The Christmas Box (The Box Books #2)

18. December 21

December 21

Lexi

T oday is the last Saturday before Christmas, but already I feel the loss of the season. Because it’s not the season itself I’m thinking of—it’s my beloved little shop. The weather is bright and clear for a change, and yesterday we did well—but it wasn’t nearly enough to make up for all the slow days, and I know today won’t be, either. It’s a near impossibility at this point.

As I flip the Closed sign to Open and turn the lock, I let out a sigh. Not only are there no hordes of eager shoppers waiting to bust down my door, there’s also no Travis. I haven’t seen him, for coffee or anything else, since our midnight kisses in the snowy street.

Has it been too much for him, all the Christmas stuff I shoved down his throat? It seemed like he was having fun, but I was kind of pushy at times— did it all ultimately re-Scroogify him?

Or…has it been too much me ? I thought our kisses were amazing, but maybe they weren’t as great for him? Or maybe he’s realized I have real feelings for him and doesn’t return them? And maybe that’s for the best anyway because, as far as I know, despite the wish that disappeared from my pocket, he’s still not planning to be in Winterberry long term.

Basically, I’m pretty dejected.

And Dara can see it from across the room where she’s restocking rolls of wrapping paper. She knows everything that’s been going on.

“Look at it this way,” she tells me. “No matter what happens, with the shop, or with Travis, you’ve done some wonderful things to make a lot of people happy this holiday season. Nothing can change that. You’ve given a lot of people a far merrier Christmas than they’d have had without you and your wishing box and your giving heart.”

Taking all that in, I walk across the old hardwood floor and pull her into a hug. Because she’s right. No matter what I may lose in the coming days or weeks or months, she’s reminded me of the good in the world—even if some of that good came from me. But much of it also came from Travis. And Helen and Dara and the choir.

“Listen,” I say, pulling back to look at her. “If this is already the last hurrah for the Christmas Box, I’ve loved doing this with you and I’m grateful for your dedication and friendship.”

“No, you listen,” she says in reply. “This isn’t over yet, so let’s not go throwing in the towel. How many times have you told me we have to believe, and that miracles happen every day?”

Part of me wants to argue. I truly don’t know what could happen to save the store at this late date in the holiday season. But then I glance above the shop’s old mantelpiece, where the Believe sign still hangs. Surely I can make myself believe for just one more day. “Okay,” I say, the reply quiet but earnest. “I’ll try.”

Then I deliver an overdue apology. “By the way, I’m so sorry I didn’t think about how your mom would get up the stairs to Christmas dinner. And I’m also sorry that your wish wasn’t left between you and the box. But when Travis saw it, he immediately offered to carry her up and said we shouldn’t worry about it. I mean, as long as she’s okay with that.”

Dara tilts her head to ponder it. “Hmm, will she be okay with letting a big, strong, drop-dead gorgeous younger man use his muscles to carry little ole her up to your apartment? Yes, I think she’ll survive.” Then she drops the sarcasm to add, “And it’s sweet of him. He’s a good guy.”

Words which float down through me to settle at my core. He is a good guy. No matter what happens between us in the end. And when I think back to the teenage bad boy I once suffered that ill-advised crush on, the fact that he turned out as he did seems pretty miraculous itself. Without that, all these wishes never would have been granted.

That’s when the sleighbells announce the first shopper of the day, and I look up to see a woman I don’t know, with two girls of around eight and ten tagging along behind her. “The Christmas Box! Where every day is Christmas!” she says, beaming as she recites to me the words painted on my front window. “What a lovely idea!”

A little thrown by her enthusiasm, despite that she kind of reminds me of myself—or who I was a month ago—I smile back at her. “Welcome! Look around and let us know if you need any help.”

As she and her daughters shop, a few minutes later a thirty-something couple comes in—and the woman, in leggings and an oversize sweatshirt, seems just as entranced. “Oh, this is my kinda place! I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

Dara and I exchange what’s-happening-here? smiles before she answers, “Well, we’re glad you came by.”

“We’re on our way to my parents’ house in Detroit for Christmas, and we’ve been on the road since five this morning,” she explains, “but I insisted we stop.”

“Yeah, we were gonna finish our gift-shopping once we got there,” the slightly-rumpled-from-travel guy at her side tells us, “but looks like we might be doing it here.”

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s definitely happening here. Get out the credit card, honey.”

And then…it keeps happening. More people keep coming in to the Christmas Box until we’re jam-packed. And though I see a few locals, most seem to be from out of town.

I’m busy showing people the wishing box—which is, of course, charming them—and pointing them toward specific items they’re seeking. “Do you have any holiday sweaters?” “Where are your gift bags?” “This reindeer plate is adorable, but I’d like to buy three Do you have more?”

