Page 44 of This Christmas
This time I don’t want to roll my eyes. As corny as it sounds, the moment I saw him, everything shifted. It was like the life I had once imagined could happen now.
But then, she came into view.
“A week ago, you were engaged, Zane. You need time to process everything.” I throw my napkin on the pile and start cleaning up.
Zane reaches for my hand, halting me. He links his fingers with mine. “The night I showed up at your place was the first time in my life when I thought about being unfaithful. Seeing you again made me realize I wanted to be with you, to make love to you, to show you how incredibly sorry I am for what I’d done to us. To you. I’m not in the shadow of some rebound romance. When she told me it was over, I saidokayand hung up. That’s not what people do when they’re in love. They fight for what they want. Who they want to be with.”
He stands and angles my body to his. “I’m going to fight for us. We deserve a second chance at making this right.” His fingers trail along my cheek and under my jaw until he reaches my chin, then he lightly pulls my head upward, giving me no choice but to look into hiseyes. Zane moves slowly, giving me time to step away, but I don’t.
The gasp I let out when his lips touch mine is almost embarrassing. But I go with it because being kissed by Zane should be on the national registry of things you should do in your lifetime. I hope, moving forward—if I move forward—I’m the only one on the list to try.
SIXTEEN
ZANE
The magic of Christmas comes alive when Santa arrives at the annual children’s party. I remember when I was little, and my parents would bring me. All my classmates would come, dressed in their Sunday best. We’d sit at circular tables, each with a holiday centerpiece, and munch on everything from cheese and crackers to cookies and cakes. Everyone donates something to the buffet. The real fun was waiting for Santa to arrive with his big red bag, full of toys we hadn’t asked him for, yet he always knew what we wanted.
Back then, this party was the highlight of my year. Until I turned twelve and I was no longer allowed to get a present from Santa. Talk about heartbreak. Honestly, that year was the worst. I couldn’t trick or treat, either. Deemed too old by some imaginary rule which no one knew where it originated from, yet it was still enforced by parents.
The next year, I discovered girls. More importantly, Evangeline.
It’s hard to think back to how I felt ten-plus years ago but chasing her around the lake that year made up for the fact I couldn’t do all the fun stuff I used to.
She was worth growing up for.
She’s worth it more now even though she’s taking full advantage of my feelings for her by making me wrap presents. Being an attorney, I’m used to making last-minute adjustments, but this is ridiculous.
We’re supposed to go out to dinner tonight. After my lunch time shenanigans earlier today, when I risked my life to kiss her, I asked her to go out to dinner again. I figured she would be in a daze after my excellent kissing prowess and hedged a bet she’d say yes. I was right. She agreed.
The problem with my above average kissing skills is Eve already had plans, which is likely why she said no in the first place.
Hence, why I’m at the community center wrapping presents. If I wanted to see her tonight, I had to do it here. It was a no brainer to spend time with her in her element. It’s moments like this that I’ve missed. It’s the camaraderie of the community we grew up with and always talked about giving back to. Looking around, there are people from each generation working to bring a day of happiness to the children of Deer Ridge.
This is what I lost when I accepted the internship in New York City.
All hope isn’t lost on my date night with Eve, though. She did promise me some hot cocoa later . ..
. . . In her apartment.
The night will be perfect regardless, but a little snowfall would make it a bit more magical.
However, when I said I would help, I didn’t think I’d be part of an assembly line with strict rules: take a name, find the gift, and wrap. Once you’re done, you take the wrapped present to Evangeline who writes the child’s name in some fancy cursive writing.
Rinse and repeat.
Evangeline gave me a choice: wrap presents or decorate, neither of which I’m very good at. But I figured measuring, cutting, and taping, would be much easier than blowing up balloons and attempting to make a balloon arch. The crew doing the balloons are not having an easy go of it and I think if more than one popped in my face, I’d probably cry.
Wrapping means I’m closer to her and have an excuse to talk to her without disrupting her work. This is the perfect choice.
Alma, the famed pastry master of Alma’s Bakery, sits next to me. I’m surprised she’s here, considering she opens the bakery so early. If it were me, I’d be fast asleep. She sees me struggling with the ribbon and offers to help, guiding me on how to tie it efficiently.
“I hated ribbons when I was younger. They always delayed my unwrapping process,” I tell her.
“It’s why we put them on presents. To slow you down. There’s nothing wrong with taking your time and enjoying the process. Makes the outcome much sweeter.”
“For a kid, it’s pure frustration.”
Alma laughs and asks me to loan her my finger. “I remember doing this with my mom. It was after I found out about Santa.”