A Little Christmas Romance (3 page)

After we’re back in my car,
Chris gives me directions and I drive to his apartment. I look over at him confused. “You didn’t leave your car at the mall?”

He gets a silly look on his face and scoots down in the seat a little. “Well, actually, I was with a group of guys, so I didn’t take my car. It’s still in front of my house.”
He touches his bottom lip with his finger. It’s something he used to do when we were younger, when he was thinking about something that was bothering him.

There’s a lot of snow tonight, so leaving the car in the road wasn’t a good plan.
“You left it in the street?”

“Yeah. Not a smart move. The plows are going to bury the thing.”

“No kidding. I did that once and it took half the day to get my car out. But it’s nice, the snow. The flurries are light right now. The sky has that Norman Rockwell painting look, like a Christmas card.” I have a sappy smile on my face as I look around. Trees line the sides of the road with tons of barren branches covered in a dusting of white. The moonlight makes it look magical. Chris raises an eyebrow at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” He smiles and sighs. “Turn right up here. It’s the last unit on the end.”

I pull into a parking lot and drive past a row of narrow condos. When I stop in front of his, I can’t help it. My jaw drops open and I blurt out, “Really?”

“What? You thought I had
no Christmas spirit?” His front door has a wreath that looks like a decapitated snowman, complete with a top hat. The front banister is covered in so many Christmas lights that it looks like the glowing end of a flashlight, and there’s a pretty tree inside, decorated, and glowing softly. You’d think he had kids with the number of decorations up, but I know he doesn’t.

“Dude, y
our railing is glowing like a fireball and you have Frosty’s head plastered to your front door.” I laugh softly and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and glance over at him out of the corner of my eye. “I just thought you’d be a plastic pipe-cleaner tree sort of guy.”

He glances at me, appalled.
“Don’t be silly. A live tree is the only way to go. Besides, once in a while there’s a squirrel still living in it. Double the fun.”

“Yeah, I suppose a plastic
squirrel isn’t the same thing.”

Chris snorts and
the charming grin I love so much lights up his face. “No, not so much. So, tell me, what kind of tree adorns elf-girl’s apartment? Silver with a big pink bow on top?”

“Oh gross. Please, if you’re going to ta
ke a guess, at least be realistic.”

Chris
offers a serious look. “The goth tree, complete with genuine burnt bark, ashen ornaments, and a dead rat for the topper.”

“
Psh, you’re so wrong. It’s a live bat. Totally different.” I’m smiling. I can’t help it.

“How could I be so off
base?” He bumps my arm with his elbow. “Seriously, Brooke. What is it? Plastic or real? I know how you can’t stand fake stuff—or people—so my guess is real.”

My gaze is suddenly focused
intently on the dashboard. “Uh, well…”

“Well what?”

“I didn’t get a tree.”

“What?” He cocks his head at me like a
labradoodle. “You can’t be serious. You were going to skip Christmas?”

“No.” He tilts his head to the
other side and gives me a don’t-lie-to-me look. I sigh, “Yes.”

“You can’t skip Christmas.”

“Seriously, I can.
It’s fine, Chris. Go inside and hug your squirrel.” I put my hand on the gearshift, like I’m getting ready to leave, but he just sits there.

“No. I’m not leaving you alone with no tree and no chance of rabies.”

This feels uncomfortable, but I don’t want to get into it. Christmas is great for people who aren’t alone, but for people like me, it sucks monkeys. Chris won’t understand, and I don’t want to get into it. With all my elf make-up on, if I cry, I’ll look like one of those sad clowns trapped on a velvet canvas. The guy who painted those was beyond disturbed by the way. There’s no way you can be sane and stare at one of those things day after day.

Chris reaches over and turns off the engine, yanking the key from the ignition. If I wasn’t in a parking space, I’d have
a problem. “Hey!” I reach for the keys, but he shoves them into his pocket and grins. Hesitating, I think about going for it, but that requires getting a little too up close and personal with Chris. The fucker. I mash my lips into a thin line and huff, “Give them back.” I shove out my hand, palm up.

