The Christmas Crush

Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I think she wants to see the lights more than the bakery. I hope I’m reading her right. He reminded himself to trust his instincts—Nana said fake it till you make it. Elena’s ping-ponging interests both delighted him and freaked him out in equal measure. It was exciting to be with someone full of feeling, but he wished trying to understand her confused him less. Right when he thought he had the situation well in hand, she said something that made him doubt himself, skin heating, pulse quickening.

Had he been oblivious to a hinted kiss back in the alcove? He’d been dying to kiss her, to feel her lips on his while she pushed her body against him, melting the cold. Then he’d worried she’d think the middle of a date was a weird time for him to make a move. Then again, she’d asked to see the bakery, which would have meant time alone. Kicking himself for potentially missing a signal, he snuck a furtive glance at Elena. He couldn’t remember a time he’d been this consumed with a date’s success.

Elena squealed when they stepped under the light show entrance arch. Hundreds of red and white lights twisted around the arch in a candy cane pattern, casting a red glow on the surrounding snow. She swept his hand to meet both of hers, held it to her heart as she exclaimed, and he knew she was still having fun. The relative darkness of the street felt far away as they strolled the winding cobblestoned lanes lined with displays. All around them other people in puffy coats, scarves, and hats chattered, oohed and aahed. For Lawrence, no one else existed. He couldn’t take his eyes off Elena as she experienced the magic for the first time.

She’d never seen the village public works assembling the huge wire frames, Santa in multiple pieces, the gingerbread house’s four sides in a pile waiting to be bolted together. Seeing it through her eyes recalled how he’d viewed it as a child, almost believing no human effort had been required. That a North Pole made all of light had appeared in New Hope overnight while the town slept.

He couldn’t help watching her, drinking in her expressions and reactions. Elena looked different tonight compared to her normal, polished appearance. The stained sweatshirt over the dress, the tights and snow boots. Cheeks pink, hair windblown. Elena Voss was the furthest thing from the corporate drone of his fears. Her eyes danced from display to display. The more he got to know her, the more he wondered how she managed to sit still in a cubicle all day.

“The mice,” she exclaimed, pointing at a display of rodents sitting down to a Christmas feast at a long, low table. He knew this display well, one of his childhood favorites. No more than a foot tall but full of intricate details—a Christmas ham, a figgy pudding—the mice were a perennial hit with first-time visitors. “And why does the air smell like cinnamon?”

“Does it?” He knew cinnamon pinecones were scattered throughout. He’d heard the ground crew arguing about who had to rake them last week when he walked by on his way to work, but he preferred to let Elena assume it was natural. He took a deep breath. “Wow, it does. You’re right.”

“This is amazing. You must be able to see the lights from the highway.”

“You can. That’s how we lure all the unsuspecting tourists.”

“How many do you have locked in your basement?”

“How many what?”

“Tourists.”

He laughed. “I cleared them all out. They were too needy. ‘Feed us. Give us water. We thought this place would be nice.’ ”

“I wish someone would trap me here so I didn’t have to go back to work on Monday.”

He wished he could be the one to keep her. It felt too vulnerable to say, like she might misunderstand or think he was rushing things. Or worst of all, think he meant to keep her an actual prisoner. He pictured her running in the opposite direction, screaming, Get away, freak .

If he didn’t get out of his head, he’d drive himself insane.

Elena caught sight of the drink stand and sped up to join the line outside the shack styled like a Swiss chalet. While they waited, she marveled at how precious everything was in New Hope while he nodded along, enjoying the way she saw the town.

New Hope was a great place—he loved his hometown—but he knew the reality wasn’t always picture-perfect. Rising rents, neighbors who fought over petty stuff like tree trimming, kids in school who made fun of boys who baked. Some of those creeps still lived in town, like Tommy Jankowski, who managed to put Lawrence down to this day whenever their paths crossed. Too bad Tommy wasn’t around tonight to see the absolute stunner on Lawrence’s arm.

“I’m getting the Mexican hot chocolate,” Elena said, checking out the chalked A-frame menu board. The queue crept forward. “But the eggnog sounds good too. What’s best?”

“I always get the wassail.”

Elena pressed her lips together, stunned. “That’s a drink? I always figured it meant dancing or something.”

“Wassail is a spiced ale. Delicious.”

“So the lyrics should be here we come a-boozing ?”

