The Christmas Box (The Box Books #2)

13. December 14

December 14

Lexi

T he next morning, the Christmas Box is pleasantly busy. I handed out ten-percent-off fliers last night, and the festival got people in a merry, shopping mood. And while offering a discount felt a little desperate, with just over ten days until Christmas, I need to get people through the door.

The wishing box continues to entice shoppers, but even with good days, I’m fighting an uphill battle after all the subpar ones due to snow—or…to the fact that maybe this shop was just a bad idea. My stomach churns every time I allow myself to acknowledge that maybe Travis’s initial gut reaction was correct. Then I try to ignore it and keep on believing in wishes.

After all, the wish I made on that star seems a little closer to coming true every day. And it took a while to see any evidence of that. So don’t I just need to have faith?

During a break without customers, Dara is tidying up ink pens and paper slips and I’m washing some mugs at the sink. From across the room, she casually asks, “Have you put any more wishes in the box since you and I dropped the first ones in?”

I flinch, glancing up. It’s never crossed my mind to. “No. Have you?”

She nods.

I don’t know why it surprises me, but it does. I know other people have put multiple wishes in, but maybe to me it seemed…what? Greedy? Which I realize now makes no sense. I go around saying wishes are prayers, but I’ve never thought anyone was limited to just one prayer. I ask, “What did you wish for?”

I’m surprised, though, when she hesitates—we’re usually open with each other. “Isn’t this sort of like wishing on birthday candles? That if you tell, it won’t come true.”

I just shrug, back to my mug-washing. “I never thought about it. But maybe you’re right—maybe it’s better as a thing just between you and the box and God.”

A little while later, she lets out a groan and I glance over to see her peering out the window. So I look, too.

Oh, for crying out loud—it’s snowing!

It’s begun to feel like some sort of never-dissipating snow cloud is hovering over the town of Winterberry, Kentucky at the worst possible time. I used to love Christmastime snow, but now I’m starting to hate it.

“Maybe it’ll stop soon,” she offers up hopefully.

I only sigh. “If it doesn’t, you can knock off early.”

An hour later, we’ve only had one more customer and the streets are covered. It’s not yet two o’clock, but Dara says, “Maybe I’ll head out.”

I nod. “Yeah, you should go before the sidewalks get any slicker.”

After she leaves, the sleighbells tinkling behind her, I let out a sad sigh.

As snow continues falling and John Legend tells me to have myself a merry little Christmas over the speakers, I walk to the wishing box. Glancing down at the forms Dara created, it strikes me as funny that she included a spot for people’s names, like maybe God or fate or whoever else grants wishes won’t know who wrote it down otherwise. I pick up a pen, deciding I will add another one to the box.

Of all the wishes I’ve made this holiday season, two have stayed on my mind the most: for Travis to find Christmas joy and for my shop to succeed in every way.

I don’t want to re -wish either of those things—they’re already out in the “wish ether” and I have to keep believing they’ll come true. The one about Travis is definitely making progress and, in a sense, the other is, too. I added “in every way,” and I do see the holiday spirit in people’s eyes when they drop a slip of paper into this box, or even when they find the perfect gift for someone. There’s more than one kind of success. Now I just need the profit part of the wish to kick in.

So what should I wish for now?

Just look in your heart and don’t stop to analyze it. The words enter my head like advice from above, so I roll with it and begin to write.

Name: Lexi

My wish: That Travis decides to stay in town, and maybe he even falls in love with me.

My breath catches when I look down at my own words.

Is that really what I want?

Am I in love with Travis Hutchins?

That fast? That easy?

I don’t even know him that well.

But I’m also not sure falling in love is so much about how well you know someone as about what makes your heart take flight.

Glancing out the window, through the snow, I see the shop across the street is empty, but the tree in the window above is lit, even in the middle of the afternoon. And I’m painfully aware that at the very thought of him, my breath goes shallow, my chest begins to tingle, and my heart is indeed fluttering somewhere up above me near the ceiling.

I fold the slip and drop it into the wishing box.

Travis

When I walk into the manor the day after the festival, I find Dad sitting up in bed, but slumped over asleep, and on the table beside him rests the mitten cookie, one bite gone.

