The Christmas Box (The Box Books #2)

16. December 17

December 17

Lexi

I spend all day working in the shop, but part of me remains back on that pond yesterday, balancing on the thin blades of ice skates that felt like walking a tightrope of sorts. All around me, the shop is buzzing, people are putting wishes in the box and ringing out their purchases with Dara, and all my favorite Christmas tunes fill the air—but I’m stuck in that moment when learning to skate felt more like learning to navigate a tricky relationship.

It’s only when the afternoon rush dies down and Dara and I are left alone, her behind the counter and me wiping down the coffee bar, that she asks, “What’s with you today? You seem like you’re somewhere else. Are you still caught up in granting Christmas wishes or…is it something more?”

“He almost kissed me.”

Her jaw drops. “What?”

“We were ice-skating and we fell down together and he almost kissed me. But then he stopped. And I somehow felt…childish. Like…for him a kiss would just be a kiss, but he knew that for me it would be more, and so he didn’t. And it’s probably for the best anyway.” I end by trying to head-shake it away as nothing, almost sorry I said anything.

Her eyes widen with doubt, though. “Is it? For the best?”

I nod. “He’s going back to Chicago sooner or later—probably sooner.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she tells me then.

I lower my chin, giving her a look. “It’s stupid to protect my heart?”

“No, it’s stupid to squander an opportunity to be with someone you’re connecting with, all over the fear of how it might end. I mean, who knows what the future holds? None of us.”

“Well, you’re forgetting something here. He’s the one who didn’t kiss me. He’s the one who decided to squander an opportunity. And maybe I’m wrong about why. But whatever his reason, he didn’t do it. Maybe…he’s just not attracted to me in that way.”

“He sent you pie.”

“Huh?” I squint.

“He sent you pie. I still say it’s like sending a woman a drink at a bar. It’s a silent invitation for more. It’s announcing, ‘Hey, I’m into you.’”

“Or maybe it was just pie.”

“Want my advice?” she asks.

I flash widened eyes her way. “Even if I don’t, I’m pretty sure you’re gonna give it to me.”

“I think you just play this out. I mean, you obviously like his company and he obviously likes yours or he wouldn’t be out doing all this wish fulfillment with you. So enjoy having him around and see where it goes. And maybe…well, maybe the next time you fall into his arms, you kiss him .”

At this, I make a face. “I’m not really the kiss-instigating type. I’ve always been shy about that—I prefer the guy to make the first move.”

“Well, maybe he’s got a lot on his mind. Maybe if a pretty girl kissed him, he’d realize she’s incredible and it would change everything .”

“And if it didn’t make him realize that?”

She shrugs. “You get a hopefully toe-curling kiss out of it. A delicious memory. And then life goes on. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Easy for you to say,” I tell her. For all her bold suggestions, I’m not sure she would handle the situation any differently than me. And now it’s time to change the subject. “Moving on, is everything in place for tonight?”

She nods, changing gears along with me. “Everyone is meeting here at five, we’re closing early, and I printed off copies of the song lyrics.”

I smile. “Awesome.” The last wish on my to-do list is caroling at Eve Lindley’s house, a few blocks away up Main, followed by a right on Corinth Avenue. Dara and I will be joined by Helen and almost a dozen members of her church choir, who she pressed into service when I asked. She also arranged to go in late to her evening shift at the manor so she could join us. We plan to sing our way there and beyond, including a stop at Dara’s house so Judy can have visitors, as well. “This is gonna be great.”

“Did you invite Travis?” Dara asks.

I shake my head. “He’s more than done his part when it comes to wish-granting. And I’m almost sure he’d say no to this.”

“He’s said no to other things, too, but then given in when you pushed him a little.”

Even so, I only shrug, still lost in the disappointment of the kiss that wasn’t.

The shortest day of the year is but a few calendar-page flips away, so darkness comes early as the bundled-up carolers amass at the Christmas Box. I offer hot chocolate fortification, both for now and to take when we go.