Meanwhile, Dara is manning the checkout, and after I fetch the reindeer plates and finish helping someone at the cocoa bar, I see the line is backing up, so I start bagging items while she rings them up.

“Hi, I’m Taylor,” a thirty-something redhead tells me, holding out her hand across the bar as Dara tallies up the ornaments she’s buying. “I’m Helen’s niece, from Sweetwater.”

My eyes widen as I warmly shake her hand. “Oh—yes, she’s told me so much about you over the years. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She glances around the place to say, “You’ve done great with your shop here. The whole town, in fact, seems so much livelier than I remember.”

I nod. “I only opened a month ago, but the rest of the town has been rebounding from hard times for a few years now.”

“Well, you seem to have the most popular place on Main Street,” she declares on a congratulatory laugh.

I start to protest, thinking: No, that’s Winterburger, or maybe the bakery. But today, suddenly, perhaps I do have the town hotspot. And I’m still completely dumbfounded by it.

“I run a bake shop in Sweetwater,” she goes on, “but the town is struggling.” She ends on a more somber sigh.

Being well-acquainted with that kind of pain, I sympathize. But I also know what a little faith can bring—even just today it seems to have presented me with some inexplicable miracle—so I tell her, “My advice is to keep on believing. And hey, you should drop a wish for Sweetwater in our wishing box—you never know. Sometimes wishes come true.”

“I’ll do that,” she says, then glances toward the door, which Helen has just walked through wearing a velour sweatsuit. “Ah, there’s my sweet aunt. We’re meeting up here, then having lunch before I head back home in a couple of hours.”

I remind her to make that wish before she leaves, then wave to Helen before I get back to the business of business, which continues to boom.

And though I know Helen is the reason Taylor came in, Dara and I both remain stumped about the rest of them, so when an older woman mentions that she’s on her way to Chattanooga, I finally ask the question. “Where did you hear about us?” A spontaneous laugh leaves me as I add, “We’re trying to figure out where all these people are coming from.”

“Oh, I saw the sign on the expressway,” she says, “and the guy in the Santa suit.”

I just blink. “You saw the what and the what?”

Travis

Talk about absurd, how-did-I-get-here-and-what-am-I-doing? moments. I can’t believe I’m standing at the Winterberry I-75 off-ramp in a saggy Santa suit, ringing a bell that Helen informed me she used “when I worked the Salvation Army kettle outside Lexi’s grandma’s diner.”

But here I stand, waving people toward the Christmas Box after two crazy days of fevered preparation.

First, I called up Richard Hargis and told him about a business that needed immediate help, and my idea of putting a big sign on his property, facing the interstate. He told me what I already knew, that there were permits to get and hoops to jump through, and he wasn’t sure it was legal, period, as close to the road as I was suggesting—but then he added on a laugh, “Imagine we could probably get away with it for a day or two, though.”

Then I was so bold as to ask if he could help me build and erect it.

He answered with a big sigh. “Kinda busy with the holidays upon us, but…maybe my son can help. Gonna need help to make it big enough to read from the expressway.”

Then I even went a step further, knowing I was already pushing my luck, and asked if he thought one or both of his kids would do the lettering on the sign.

When he hesitated, I added, “I’ll handle whatever parts I can—I’ll work on this around the clock if I need to—but I don’t have that kind of talent, or the time to find anyone else.”

“To be honest,” Richard said over the phone, “this is turning into a pretty big ask.”

“I’m aware,” I told him. “And I apologize. But it’s the only thing I can think of.” Then I played that last card I was holding. “And…it’s my dad’s dying wish.”

“That son of a gun,” he said. “Sounds about like something he’d pull.”

“Yep,” I replied.

“Well,” he said, after a little more hesitation, “I’ve seen the little shop up there in town, and I remember her grandma’s business, and I know what it’s like to have something you’ve worked at end up failing. Plus, if I say no, your dad might haunt me from the grave like a ghost of Christmas past. So you head on over to my place and we’ll get started, and in the meantime, I’ll call my kids and drag them into this harebrained scheme, too.”

I thanked him, then spent the last two days working with his family on the sign. It’s simple, but it shows up well with red lettering on a white background.

THE CHRISTMAS BOX

Where Every Day is Christmas

Gifts * Homegoods * Decorations

Exit Here. Turn Right. Then Left.

Of course, I dressed it up some, not only to be attention-grabbing, but because I’m planning to be out here until after dark. I hauled Dad’s old generator from the farm, put floodlights in place, and used a tall ladder to help string big, old-fashioned Christmas bulbs around the edges. Then I bought an enormous inflatable waving snowman to tether to the ground next to one signpost.