That’s when Gabbi exits his bathroom. “Hi, Travis. I was just tidying up a little in there.” Then she glances at Dad. “Somebody’s out like a light. He was awake just a minute ago.”

I point at the cookie. “Did he try this and not like it?”

She shakes her head. “No, he was just tired. And not very hungry.” She scrunches up her nose, hesitating before she says, “He seems to have less appetite the last couple of days.”

Is she trying to warn me about something? If so, she needs to be more direct because I don’t get it. “What does that mean?”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’m imagining it. Or maybe not. People start eating less toward the end.”

“Ah.” I tip my head back, trying not to react. A couple of weeks of ago I couldn’t stand the man, after all. And now…now I’m not sure what I feel. But it’s a lot closer to affection than disdain.

While he sleeps, I watch the TV at the foot of his bed. I think how odd it was to walk in here a few weeks ago and find him treating me like we’ve been buddies all along, like nothing bad ever happened between us and we didn’t spend my whole adult life estranged. But he has brain cancer, so maybe it’s one more thing that just isn’t gonna make logical sense to me.

And I suppose there are things I wish he’d say, like acknowledging that he wasn’t always a good dad, maybe even apologizing for being such a bad one that I left as soon as I could. Unless maybe I’m supposed to just somehow hear that in the kindness he shows me now—maybe I’m supposed to read between the lines? Or maybe that kind of logic, too, is lost in the mist of a brain that’s being rapidly eaten by disease.

“You watching ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ without me?”

I switch my gaze from the TV to the man in the bed. “What?” It was our favorite old movie as a family when I was a kid—we watched it together every Christmas. But that’s not what’s on right now.

“‘It’s a Wonderful Life’,” he repeats. “You should have woke me for it.”

“Dad, this is a Clint Eastwood movie,” I inform him.

At this, he manages to look both disappointed and relieved at once. “Well, see if you can find out when it’s on. We’ll watch it with your mother like always.”

I glance over at him, jarred. Where is he in time right now? Or is he here in time, but in a different reality, one where Mom never left? Not sure what to say, I hesitate, then settle on a quiet, “Okay.”

That’s when he spots the mitten cookie, and for a moment looks confused, or surprised, but then points toward it. “Can you hand me that?”

After I do, he takes another bite. Then he shakes his head, as if clearing out the cobwebs. “There for a second, thought I was somewhere else.”

I nod, thankful it was only a second.

“Know what?” he asks more cheerfully. “I’m in the mood for something Christmasy after the festival last night. Why don’t you find something Christmasy for us to watch.”

Inside, I just laugh, thinking I should get Lexi to come visit him—they could really Christmas it up together. But then I reach for the clicker and start through the choices.

“There,” he says a minute later. “The Christmas Chronicles. That’s a good one. You like that one?”

“Never seen it,” I say. I haven’t a Christmas movie since…well, since leaving home at eighteen.

“Settle in,” he says. “It’s a fun one. Kurt Russell is Santa Claus!”

It’s after dark by the time I get home. Town is quiet and the streets are messy—it’s been snowing all day and it’s still coming down.

The Christmas Box is still open, and I glance over to spot Lexi behind the counter, as well as a mom and daughter who appear to be shopping. I sit in my truck for a minute, trying to see a little better—and am pretty sure I can make out the little girl, maybe around ten, adding a wish to the box I made.

After I head inside, feed the dog, feed myself, and then change the pee pad, I walk to the window and look out, surprised to see Lexi’s shop still brightly lit. But it ignites a fire in me.

Reaching for the coat I hung on a wall hook just a little while ago, I glance to Marley, currently curled up under the tree like a furry present. “Sorry to take off again,” I tell her, “but I have to deal with something.”

Something that’s bothering me. About the wishing box. About that little girl I saw from my pickup. It’s lingered in the back of my mind since I built the box, but seeing a kid actually drop a wish into it just brought my concern to the forefront.

Crossing the quiet street in workboots that have had to double as snowboots lately, I wipe my feet on the mat inside the shop’s door as the bells announce my arrival.

The place is empty now and Lexi looks up from where she’s restocking some serving plates on a table. When she smiles at me, I feel it low in my gut. “Coffee’s still hot,” she tells me. “Or cocoa, too, if you prefer.”