Across the street, Travis is busy at work on cabinets. I know the wishes have pulled him away from that, and he’s still visiting his father every day, too. I’m also aware he didn’t come over for coffee this morning.

It’s only been a day, but I already feel a subtle distance between us that I hate. I’m afraid I’ve gotten attached to him. I’m afraid I might be hurt when he leaves, with or without any kissing.

But…could Dara be right? Should I just keep enjoying the moments with him—unconcerned about what happens next?

And what if my original wish for him needs more help, like the ones we found in the box? After all, he’s not officially rescinded his anti-Christmas stance yet. I know he’s felt Christmas in his heart in more ways than one lately, but that doesn’t mean the star wish has come completely true. Glancing across at him through the plate-glass windows, I resolve to forget about romance, forget about love, and remember that from the moment he came back into my life, what I most wanted was to change his mind about Christmas—and that work isn’t quite done yet.

“Is everyone here?” Helen calls to the group milling about the store. “Are we ready to commence caroling?”

I make a split-second decision. “Hang on a minute. Dara, can you hand out the song sheets? We’ll go as soon as I get back from a speedy errand.” With that, I snatch up my coat, and before I can stop myself, I’m out the door and crossing the street in the wintry dusk.

As I come bursting into the Lucas Building, Travis and Marley both look up.

“Wish-granting duty calls,” I announce. “Grab your coat and gloves.”

Understandably, he looks confused, woodworking plane paused in hand. “What wish?”

“Caroling at Eve Lindley’s house. There’s a group across the street waiting to go.”

He shoots me a look. “C’mon, Lex. I already built a wheelchair ramp. I even snuck a Christmas tree up the road in the dark. And I decorated cookies because you’re bad at it. But it sounds like you’ve got this one covered without me. I’m no singer.”

“Neither am I,” I tell him. “But it’s a nice thing to do and you got me into this wish-fulfilling business, so you’re going with me. You don’t even have to sing if you don’t want to.”

“What about the dog?” he argues, falling back on what has become his usual excuse. “I feel like I’ve been neglecting her.”

We both look to a perfectly mellow-looking Marley. “She’ll survive for an hour.” And with that I pluck up his coat, currently draped over the counter in back, and hold it out to him.

“This’ll only take an hour?” he asks, eyes narrowed on me skeptically.

“Yes.” Give or take. Actually, I have no idea, but what I’m pretty certain of is that once he’s there, he’ll enjoy it—because that seems to be how it goes with him.

A few minutes later, I notice he forgot his winter hat, so I’ve plopped that same Santa hat back on his head, and we’re moving up Main Street carrying lit candles with tinfoil holders, singing Deck the Halls . People are peeking through curtains and stepping out on porches, smiling as we pass. The Christmas joy is spreading from us and among us, and when I glance up at Travis beside me during a fa-la-la, I find him singing, too.

When the song ends, before we break into What Child is This? , I whisper up to him, “Are you as miserable as you thought you’d be?”

“It’s not awful,” he whispers back.

The words warm me up inside despite the cold—and I don’t even mind when it begins to snow.

Travis

After caroling, I ask Lexi to grab a bite with me at Winterburger.

As we sit eating, we talk about all we’ve accomplished the past few days. “I know we still have a few loose ends to tie up,” she says, “but it’s been pretty great making so many people happy.”

I can’t argue the point, and it reminds me… “Hey, have you heard anything about the ramp? Did they like it?”

Her eyes brighten across the table from me. “Yes! I got a text from Carol Ann this morning. She suspected I might have something to do with it, but I didn’t confirm or deny. She said her mom and dad are so grateful to their secret Santa. Kathyrn’s looking forward to spring so she can spend time birdwatching in her yard again. And it’s going to be so much easier for Hank to get her over to Carol Ann’s for Christmas dinner.”

The truth is, hearing that something I did is making such an impact on someone’s life kind of fills me up inside. But I keep it simple with, “That’s great news,” as I dip a fry in ketchup. Then I look past Lexi, my gaze drawn to the big windows. “Wow, snow’s really coming down out there.”

“Ugh,” she says.

