village. As an adult, I’m honored to be a part of such a worthy cause. But when I was young, all I really wanted was a normal birthday party. With kids my age, and hot dogs and a My Little Pony cake, you know? Not a champagne tower and caviar.”

Three tilts his head. “My Little Pony?”

“Man, I loved that show. Applejack was my favorite.”

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Nella’s too.”

“She’s got good taste.” I press out a small laugh. “But the gala became less about me and more about what I could do to inspire donors. My dad always gave the same speech about how long it took him and my mom to have their miracle baby. And how important adoption and the foster care system is to creating future families. He makes me talk too, which is fine now, but was totally mortifying when I was a kid. I never knew what to say.”

Three lets his arms drop. “I’ll bet you did better than you think.”

“Still.” I let another small laugh slip out. “I hope my future kids aren’t born on any holidays.” I take a beat, caught off guard that I’m admitting this to anyone. “And if they are, any fundraising I do will not be associated with their birthdays.”

Three turns away, peeking under the lid to check on sandwiches. “So. You want kids, then? Marriage? The whole nine yards?”

I shift my weight, grateful that Three’s back is to me, and he can’t see the flush rising on my cheeks. Because yes, I used to dream about my future husband and our imaginary kids.

The whole nine yards .

I planned the perfect wedding long before I ever came to Abieville. But then I met Three and he broke my heart, and I haven’t been able to picture myself married to anybody since.

“I used to think I wanted a big family,” I say softly. “But college was so demanding. Then I had a couple years of internships. Then law school. Studying for the bar. There wasn’t any time for serious relationships.”

“You’re not in school anymore.”

“No.” I shrug, hoping to convince myself I’ve grown indifferent to all this. “But I am expecting Hathaway Cooke to offer me an associate position any day now.” I take a beat and my stomach twinges. “At that point, I’ll be putting in eighty-plus hours a week. So, I don’t see myself having time for a family going forward either. At least not for a while.”

Three lets out a low whistle. “Eighty-hour work weeks?”

“Eighty plus . And yes, it’s a lot, but it’s what I’ve always worked for. Being an attorney at Hathaway Cooke has been my goal for as long as I can remember.”

“Yeah, I remember that too.” Three turns to face me again. “But is that what you want?”

I open and shut my mouth wordlessly. I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked me this question before.

“Sorry if that’s too personal,” he adds. “These are just the kinds of things I talk about with my students. We spend a lot of time working out what they see for their future. What will make them happy, not just what they think they should do. So.” He dips his head. “Will being an associate at Hathaway Cooke make you happy?”

“Of course it will,” I blurt. Any other reality would be too hard to accept.

“Good.” Three turns off the burner, slides the toasted sandwiches onto plates, and cuts them in half on the diagonal. Then he plucks a couple of apples from the bowl by the sink.

“So.” I clear my throat. “Is that what you want?”

He glances down at the fruit in his hand. “Apples? Yeah. They have tons of fiber.”

“No.” I swallow hard. “I meant … do you want kids?”

“Ah. That.” He brings our food over to the island. “I absolutely want kids. That’s why I’ve got a hundred of them.”

I blink. Once. Twice. “What?”

“My students. Well, technically I have a hundred and one. Like the Dalmatians.” He pulls two stools out from under the counter. “You know, I went into teaching assuming the kids would learn from me, but they’ve taught me some of the most important lessons of my life.” He takes a seat, hunching over his plate. “Sorry if that sounds corny. Or just some big cliche.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I think it’s really sweet.”

“Believe me, the kids aren’t always sweet.” A small laugh puffs out of him. “But now I know how to stop talking, so I can listen. How to hear what they’re really trying to say.” He takes a beat. “How to put their needs ahead of my own.”

“Wow.” I slide onto the stool beside him. “I’ll bet you’re good at that.”

“I want to be,” he says. “But let’s just call me a work in progress.”

“Well your students are lucky.”

“I don’t know about that.” He ducks his head. “I just try to be myself. And listen to my heart. Then I hope they’ll do the same.”

My throat goes tight. “You must care about them a lot.”

“Yeah.” He averts his gaze. “I really do.”

We both fall quiet, and I dig into my food like I haven’t eaten in weeks. Something I thought I’d stitched up long ago is unraveling inside me. And instead of the numbness that took up space there, a hollowness spreads, waiting to be filled.

Hey, Sara. The cheese you’re stuffing in your face isn’t temporary putty for the gap, you know.

I take another giant bite of sandwich anyway, just as my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Good. Perfect timing for a text. I could really use the distraction.

Bristol

Greetings, Sara! Consider this your daily inoculation against any coronary weakness you might be feeling. That’s right. I’m here so you don’t forget how badly Three Fuller hurt you. The man made you trust him, and you handed over your whole heart, which he promptly rejected, then stomped on. So do NOT go soft on me, friend. Just remember he’s totally off-limits. (No matter how cute he looks.)

I eye Three sideways.

Bristol has no idea how cute he actually looks right now. Especially after that sweet confession about how much he cares about his students. A smile plays on my lips thinking about what he said.

“Is it your mom?” he asks, licking a strand of cheese from his mouth.

“Nope,” I say just as a second text comes in.

Bristol

Call me anytime you need extra convincing. I love you more than Three Fuller ever could .

Oof. Bristol’s right, so I’ll definitely have to call her later tonight, before Three and his cheese-licking cuteness completely wears me down. For now, though, I shove my phone back in my pocket. I’ve got a sandwich to finish scarfing.