“Actually, some hot chocolate sounds good.” I haven’t been out in the cold much today, but it still feels that way for some reason. “Was surprised to see the store still open, all things considered.”

“Yeah, I know. Mostly, I’ve spent the afternoon restocking and cleaning—and I read half a book. But I’ve actually had four customers since the snow started, which is four more than I expected. All people who live within walking distance.” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure most people are curled up by their fireplaces, filling their stockings online.” She punctuates the thought with a little shiver. I guess online retail is the worst fear of a small town shopkeeper. “How was your day? Spend it with your father?”

I nod, helping myself to a mug of cocoa. “He slept for a while, and then we watched a couple of Christmas movies.”

At this, she stops what she’s doing to let her blue eyes widen on me.

“His choice, not mine,” I’m quick to point out.

She arches her eyebrows. “A misery for you then, I presume.”

I want to say yes. Again, I have a reputation to preserve. But just like last night in the park, I’m honest. “They weren’t awful.”

In response, she smiles like she knows something I don’t. Like she thinks she’s reformed me. So I set her straight. “Don’t get all excited. My heart still hasn’t growing three sizes like the Grinch’s or anything like that. No ‘dah-who dor-aze’ over here.”

Yet at this she casts a smug glance to say, “Hmm. You know the words to the Whos’ song.”

“I know the words to lots of The Who’s songs,” I inform her teasingly. My Generation , Pinball Wizard , Magic Bus .

At this, the trill of her pretty laughter echoes down through me. “My mother and grandmother knew all those songs, too, from like a hundred years ago. Different Whos and you know it.”

“Okay, okay,” I confess, giving her a grin. “So arrest me and take me to Christmas jail. Or—wait, don’t, because that would be the worst torture I can imagine.”

She just laughs some more, and so do I.

“And what can I say? I like vintage stuff. Music. Movies. Automobiles.” I hike my thumb in the general direction of my truck.

“And Christmas cartoons, apparently,” she points out.

I just roll my eyes, but am a little embarrassed that I seem to remember everything that ever happened in Whoville. Then I cross the room and peer down at the box I built for her. “So people have kept on putting wishes in here, huh?”

She flashes a proud smile. “If this shop were a sundae, the wishing box would be the cherry on top. People are enchanted by it—just as I knew they would be.”

“Well,” I say, “I have a big question for you about this box.”

She appears intrigued, and still just as merry. “What’s your question, Mr. Scrooge?”

“What now?”

She blinks, giving her head a puzzled tilt. “What do you mean?”

“What’s gonna happen when no one’s wishes come true?”

At this, her face droops a little, telling me this has never crossed her mind. She nibbles her lower lip slightly, then tries to force a smile back into place. “Maybe some of them will?”

“What makes you think so?” I shoot at her. I’m not trying to be difficult—just realistic. I made the box, after all, and maybe I feel some weird level of responsibility now, despite myself.

“Well,” she reasons aloud, “if a little girl wished for a Barbie doll for Christmas, she’s probably also told her parents and maybe written it in a letter to Santa they’ve seen. I’m sure most of the kids’ wishes are like that—gifts their parents already know they want. And others might come true because…they just do.”

“I disagree,” I tell her firmly. “I think that box is giving people false hope.”

When her expression goes grim, I can see I’ve poked the bear. “No hope is false,” she claims vehemently. “I’ve told you before—wishes, and hope, are like prayers. .And sometimes prayers are answered.”

“But sometimes they aren’t.”

Now she goes from grim to downright combative, scowling at me. “Yes, if someone wishes for Santa to drop a Maserati in their driveway on Christmas morning or to be crowned the king of England, those probably aren’t gonna come true. But I think most people wish for things that can happen and really might happen.”

I let my brow knit, pondering it myself, but in a different way than her. “First of all, I think people are just as likely to wish for something improbable as they are for things that have a good chance of happening. But my point is…if there are things in that box that can happen—if somebody knows about them—then maybe you should see if there are some you can…help along.”

She looks like I just dropped a bombshell on her. Her eyes go even wider. “I believe in the power of wishing, but you expect me to personally be some kind of a…wish magician?”