I stop eating long enough to pull out my phone and check the forecast—then I blow out a sigh. “Looks like it’s gonna be another snowy evening. Half a foot by midnight.”

Lexi’s eyes widen yet again, but not in a happy way this time. “What’s going on here? We never get this much snow in December. If I weren’t such a glass-half-full kind of person, I might believe the universe didn’t want my shop to succeed.”

She once confided in me that she was worried about the future of the Christmas Box, but she hasn’t brought it up again other than to complain when it snows. “So how is business?”

“Fine,” she answers, sounding conflicted, “but it needs to be better. If we were as busy on the snow days as on the non-snow days, I think we’d be okay. But all this snow has thrown a cold, white, frosty wrench into my plans.”

I already know it takes a lot to bring Lexi Hargrove down, so the despair I hear in her voice makes me ask, “Are the prospects really that bad? How dire is the situation?”

Pressing her lips together as she weighs the question, she finally replies, “Only time will tell, but…I think it’s pretty dire. And if I lose the place this fast…” She stops, shakes her head. “It’s more than a business to me, Trav—it’s a legacy. My family has had a business on Main Street for a hundred years until the last ten. I wanted this for me, but also for them.” The expression on her face is grim. “We’ve been open less than a month, but at this point I’m not sure we’ll make it through a second one.”

Okay, that’s worse than I expected. I suffer the intense urge to give her a long, warm hug—but the table between us keeps me from it.

Which is good, since taking things further between us still seems like a bad idea.

But I feel terrible for her. “That’s tough, Lex. But…maybe it’s not too late for things to turn around?” It’s all I can think of to say.

Her long sigh relays her discouragement, though. “It’s a week until Christmas. And it’s snowing like crazy, which means opening tomorrow will barely be worth the electricity to keep the lights on. But…who knows, right? Maybe some miracle will occur when I least expect it.”

Despite how dejected she appears, that light of hers is still trying to shine—she’s attempting to keep the faith even though logic is challenging her.

And that’s when her phone trills the notes to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”—apparently her ringtone. She glances down at it on the table and says, “It’s Helen. Do you mind?”

I shake my head, encouraging her to answer.

A few seconds later, I hear Helen’s booming voice ask, “Are you still with Travis?”

“Yeah,” Lexi tells her.

“Oh, good. I need your help, both of you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s this blasted snowstorm,” her voice echoes. “I don’t know if you’ve looked outside in the last few minutes, but it’s pretty much blizzard conditions out there, right when we were finally set to get our tree up here at the manor and have our tree-trimming party. Glen was ready to head to the tree lot in Holly Ridge, but old tires are making his truck worthless in the snow. I wonder if you and Travis would be willing to take his pickup and get the tree. The residents have been waiting for this and it keeps getting postponed time after time. They have so little to look forward to—I hate to keep disappointing them.”

“Of course we will,” I answer loud enough for Helen to hear.

“But Helen,” Lexi says while peering across the table at me. “Won’t the tree lot be closed?”

“One step ahead of you,” I hear Helen reply. “Chuck, the tree guy, lives right next door to the lot. Just honk when you get there. He’s already picked us out a nine-foot Scotch pine and has it waiting. It’s already paid for and everything.”

“Tell her we’re on our way,” I say.

I had set my dumb Santa hat beside me in the booth as soon as we stepped into the burger place, but now I accept my fate, pick it up, and plop it back on my head. “A Santa’s work is never done around here.”

The roads to Holly Ridge are terrible, but my tough old Ford gets us there. Helen was right—it’s turned into a blizzard—so I insist Lexi stay inside as Chuck and I maneuver the big tree into the truck bed.

When we turn into the lot at the manor a little while later, Helen and Brent are both waiting inside the sliding glass doors in their coats, Helen clapping her hands at the sight of us. I pull right up to the entrance.

“The cavalry has arrived,” Helen declares, stepping out with Brent to greet us in the swirling snow.

“You head back inside,” I tell her, “and take Lexi with you. Brent, can you help me get this monster inside?”