“I mean, they sing about moldy cheese in that one, so why not?”

“Hi, kiddo,” Pamela said when they reached the split-log counter. The florist must have taken tonight’s volunteer shift. He introduced her to Elena, and Pamela gave him a significant stare when she recognized his date from the contentious town hall meeting. Sometimes it was beneficial to know everyone in town, sometimes it meant you got the best seats in restaurants; other times it meant everyone knew your business. He could imagine the phone calls he’d get from Mom and Nana come morning.

If Elena wanted a festive drink, he would face any small-town scrutiny to get one for her. All the proceeds from the drink stand went to a conservation fund for New Hope’s historic buildings, and all the townies took turns manning the stand. All except Lawrence and Trey. A previous mayor had enacted a lifetime ban against them volunteering ever since that unfortunate night when they were both twenty-one. That cold night they’d sampled more spiked drinks than they’d served. They’d wanted to avoid frostbite; it seemed like the most sensible way. One of the most entertaining nights of his life, even if no one would let them live it down all these years later.

Besides, the fire department had rescued the Santa light figure from the clock tower. He and Trey hadn’t tied it too tightly with garland. No harm done.

One day, if things between him and Elena went well, he would tell her the story.

“One wassail for you, I’m sure,” Pamela said. She pulled a marker from behind her ear, wrote his name on a cup. “And for you, Elena?”

“I want to try something I’ve never had before. I’ll take a hot toddy, please,” Elena said with conviction. When they stepped out of line to wait for their drinks, she whispered, “What even is a hot toddy?”

“You crack me up. What happened to the hot chocolate or eggnog?”

“I feel like expanding my horizons tonight.”

“Well, for your information, it’s hot whiskey, lemon, and honey.”

Elena scrunched her nose. “Hot whiskey sounds weird. I have to try it, though. I can’t be boring and stick to the same old thing.”

Hard to picture Elena choosing the boring option under any circumstances.

“Good for you, get out of that comfort zone,” he said, as much to himself as to her.

Pamela set their drinks on the counter and called out, “Kiddo,” not bothering with his real name. He could smell the whiskey in Elena’s drink as he gave it to her.

“Look at this little cinnamon stick. How darling.” She stirred her drink with enough speed to hand-whip a meringue. A lemon slice studded with star anise swirled on the surface. “Here goes nothing.”

She tapped her Styrofoam cup against his, then took a sip. He waited for her to cough or splutter. Instead, she smiled. “Ahh, that is smooth. Turns out hot whiskey is amazing.”

He wondered how many of his friends and neighbors would be ribbing him tomorrow for walking around the light display grinning like a sappy maniac at Elena. Probably the town’s entire population.

They wove around another couple taking a selfie in front of the mistletoe display. The guy almost elbowed Elena while trying to get a better angle. Lawrence steered Elena away, glaring at the dude, whose eyes widened when he saw Lawrence.

All around them, harassed moms wrangled shrieking children, attempted to get usable photos for Christmas cards. Here in the center of the village, a band played rock versions of carols on a temporary stage. “Jingle Bells” at earsplitting decibels, reverb from the amplifiers. Sound vibrated all around them, trembled in his chest. He checked Elena—still happy and dazzled. Meanwhile, his brain began to frizz out from the excessive stimulation, a sensation like electric zaps in his temples.

“Let’s go over here,” he said, and drew her to a clearing a few paces back in the trees. Not everyone knew there were pockets of calm hidden throughout. He and Elena sat on a wrought-iron bench tucked between towering Fraser firs. Here the only illumination came from delicate white lights strung in the branches. A sharp breeze shook the branches, the lights twinkled. Beneath their feet lay a soft covering of pine needles. His mind slowed.

Elena looked up at him again, the way she had in the alcove. He touched her face, wished he’d taken off his glove so he could feel her soft skin. This was the moment. I should ask first. That’s the right thing to do. That’s what people do, right? How had he forgotten first-date etiquette? It hadn’t been that long. The drowning feeling from a few minutes back returned. He felt like a hand was compressing his heart, cutting off his breath. Say it, say it, ask already.

“Kiss me?” she asked. He should’ve known Elena wouldn’t be uncertain. He leaned in, held her pretty face in his hands. Cold forehead to cold forehead, and then he kissed her. Hot like whiskey, sweet like honey. Intoxicating.

She parted her lips, and all his worries slipped away.