I’m still putting this together in my head, but I tell her, “Look, it’s not about being a magician—it’s about finding ones you can help with, from a logistical standpoint. And okay, sure, I’ll agree that most gift wishes from kids are probably already on their parents’ radar. But if somebody’s wishing for something ‘gettable’ that their friends or family probably don’t know about—maybe you drop a hint to the right person or something. That’s all. Just…do a little magic.”

She still looks just as puzzled, though. “How do we even see the wishes?” she asks like she thinks she’s stump me. “How do we get them out of the box, Houdini?”

I just tilt my head. “Lexi, Lexi, Lexi. Do you really think I would built a box without a way to open it?” And with that, I walk over, pick up the box, and carry it to the counter. After which I tell her, “The bottom slides out,” and pull the slat from the grooves that hold it in place. “ Voilà !”

All the wishes of Winterberry drop out in a pile on the bar.

Lexi

At the sight of all those little slips of paper now on the counter, two thoughts hit me at once.

Did I actually think the box couldn’t be opened? Why did I never ask him?

And the much worse one: My wish is in there! The one about him ! The one about wanting him to fall in love with me!

Why did Dara have to put that name line in the form? And even if she hadn’t, it would be pretty obvious who wrote it. This is my worst nightmare. Getting stood up at the Christmas Ball? Mere child’s play. This is what true horror and humiliation are made of. My chest tightens and my throat seizes.

“Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

I’m blinking rapidly—in a panicky way, and having trouble breathing. If I were older, I’d fear I was having a heart attack. “I…feel woozy.” It’s not a lie.

“Are you … dehydrated or something? Did you have dinner?”

I blink some more, trying to think through the sickening panic. “I ate, but…I’m kind of nauseous.”

I lower myself to a stool by the coffee bar and rest my head in my hands. Think.

“Are you coming down with something? Do you need to lie down?”

Breathe. Think and breathe. “Maybe my dinner didn’t agree with me.” Then an idea blossoms. “You know what I really need right now?”

“What?”

“A Coke, from Winterburger. Would you mind?”

I’m waiting for him to go flying out the door—but instead, he asks, “Do you think they’re still open? It’s been a long, snowy day—I assumed everyone had shut down early.”

“ I stayed open,” I point out. Then I raise my head from my hands just long enough to hold them out, palms up, in a who-can-say? shrug. “All I know is that a Coke always makes me feel better when I’m nauseous.”

Finally, he says, “Okay—I’ll find you one. Hang tight.”

He hadn’t taken his coat off, so back out into the snow he goes, my knight in shining armor who I’ve just lied to. I feel awful, but it was entirely necessary. Once he’s headed up the street, I fly to the pile of wishes and start rifling through them like a maniac, in search of my name and handwriting, knowing I don’t have much time. Please, please, please.

I barely register anything I see that isn’t my wish. My heart feels ready to explode in my chest, and my hands tremble as I frantically sort. Where is it already?

I’m starting to panic all over again because I’m finding ones I’ve already checked, including my own about the Christmas Box— but where’s the one about Travis?

And then—there it is! Between my fingers. cringe at the words— maybe he even falls in love with me— and that’s when I hear the sleighbells on the door jingle. My heart nearly stops as I cram the wish into the pocket of the long cardigan sweater I’m wearing. Crisis averted.

I look up to see him carrying a can of soda. “Winterburger was closed, but I had some in my apartment, so I ran up and grabbed one from the fridge.”

I really do feel unsteady and sick, so I’m not sorry to see it. “Thank you,” I say as he walks up, popping the top. I take it from him, our fingers brushing, and swallow a sip. Then I let out a big sigh. “I’m already doing a little better, but this will help.” A lot better actually. I feel like I’ve just gotten away with some kind of a crime—the crime of stupidity, perhaps.

I drink some more Coke, and he warms up with his cocoa, wrapping cold hands around the mug. And when, a few minutes later, I announce my complete recovery, he says, “Then let’s look at these wishes and see if there are some you can make happen.”

“All right,” I agree quietly, mainly still just basking in relief.

He plucks up a slip of paper from the pile I just dug through like a madwoman and reads it to me. “World peace. Okay, we can’t do that.” Then he sets it aside.

“Fair enough,” I say. That’s a big one.” Then I pick one up. “Marissa Compton—who didn’t sign her name but I know it’s her—wants her boyfriend, Cash, to propose at Christmas.”