“You got it,” he says, and few minutes later, we’re toting a snow-covered tree down the hall, weaving a path between the familiar faces wandering about on four wheels.

“Hey there, Shannon,” I call, spotting her in the doorway to her room.

“You brought our tree,” she says. And I can actually understand her! At last!

“Yep,” I say, smiling over at her.

“Oooh, the tree is here.” I look over to see Gabbi through an open door, bright-eyed at the sight as she tends to one of the residents.

Helen and Lexi wait near the nurse’s station, Helen directing us. “Right around the corner and into the cafeteria,” she tells me, pointing. “We’ve got the stand set up and waiting.”

We struggle a little to get the tall evergreen in place, and some of the residents gather around, watching, all while Bing Crosby croons “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” over the room’s speakers. Once it’s up, Helen oohs and ahhs. “What a nice tree. I’ll have to give Chuck a big thank you.”

When I meet her gaze, I can see just how deep her happiness runs. “Thanks to you, young Mr. Hutchins, all these fine folks can finally have the party they’ve been looking forward to. You’re saving the day and we can’t express our gratitude enough.”

Damn, I think I’m actually blushing—mainly because everyone is staring at me, acting like I’m some kind of hero. “It’s nothing, Helen. Really.”

But she’s not having it. “Oh, it’s something all right. It’s a very big something. And now we can thank you by including you and Lexi in our party.”

Oh crap. “That’s not necessary,” I’m quick to assure her.

“But we want to,” she insists.

I insist back. “This is for the residents—we don’t need to intrude.”

“Your dad is having a good day,” she says, trying to entice me. “Wide awake. When I told him you were coming to the party, his eyes lit up.”

Well, that got me in the gut. Guess I’m staying. “Just don’t ask me to carve the roast beast,” I say, and she and Lexi crack up laughing.

“All right, we’ve got a lot to do, people,” Helen says, flying into work mode. “We need to start getting the residents in here, and let the food service folks know it’s time to bring the refreshments. Travis, maybe you and Lexi can start stringing the lights on the tree—they’re in that box over there.” She points.

I head to the box and fish out a strand, plugging it into a socket. When the lights come on, I climb a step stool already out for the occasion. “Though I don’t like admitting this,” I confess to Lexi as she helps untangle lights, “I guess I do have a lot in common with The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. I mean, I never stole it exactly, but I wanted nothing to do with it. And now I’m suddenly the guy who delivers the tree in a Santa hat.”

“Twice,” she says.

“Huh?” I pause in place to ask.

“You delivered a tree to Mikayla the other night, too.”

I give a little shiver, half teasing, half real. “What’s happened to me?”

Below me, she’s draping her end of the strand on some lower branches. “You’ve embraced the Christmas spirit,” she says like it’s nothing, eyes on her task.

“That’s not true,” I argue instinctively. Because it just sounds so…corny to me. “All I’ve done is get some people the things they needed to have a good holiday and lent a helping hand.”

“All while wearing a Santa hat. And that, my friend, is the Christmas spirit.”

Lexi

Burl Ives is telling us to have a holly, jolly Christmas over the speakers as Helen and I help some of the residents hang non-breakable ornaments on the tree. Travis sits talking to his dad at a nearby table, both of them sporting Santa hats. I take a break and walk over, point my camera phone at them, and tell them to smile. I’ll text it to Travis later and he’ll be glad he has it one day. Tom looks even thinner than he did at the festival—or maybe it’s because he’s only in pajamas now, with a blanket folded over his lap.

Soon enough, Helen has asked everyone to get a cup of punch, and then makes a toast. “To our friends, Travis and Lexi, who brought us this beautiful tree through the storm and have stayed to help us celebrate the season. And now,” she says, narrowing her gaze on the unwitting Santa standing next to me, “I’d like to ask Travis to honor us by placing our star on top.”

He’s giving her a what-do-you-think-you’re-doing? look. “Helen,” he says, his low voice a warning. “I told you, no carving the roast beast.”

“It’s not roast beast,” she says, pretending not to understand. “It’s a star. Now come on.”

