The Christmas Box (The Box Books #2)

14. December 15

December 15

Lexi

T ravis and I worked side by side this morning in my kitchen, baking cookies. He’s not much of a baker, but I’m not much of a cookie decorator—as Dara so bluntly informed me—so it worked out.

My favorite moments: when he reached up to brush some flour from my cheek (thank God I’m messy in the kitchen) and when he kept nabbing pinches of cookie dough to eat and I finally had to grab onto his hand to stop him. Did I hold on too long? Did he notice? I’m not sure, but when he teased me, saying, “You know you want some,” then popped a bit into my mouth, too, his fingers brushing my lips…well, let’s just say it was delicious in more ways than one.

Now I’m packing them up, not only for Darlene McIntosh, but also for my grandma’s old friend Mrs. Brewster, a shut-in who wished for some visitors this holiday season, and the Parkers, an elderly couple who wished for “unexpected blessings this holiday season.” I’m hoping cookies and good tidings do the trick.

After we deliver them, Travis’s trusty, snow-worthy pickup will carry us over slick roads to the Holly Ridge Walmart, where we’ll pick up gifts I didn’t have at the shop. Since I’m donating a tree, lights, ornaments, a stuffed Rudolph for Mikayla’s youngest, and a winter hat with a ball on top to make sure Mikayla gets at least one gift herself, Travis offered to foot the bill for the rest. In fact, he tried to pay me for the donations, but I refused.

Even though maybe I should have accepted his generosity given how quickly Christmas is approaching and that it’s snowing again today and that even though business picked up after word got out about the wishing box, now it’s down again. However, right now I’m on a mission to deliver Christmas cheer and trying to ignore the harsher realities facing me.

The tree and other items bound for Mikayla’s, along with a shopping bag full of cookie containers, sit next to the door. “As soon as Dara gets back, we’ll go,” I tell Travis. She’s picking up a late lunch at Thoroughbred Pizza. “First stop, Darlene McIntosh’s.”

“I just thought of something,” he says, sounding glum.

I blink. “What’s that?”

“We should have made enough cookies to take some to the manor.”

“Ugh, you’re right.” I sigh, now downcast along with him. “Maybe…tomorrow? Even though I suspect we’ll still be busy granting wishes.”

He holds up one finger. “Wait. I just happen to have a hefty gift card for the bakery burning a hole in my pocket.”

“That’s right— great idea! Cookies for everyone!” Then, anticipating our departure, I reach in my shopping bag and pluck out a Santa hat. “Here,” I say, holding it out to my companion. “For merry deliveries.”

He gives me an are-you-serious? look. “No way.”

I just roll my eyes. I mean, I know he’s got his anti-holiday rep and all, but… “Come on, wear the hat. We’re trying to give people happy holidays here, and a Santa hat is always a festive touch.”

“Nope,” he says, sounding resolute. “That’s where I draw the line.”

“That’s your line?” I ask. “At a hat?”

“Yep.”

I hesitate only briefly before saying, “Fine,” abandoning the hat on the counter to reach back in the bag. “Antlers it is.” I pull out a pair of brown velvet antlers attached to a headband. They’re wrapped with red ribbon adorned with small sleighbells. Using both hands, I firmly place them on his head.

“I’m not wearing these,” he says staunchly, even while wearing them.

“Well, just so you know,” I say, picking up the Santa hat and plopping it on my own head, “they look adorable.” But—yipes—did I just tell him he looked adorable?

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s got bigger fish to fry—or antlers to reject. Yanking them off with one hand, he plucks the hat from my head with the other. “Trade ya,” he says, then puts the hat on.

I feign astonishment. “I thought a hat was where you drew the line.”

He tosses me an annoyed glance. “Suddenly it doesn’t seem so terrible.”

“That’s what I thought,” I say with a small, winning smile. Mission accomplished.

Travis

I watch as Lexi moves through the halls of Bluegrass Manor like it’s nothing. Like it isn’t heart-wrenchingly tragic to see so many people no longer in control of their lives, their health, and in many cases, their minds.

I see her hold out a tree-shaped sugar cookie to the man who took Dottie’s doll. He’s wearing that same odd little smile as always when she offers up, “Merry Christmas.”