He blows out a breath. “Really? No jewelry? No clothes? Everybody went super big?”

But I’m already busy thinking. “I know Cash. His father, Nick, owns Winterburger.”

Travis tips his head back. “Oh, yeah, Nick. Nice guy.”

“All right,” I say, widening my eyes on him, “since it sounds like you’re friendly with him, maybe you can find a time to chat Nick up about this. Marissa and Cash are both in their late twenties and have been together for at least five years. And I happen to know Nick and his wife love Marissa.”

Travis squints at me doubtfully. “So I’m supposed to tell this guy I barely know that he should browbeat his son into proposing?”

I shrug. “It’s worth a shot. I know you can find a way to bring it up.”

“Um, sure,” he says, sounding the exact opposite of sure.

As we keep going, we find other similarly challenging ones. Greg Banks didn’t put his last name on the form, but I can tell it’s him; he wishes his partner, Michael, would agree that it’s time to adopt a baby. “Michael is my UPS delivery guy,” I tell Travis. “Next time he’s here, I’ll figure out a way to…pry into an intensely personal part of his life?”

“Good luck with that,” my partner in crime says dryly.

But some get easier. An unsigned one reads: I wish for a nice gift from my husband on our 25 th anniversary on Christmas Eve. “That’s gotta be from Gina—she’s married to Carl from the Country Creamery.” I point toward the building next door to the south. “He’s a pretty rigid, pragmatic guy—I can believe he’d skip a big anniversary, not thinking it’s important. But I can easily drop a hint that won’t seem related to this box.”

Then I open a wish from Dara and read it aloud. “I wish that my mother can somehow get up to Lexi’s apartment for Christmas dinner.” And my stomach drops.

“What does that mean exactly?” Travis asks.

I let out a sigh. “Every year since my mom and grandma died, I host Christmas dinner for anyone in town who doesn’t have somewhere else to go. It’s become a tradition. Helen comes, Dara and her mom, and we have a handful of others—Dean from the post office, who’s been alone ever since his wife died, and Elaine Mitts, who’s usually by herself because her kids all moved far away and don’t come home for the holidays.

“Anyway, until a few months ago, I lived in a cottage half a mile up Main Street, near the big curve, but I sold it as part of opening the shop, and this is the first year dinner will be upstairs here. And…” I stop and shake my head. “…I didn’t even think about Judy’s wheelchair. I feel like a dolt. And I guess Dara felt bad bringing it up.” I release another sigh, then lift my gaze to his. “Maybe I should see if Helen can host—but she takes on more shifts around the holidays so other people can take off, in exchange for not having to work on Christmas Day, so I’d hate to ask her. Or maybe Dara and her mom would prefer having it at their house—but no,” I say, thinking out loud. “It’s small and cramped, and Dara would love a bigger place for them. They never have people over.”

I lift my gaze to his. “And you should come, by the way. I would have invited you sooner, but with you hating Christmas and all, I didn’t figure you’d darken my door. Now that you seem to hate it a little less, I hope you will.” Then I cringe. “Even if, now, I’m not sure what to do about Dara’s mom, which kind of puts an enormous damper on the whole event.” No wonder Dara didn’t want to tell me what she wished for.

“Look,” he says in a calming voice, “let’s just think about this for a minute. How wide are the steps to your apartment?”

“Pretty wide,” I answer. “I can show you.” I lead him into the back room and point to the old wooden stairway.

“She’s not a big woman,” he says. He’s right—in fact, she’s thin and petite. “Surely I can get her up to your place, as long as she doesn’t mind letting me carry her. Do you think she’d be okay with that?”

“She’s pretty easygoing,” I tell him, “so yes, totally.”

“Then problem solved.”

“That means you’ll come?” My eyebrows raise slightly.

He tosses me a sideways glance as we stand in the back room near a little wooden desk that holds my business computer. “I feel like I’ve been tricked,” he says. “Into a major Christmas activity.”

I only shrug. “Well, you don’t have to come. But then Judy can’t, either. And everyone’s holiday is ruined. No pressure, though.”

He tilts his head, looking irritated and amused at the same time. “Sounds like I’m coming to Christmas dinner.”