Reluctantly, he steps up and takes a shiny gold star from her hands. That’s the thing I’ve noticed about Travis—though it’s often done with a characteristic reluctance, perhaps from years of trauma, he always steps up.

And as he climbs on to the stool and reaches over to place the star carefully atop the tree, I feel like we’ve come full circle—a few short weeks ago, I placed a star on a tree with a wish, and now I see more evidence of that wish coming true by the very placing of this star.

A few minutes later as the party rollicks on, he arrives at my side with a slice of pumpkin pie on a plate. “Pie, Mrs. Claus?”

I take it, remembering that other piece of pie from him. “Thank you, Mr. Claus.”

He draws back to look at me and I realize I’ve just accidentally suggested we’re an old married couple. But, thankfully, that’s not what he tuned into. You got it wrong. I’m Mr. Scrooge, Mr. Grinch. I’m a mean one. Remember?”

But I just shake my head. “Not anymore. You’re totally Mr. Claus now—don’t even try to deny it.”

And he doesn’t get a chance to before Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You suddenly blasts through the speakers and Helen calls out, “Let’s all dance!”

Of course, most people are in wheelchairs, but that doesn’t stop her—she takes the hands of an elderly lady and begins to swing her arms in a dancing motion. Gabbi follows suit by grabbing another chair’s handles and turning it this way and that to the music.

Travis’s dad sits near me nibbling on a cookie, so I turn to him. “May I have this dance, Mr. Hutchins?”

“Now, I’d be a fool to turn down an invitation from such a pretty girl,” he says, so I set my pie on a table and take his hands in mine, moving us both to the happy beat.

Nearby I see Travis, indeed no longer a mean one when it comes to Christmas, bend down over an old lady holding a babydoll. He whispers something in her ear that makes her smile. Then he takes hold of her wheelchair handles and dances her around the Christmas tree.

Christmas. Magic.

It’s late by the time we leave. The snow is deep on untouched streets, but it’s stopped falling. Dressed in a mantel of white that glistens beneath streetlights, Winterberry has become a still, quiet Thomas Kincaid painting.

We make the only tire tracks in the snow as we head back toward town. “Looks like everybody else stayed home tonight, warm and safe from the bad weather,” Travis says.

“Can’t blame them, but…I can’t think of anyplace I’d have rather been,” I reply. “I’m glad we braved the storm. It was a nice night.” I smile over at him and he smiles back.

“Yeah, I’m glad we did it, too.”

As we roll onto Main Street and Travis pulls the old truck to his usual spot along the curb, I look out on my little town in wonder. “In all my life,” I tell him, “I’ve never seen Main Street like this.”

“Like what?” he asks, but the softness of his voice tells me he already knows because he sees it, too.

Not one car has sullied the fresh-fallen snow on Main. To see the old buildings rising up from both sides of the pristinely snow-covered thoroughfare, the Christmas lights glowing in windows, is unexpectedly beautiful.

“Perfect after a snowfall,” I answer anyway. “Like a meadow or a hillside, but it’s Main Street. There’s always someone on the road, someone leaving tire tracks. And then the snowplows come, and it gets slushy and dirty. But this…this is as perfect and unblemished as a little old town could ever look, don’t you think?”

“Let’s get out,” he suggests. “Soak it in.”

I plant my snowboots in ankle-deep snow, almost sorry to make footprints, but there’s no avoiding it. Our truck doors slam, and a moment later, we stand side by side, taking in the splendor.

The air is cold but clear after the storm, leaving the sense that the wind swept away anything bad to leave Winterberry crisp and clean. Colored lights on the tree in the park glisten even through the snow adorning its limbs, and the greenery wrapped around streetlamps is snow-covered, too, but held strong through the blizzard.

“It’s a Christmas card,” I say. Then I pull out my phone and snap a picture. Which I already know I’m going to frame on the wall of my shop—well, if my shop exists beyond another month or two. But I refuse to think about that now.