It was awkward working with three people who clearly felt impinged upon, and I couldn’t blame them—but as the project came together, their attitudes changed, similar to how mine did while granting wishes with Lexi. By the time their parts were done, they seemed downright cheerful, wishing me good luck with it.

It’s almost two in the afternoon, and I can’t believe how many cars have pulled off, waving and blinking their lights at the crazy guy running up and down the ramp in a Santa suit, some of them slowing down to ask me exactly where to go. I’ve been waiting for one of those cars to come with flashing blue lights on top because I’m sure this is all kinds of illegal, but so far, it’s only been friendly shoppers who apparently like the idea of a Christmas store more than I ever could have suspected when I first walked in the place.

My truck sits parked in a gravel area at the end of the ramp, and when I see a sedan pull over next to it and someone waving at me from a distance, I jog in that direction—to find Helen getting out. She’s wearing some kind of plush sweatsuit instead of her usual scrubs. “Take off that suit and let me have it,” she says by way of greeting.

“Um, what?” I squint my confusion.

“I’m giving you a break,” she says. “Go get yourself some lunch. Visit with your pop for an hour or two.”

“Helen, that’s sweet, but it’s cold out here, and the cops might come rolling up to run me off at any second.”

“I’m not averse to a little cold,” she tells me. “And if they show up, maybe I’ll just run faster.” She ends on a laugh.

“Helen,” I scold her. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?” she argues. “Besides, I know most of the po-po in these parts, and I’ll probably fend for myself better with them than you would anyway. Now c’mon. Off with the beard. Off with the coat. I just had lunch with my niece and finished my holiday shopping, and now I can’t think of anything I’d rather do on my day off than run around in a Santa suit waving folks to my girl’s shop.”

So, right there next to the exit ramp, I shed the Santa suit from over my athletic pants and sweatshirt, then help Helen into it, handing off the bell like a baton in a relay race. After which I hop back in the truck, heading to town just long enough to grab a quick slice of pizza for lunch before rushing to the manor.

But as I pass back through, a glance at the Christmas Box shows me that—like magic—it’s filled with people. Like Christmas magic, as Lexi’s always talking about. I guess she’s right that sometimes the magic comes from someone’s actions, someone’s care.

I don’t stop, but the vision of all those people inside stays with me, making me feel the same way I did after we snuck to Mikayla’s house, after we installed a wheelchair ramp, after we hauled that giant tree to the nursing home. Except I feel it even more this time.

Dad’s sleeping when I arrive, but when he wakes up, he’s glad to see me and enjoys hearing my tales from the last two days.

“You tell ole Rich I appreciate him coming through like that.”

“I will,” I promise.

I check the fridge to see that the last burger I brought him is still there and offer to get it heated up, but he declines. “Maybe later. Ain’t hungry.”

“You gotta eat, Dad,” I insist. “Gotta keep your strength up.”

“For what?” he asks me, chuckling. “Ain’t planning on running any marathons anytime soon. Now you best get back and rescue Helen I’m pretty tired—might just fall back asleep here shortly.”

When I get back to the exit ramp, I find Santa Helen dancing on the roadside to Wham’s “Last Christmas,” which blares from her pocket. I can see people in cars coming off the exit smiling and laughing. I almost hate to interrupt her, because she’s better at this than me—but I jog up anyway, announcing my return. “Time for you to get in from the cold, lady.”

“Already?” she asks through the flowing white beard. “I’ll tell ya what, Trav—this was fun!”

For me, as I put the suit back on and send Helen on her way, it’s not fun. It’s cold and exhausting, and I feel silly as hell. But I’d do it all night if it helps the Christmas Box stay open.

When darkness falls, I pull out a battery-charged flood light and shine it on myself. That’s how dedicated I am.

But by the time the clock strikes seven-forty-five, fifteen minutes before Lexi’s closing time on this last Saturday before Christmas, I’m well-ready to pack up my light, get in my truck, and blast the heat while I shed the Santa suit from over my more low-key clothing. Although I can’t see the big sign from where I am, Richard offered to drive out and turn off the lights a few minutes before eight, and later I’ll head there myself to dig out the posts to let it lay flat on the ground since its one day of tempting legal fate has passed. As for what happens to the sign after that, Richard said, “Eh, let’s talk about that after Christmas, huh? Might need it next year.” He ended with a wink.

On the way back to town, I give him a call and thank him again for all the help, and I pass along Dad’s thanks, too. He sounds happy enough about the whole thing, and wishes me a merry Christmas.

I’m beyond exhausted, and hungry, and more than ready to crash with my dog for a little while before I go dig up a sign under the cover of darkness, but when I pull to the curb across from the Christmas Box to see the lights still on, I can’t resist going over.