When we return to the pile of wishes, we find plenty more that we can’t help with—people wishing for improved health or relationships—and have to set those aside. “I’m depressed now, though,” I announce, “since you’ve made me feel responsible for granting these.”

And he doesn’t let me off the hook—exactly. He just says, “Well, all you can do is keep looking for the easier ones.”

I continue making a stack of some that feel possible. For instance, though she left her name off, I recognize Mikayla Watkins’ wish for a Christmas tree for her little ones because she can’t afford it. I hold that one out to show Travis. “Mikayla’s having a tough year—her husband left her for another woman and has pretty much just disappeared,” I explain. “She brought her kids in just to put wishes in the box, and I gave them all hot chocolate. I can donate a tree.”

He gives his head a tilt. “Find all the kids’ wishes and maybe those are doable, too?” he suggests.

“Yes, that’s a great idea,” I tell him—then we move on. There are so many to go through that we can’t linger.

A moment later I read aloud from another slip, “Eve Lindley wants a visit from Christmas carolers, like in the old days. She’s a nice elderly lady—nearly ninety. What a sweet, simple sort of wish.”

“If you know any carolers,” he says dryly, as if she’s requested the impossible, and sounding more like his old Grinchy self.

“That one is completely doable,” I declare with fervor. “Easy peasy, in fact.” I add it to the pile.

And he opens another. “Someone named Darlene— no last name—wants Christmas cookies because she can’t make them anymore and it just doesn’t feel like Christmas without them.”

I nod. “Darlene McIntosh was famous for her cookies around town—she used to make dozens and dozens and give them to everyone she knew. But she’s in her seventies now and has a bad back, so…”

“So it sounds like you’re making cookies,” he says with a grin.

“You have to help me,” I demand. “With all of this.”

“I do?” He balks. “Because between Dad and renovating, I’m pretty busy. And you’ve already got me talking to Nick and carrying Judy up the stairs. Plus, I have a dog now.”

I actually can’t tell if he’s kidding or not, but I flash him a look of warning. “You made me open the box.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he concedes with, “All right, all right. Where do we start?” And that’s when I realize he was just keeping up his Scrooge routine. As if I haven’t already seen all the chinks in his armor.

I smile. “Tomorrow we can bake cookies and collect gifts for Mikayla’s kids.”

He looks doubtful, though. “Uh, don’t you have a shop to run here?”

“I’ll see if Dara can come in,” I tell him, then get back to planning. “After that, we can make some deliveries. And I’ll donate a tree and ornaments to take to Mikayla’s. Maybe we can drop them on her porch with gifts after dark—with a note from Santa—so she won’t know where they came from.”

He looks a little overwhelmed, dark eyes growing wide. “We’re doing this all in one day?”

I just shrug. “Like you said, we both have a lot to do and Christmas is coming fast. So we should accomplish as much as we can as quickly as we can.”

“Guess that makes sense. But if I’m playing Santa all day tomorrow—” He pauses, giving a playful shiver of horror at his own words. “—then I’d better head home.”

“And I’ll get busy making lists for everything we need to do.”

After we say goodnight, I stand at the front door and watch him cross the slushy street in the dark. Despite myself, I’m excited. I thought the box was just a wishing box, but now it’s also becoming a wish- granting box, which goes way beyond my original vision for it, but in a wonderful way. And…well, if it means getting to spend more time with Travis, that makes it even better.

Flipping the lock behind him, I return to the bar and go through the rest of the wishes, finding the ones from Mikayla’s three kids, and also pulling out a few more I think we can accomplish. The rest I put back inside and say a prayer for as I carry the box back to its table.

That’s when it occurs to me that maybe I should put my own back in the box as well. Or…throw it away in case Travis suddenly decides to go through them again.

I reach in my pocket to retrieve it—only the pocket is empty. It’s gone. Whoa.

That can’t be, though, so I reach deeper, into the corners.

But no wish.

I keep looking, even turning my pocket inside out—but there’s still no slip of paper to be found.

Where could it be?

I carefully retrace my steps back to the bar, looking around table legs and the bottom of the counter. It couldn’t have gone far—yet I can’t find it anywhere.

Well, the important thing is that it didn’t end up in Travis’s hands.

And I have a lot of work to do on wishes I can have some control over, so I’d best shift my focus there. I already can’t wait for tomorrow.