Back in Winterburger with Travis, when Helen called, I realized I just have to let it go. I have to take my own advice once and for all and simply believe. I have to embrace each day, each moment, for what it brings. That approach to life has always served me well—I just occasionally have to remind myself of that.

So I embrace it—all of it. I embrace the uncertainty. And I embrace the winter beauty, and the sparkling snow, and the silence that never seems so pronounced as after a snowfall when nothing stirs. Main Street belongs only to the two of us right now—it’s a private place no one will ever see the way we’re seeing it in this moment.

“We should do something,” Travis breaks that silence to suggest, “that you’ve never done on Main Street before and will never get to do again.”

I look over at him, intrigued by the notion. “Like?”

The expression on his face becomes a playful one. “Wanna make snow angels?”

We exchange giddy grins, then without further words, we both lie down in the snow in the middle of Main Street, our heads together, out bodies pointing in opposite directions. It feels almost surreal as the cold seeps through my blue jeans while I move my arms and legs back and forth, peering up through the steam of my own breath at a clear, dark sky. “Look,” I say. “Up.”

“Wow,” he replies, his voice warm near my ear. The storm’s departure has allowed a million stars to come out. “Nature’s Christmas lights,” he says.

And that’s it. I’m in love with him. There’s no getting around it.

And no worrying over it, either. I’m fully in the moment and this moment is one of the best of my life.

We lay silently peering upward for a few long, blissful minutes until he says, on a small laugh, “I’m pretty cold. We should probably get up.”

I’m cold, too, but just wanted this to last. “Carefully, though,” I tell him. “So our angels will be intact.”

We get to our feet, side by side, and now, instead of looking up, we look down.

“They’re perfect,” I say.

“ This night was perfect,” Travis replies.

“This moment’s perfect,” I tell him.

“ You’re perfect.”

Okay, I was cold, but that warms me up fast. I turn to gaze up at the handsome man beside me, my heart racing. I think of Dara’s advice. That if I have the chance to kiss him, I should just do it, without a care for what tomorrow brings.

Of course, initiating a kiss comes with the horrible risk of rejection. But…I want to kiss him so badly. The desire oozes slow and hot through my veins. And what if this opportunity never comes again? Embrace the uncertainty.

And as I begin to lift on my tiptoes, starting to make that daring move…he does it first. He lifts one gloved hand to my cheek and lowers a soft, sweet kiss to my lips.

Silence. Warmth. Heaven. All on Main Street at midnight.

“You should do that again,” I whisper.

He does. But this time the kiss grows deeper, his mouth moving over mine in a way that spreads through me like embers igniting into a flame. We stand making out in the middle of Main Street until I’m lost in it, thinking of nothing but the heat of his body against mine—and forgetting that I was ever cold.

Once upon a time, as I waited for my escort to the Christmas Ball, I fantasized that maybe, just maybe, he would kiss me goodnight. That never happened, but as I melt into Travis Hutchins’ strong arms, all I know is that it was worth the wait.

And then, when we break from the kissing, his breath comes warm in my ear. “This is nice. But we should probably say goodnight.”

A whoosh of disappointment rushes the length of my body. We should?

Yet then I get it. This is like at the pond, more of that stuff I’m not very good at. He’s feeling me out. Seeing if I protest, if I’m okay with a casual connection that won’t last beyond his visit home.

Dara would say I should just go for it. That would be the epitome of living in the moment and embracing the uncertainty, wouldn’t it?

But I have to remember my heart here, and try to protect it at least a little. Don’t I?

So even though it’s almost physically painful, I answer the same way I did at the pond, my voice leaving me quieter than intended. “That would probably be wise.”

With that, he takes my mitten-covered hand and walks me to my door through the snow. He again lifts his palm to my cheek, and this time he kisses the other. Then he turns to go.

I don’t want the moment to be over. But that’s the problem with moments, and it’s why you have to be in them: they don’t last. They drift away, one into another into another, and you can only hold on to them with memory.

I stand outside the door to my shop and watch him walk back across the street to disappear inside the Lucas Building. And the moment is gone.

But I feel that kiss on my cheek for a very long time.