He says nothing, just takes the cookie. And maybe I’m imagining this, but something in his expression makes me think it was nice for him to be noticed, acknowledged, given something. I feel like a jerk all over again for yelling at him.

I watch her repeat the gesture again and again, kind of in awe, and maybe I’m beginning to wonder if…that’s the point? Of Christmas? People with good hearts like Lexi’s making other people feel valued?

“That’s my girl there.”

I turn to find that Helen has snuck up on me in a pair of gingerbread-man-sprinkled scrubs.

But her eyes are trained on the woman in antlers, offering cookies and smiles to every person in sight—some in robes, others fleece; most seated in wheelchairs that have become all too familiar to me. “Despite how bitter she could be, she keeps on shining her bright light out into the world.”

“No wonder you two get along so well,” I remark. “You kinda do that, too.”

She casts me a coy, playful smile. “Sweet talker.”

I just laugh. Then tell her, “I barely recognize you, by the way, without your red coat and beard.”

“That was a lot of fun,” she says. “Getting to hear what all the kiddos want for Christmas. And getting to enjoy the look on your face when you thought I was a creepy old man.” She lets out a laugh so big it echoes.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice thick with sarcasm. “Hilarious.”

“So you two are out spreading holiday cheer today?”

I keep it simple. “Something like that.”

“Well, there are certainly worse ways you could spend your time. And worse people to spend it with.” She ends on a wink.

But I’m not going there with her, so I change gears. “How’s Dad today?”

Her expression does nothing to reassure me. It reminds me of Gabbi’s the other night: one that’s learned to accept—and convey—hard realities. “He’s in fine enough spirits. But his pain is increasing. We’re having to medicate him a little more heavily to keep him comfortable.”

I consider asking if this means the end is near, but I hold the question inside. Maybe I don’t want to know. “Think I’ll go check in on him,” I tell her. “Let the light-shining reindeer know where I am when she’s done passing out cookies.”

Helen nods, and as I walk away, she calls behind me, “Nice hat.”

Crap. Forgot I had the damn thing on.

Lexi

After Travis and I do a stealth cookie drop on the McIntosh porch, Marianne Jorgensen surprises me by coming out of the house next door—I didn’t realize she was Darlene’s neighbor.

“I see what you did there, Lexi Hargrove,” she says softly from her porch, wrapping a long cardigan sweater tighter around her to ward off the cold. “Darlene will be thrilled by a secret delivery and I won’t breathe a word.”

I step over into her yard to say, “It wasn’t just me. It was Travis, too.” I motion toward the man in the Santa hat already making his way back to his truck, parked on the residential street. “We just want to make sure everyone gets something in their stocking this year.”

She flicks her gaze back and forth between me and him several times. “I don’t know this Travis guy,” she finally says, “but if I were you, I’d be hoping to get him in my stocking.”

I just laugh, like she’s so crazy to suggest such a thing. I don’t tell her I’m way ahead of her. Or that, despite my wish, I have no idea if I should even want him in my stocking—if he’s just going back to his other life in Chicago soon. All I know is that without him, we wouldn’t be making these Christmas wishes come true.

It’s after dark when we head back to Main Street. While Travis grabs us a couple of to-go pizza slices for an on-the-run dinner before we set out on our last delivery of the day, I pop in to the Country Creamery and buy an ice cream cone I don’t really want, in order to chat Carl up.

As he dips my cookies-n-cream, I ask, “Don’t you have a big anniversary later this month? What are you getting Gina?” I smile my enthusiasm to let him know it’s something worth making a big deal of.

“Indeed we do,” he tells me. “Our twenty-fifth. But we don’t waste money on things like that.” He ends with a short head shake, peering at me over his glasses as usual. I’ve long thought ice cream is too cheerful a business for a man of Carl’s temperament.

“Carl, Carl, Carl,” I lecture him. “You really must. A twenty-fifth anniversary is a huge accomplishment. Can you just imagine how loved and appreciated Gina will feel being surprised with a special gift to commemorate twenty-five beautiful years together?”

Passing the finished cone over the high glass counter, he narrows his gaze on me skeptically. “You really think that’s necessary? What would I even get?”