I can tell through the glass that the place is a mess. Lexi is scurrying around, trying to put things back in order, when the bells on the door draw her gaze my way.

I give her a grin. “Looks like the same tornado that took down that gingerbread house of yours came barreling through your shop here. Busy day?”

“You could say that. Banner day, in fact.” She looks as tired as I feel, but that doesn’t keep a grateful smile from unfurling across her face.

I decide to play dumb. “Yeah? How banner?”

“Like…I-think-I’m-solvent banner. Like I-had-to-restock-things-all-day banner. Any idea how that happened?” she asks, head tilting and voice filled with playful suspicion.

“Oh,” I say, confessing just a little, “I guess it’s possible I had a hand in getting the word out to holiday travelers.”

“Is it true you actually put on a Santa suit and waved people in from the expressway, man who hates Christmas?”

I shrug, offer up one more small grin, and make another, bigger confession. “I must like you more than I hate Christmas.”

“I don’t really think you hate Christmas anymore,” she accuses me.

Too tired to completely give up my Scroogy reputation tonight, I just tell her, “Don’t get started making crazy accusations, Alexandra Louise.”

“My only regret about having so many customers today,” she tells me, “is that I was too busy to come see for myself the day Travis Hutchins paraded around in a Santa suit next to the interstate.”

I just laugh, still not quite able to believe I did it. “Never happened,” I joke. “I’ll deny it ’til my dying day.”

“So I was wondering,” she says, flashing wide eyes, sounding a little flirtatious, and making me remember those kisses we shared, “if you might let me thank you.”

Well, this sounds promising. “What did you have in mind?”

“Are you busy the night of Christmas Eve?”

“Well, you know us Grinches don’t make a lot of holiday plans, so I’m free as a partridge in a pear tree.”

I feel her pretty laughter wash over me. “Then maybe you could come over. We could snack on some Christmas cookies. I could torture you with a Christmas movie or two. And after that…who knows?”

Okay, I’m liking the sound of this. Especially the last part. “It’s a date,” I say. And yeah, I’ve tried like hell to resist her charms, but…my resolve has worn thin. Maybe seeing where this thing between us leads is just another way of taking one day, one step, at a time.

That’s when the business phone behind the counter rings. I’ve never actually heard it do that before, and we both look at it like it just sprouted antlers.

“You should get that,” I tell her.

As she answers, I walk to the end of the bar to see a little hot chocolate remaining in the cocoa machine. Still trying to warm up, I reach over to grab a mug, and my cell phone falls from my pocket, clunking to the floor.

I bend to grab it, hit a button to make sure it still works, and then…notice something else on the floor peeking from between the short legs of a wicker stand where Lexi keeps extra cocoa toppings and paper cups. I recognize it almost immediately as one of the wish slips, and pluck it up, figuring it belongs in the box, that it must have gotten dropped when we were looking through them all.

She’s telling someone to hold on and that she’ll check in the back—when I see that it’s not just any wish. It’s from her .

Name: Lexi

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

That’s when she exits the back room, telling the person on the phone, “Yes, I found one more and we’re open tomorrow from noon to eight.”

I cram the wish in my pants pocket.

I’m shaken, though, unsure how to feel.

When I was concerned she might want something serious with me, it made me pull back. And even if I’ve decided to quit worrying about that so much…this is big.

But one day at a time, right? Worry about the steps in front of you today, not the whole journey. It’s the only response I can muster right now, even after what I just read. And it’s not like I have to do something about her wish. Sure, I’ve gotten into the wish-granting business lately, but this one I can let ride.

When she hangs up, she turns to face me with, “Have you eaten? I’m starved. I could whip something up at my place.”

“Thanks,” I tell her, “but I have to run. I have to take down a big sign near the expressway before morning.” I wonder if I look ill-at-ease. Since I suddenly kind of am.

Her eyes widen. “It’s that urgent?”

“Actually, yeah. Because it’s a little bit illegal.” I’m holding my thumb and index finger close together. “A rogue Santa’s work is never done.”

Appearing surprised and now mildly worried, she begins shooing me. “Then go. Get moving.” Then her eyes widen. “But do you need help? Because I can go with you.”

“Nope, I’ve got it all under control,” I assure her, heading for the door, unexpectedly glad to be leaving.

As I reach it, though, she stops me with, “Travis.”

I look over my shoulder to see her walking toward me. And before I know what’s happening, she lifts one hand to my cheek and plants a soft, warm kiss on the other. It moves all through me.

“Thank you, again,” she says. “You literally saved Christmas. Or the Christmas Box anyway. I’m so used to being on my own, and…well, no one’s ever done anything like this for me before. I’ll never forget what you did today.”