“I do. And jewelry,” I answer without missing a beat. “A pretty bracelet or necklace. Go to a jeweler. Let them help you pick out the perfect thing. It doesn’t have to be pricy. But not too cheap either.” I point a finger in his direction, knowing him to be a penny-pincher. Which is fine—except for those times when it isn’t. “I think Gina would find it very meaningful.”

As I pay for my unwanted cone, he casts me a sidelong glance, as if wondering what I know and how I know it, but thankfully he doesn’t ask. “I’ll think about it,” he replies instead.

“Don’t just think. Buy. It’s a special occasion,” I remind him, then head back toward the red pickup at the curb, hoping our final delivery goes as well as the rest.

As we drive toward Mikayla’s little house on a twisty country road outside town, we’re both tired, and quiet, because it’s been a long day. But a gratifying one.

I wonder if Travis is quiet because of his dad, too. At the manor earlier, Tom woke up only long enough to seem glad to see us and to nibble on the last cookie in the tin from the bakery. I stood in the doorway, watching from a distance as Travis bent over his father, brushing cookie crumbs away and straightening his blanket, almost tucking him in, the same way I’m sure Tom once tucked Travis in at night years ago.

“There,” I tell him now, pointing out the little house. Lights shine inside, but there are no signs that it’s Christmas. Travis steers slowly past the gravel driveway, not stopping, and we find a place to park the old Ford a short distance up the road next to a dilapidated barn.

After Travis hoists the five-foot artificial tree over one shoulder and I grab out various shopping bags, the two of us go trundling up the snow-lined road like a couple of wintertime thieves in the night. “Guess you’re experienced at this,” he whispers.

“At what?” I whisper back.

“Sneaking Christmas trees around under the cover of darkness.”

“We snuck yours around in the daylight,” I correct him, still doing the loud whisper thing. “When you weren’t home. This will be trickier—being quiet as we drop everything off.”

That’s when I trip over something and go sprawling into the piled-up snow on the roadside with an, “Oomph.” Following closely behind, Travis comes tumbling down on top of me, his weight pressing me deeper into the drift, tree branches poking into my neck. He mutters a few curse words, then asks if I’m okay.

“I’ll survive,” I tell him as he gets to his feet, then reaches down, pulling me up by one mitten. It happened fast, but the warmth of his body on mine pretty much overrode anything else like branches in necks or freezing cold snow.

“We’re pretty bad at this so far,” he announces.

“But our hearts are in the right place,” I remind him. “I just hope the tree’s not damaged.”

He sets it upright on the road and tries to inspect it in the dark, pulling out his phone to shine it on the branches.

“Stop—they might see,” I caution him, reaching to cover the light.

“Oh, right,” he says. And I realize we’re almost holding hands now, around his phone, and I like it. Even through mittens, it’s nice.

“We have to be more careful as we get closer,” I warn softly once we’re moving again, me with the bags and him with the tree. It takes a lot of quiet creeping for us to push through the sagging wooden gate, but then we follow a beaten-down path over the snow to the wide front porch.

As we step quietly up onto it, lugging all our surprises, I spot a tow-headed pre-school boy I know to be named Caleb near the front window, sitting cross-legged on a rug, watching a TV that’s apparently right beside the window. “Get out of sight,” I whisper to Travis, realizing we’re directly where he could notice us.

We both flatten our backs against the house, side by side. Even in the dark, I can make out that Travis looks a little exasperated, and I’m stressed, too. But a moment later, he props the tree in a corner near the door, and I leave my bags beside it, a card from Santa tucked in one of them. After exchanging satisfied glances, we go scurrying back to the gate, rushing to get away in case our movements bring anyone to the door.

As we walk briskly back up the road, our relief is palpable, and he lets out a low laugh, declaring, “That was weirdly fun.”

“It was,” I agree with a smile.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he says, then grabs my hand and pulls me into a jog toward the truck. The cold air suddenly feels exhilarating. Or maybe it’s his hand in mine.

Or maybe it’s what I know for certain in this moment: That at least one of my wishes has really come true. He might not ever admit it, but I know he’s feeling the holiday magic right now, the magic I wished for him. And I am, too.

Or…could it be something else altogether making my heart expand in my chest?

As recently as yesterday I questioned the notion that I might be in love with Travis Hutchins. But today if feels a whole lot closer to being…undeniable.