“No. Not until you’ve had a mini Christmas, inside, right now
, with me and my squirrel.”

“That’s not a good name for Little Chris.” I swallow a laugh, but Chris gives me an odd look. “Sorry, I thought we were talking about your tree.”

His lips part like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. There’s a strange smile on his face, like he has no idea how to respond to me. He blinks and laughs, before he reaches for the door and shoves it open.

Awh
, frack. Is he serious? A cold rush of air fills the car. “Chris! Give me my keys back!” I jump out of my seat and stomp up behind him. “I’m tired and want to go to sleep. Don’t make me beg.”

After slipping the key into the lock, he pushes
his front door open. The inside of his apartment looks like a Macy’s window. Red, green, and gold are everywhere. There are pots of poinsettias, garlands, and decorations on every surface. A smile spreads across my face, as my eyes wander around the little room. He even hung his stocking on the mantle over the fireplace. It’s so unlike him, so innocent and pure. In high school I had no idea he liked this holiday. He acted like it was stupid, but all this makes my jaw drop.

“I won’t make you beg, but I can’t let you spend the holiday alone.” He steps inside and tosses his keys o
n a table, before shucking his santa coat and hat. “Stay for some hot cocoa and watch an old movie with me. I’ll drive you home after.”

“Chris,” I whine and slump my shoulders
, while smashing my shoes into his carpet. “I want to go to bed.”

“Really? I didn’t think I was going to get to nail an elf. Glad you changed your—ouch!” he
yelps as I pinch his arm. “You’re sending mixed signals, babe. Make up your mind.” He’s laughing now, and when I try to pinch him again, he manages to get hold of my wrists. Chris gently pulls me inside and when his eyes lock on mine, something changes. My pulse pounds too hard, too fast, and I can’t breathe.

My voice comes out raspy, pleading.
“This is hard enough, you know? Leaving after being here, with all this—going home to an empty apartment. Chris, I can’t do it. Don’t make me explain it to you.”

His grip lifts to my shoulders and he squeezes. “Of course not. I’m such an asshole. Brooke. Stay here tonight.”

That was the last thing I expected him to say. My chin hits the floor and I can barely form words. “Don’t—”

He doesn’t let me speak. “
I mean it. Stay with me. We’ll watch old movies, drink eggnog, and stay up all night. I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. I can’t let you leave. Stay.”

“I can
’t.”

Smiling, he urges,
“Don’t go.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because you…” intimidate me. Because you make me lose my mind. Because you’re you. I think all those things but can
’t say any of them. His grip is still on my shoulders. Part of me wants to say yes, but I’m afraid of this—of him. “I just can’t.”

Chris
nods slowly, like he understands, and fishes my keys out of his pocket. He holds them out so they dangle by the fob. Smiling sadly, he says, “I won’t make you stay, but I wish you would.”

W
e stand perfectly still and the moment feels tangible, like it matters. The truth is that I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to wake up alone tomorrow morning. I don’t want to wipe the tears out of my eyes because I miss my mom and I’m by myself. I don’t even have a cat. There’s no tree, no lights, no Christmasy anything at my place. It’s weird. I thought all those things would just remind me of what I was missing, but it didn’t work out that way. By refusing to celebrate, it put all the focus on my loss instead of my life.

Lowering my gaze to the floor, I leave the keys hanging between us. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Chris takes a step closer, closing the space between us. He lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. “Because I’m crazy about you. I stood in line for three hours for a chance to say hello. I had no ride home. I ditched my friends and didn’t finish my Christmas shopping. I’m going to have to wrap the dog up or my brother will have no gift tomorrow.” He laughs and touches my cheek lightly. “But it was worth it, because it gave me a chance to talk to you. I never imagined that you’d be standing here tonight, that I’d get to be around you like this again. How could you not know?”

My heart slams into my ribs violently
, and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel lightheaded. “Not know what?”

The corners of his mouth pull up nervously, like he wants to smile, but is uncertain. There’s
a vulnerability in his eyes that undoes me before his gaze sweeps the carpet. His lips part like he wants to tell me something, but he closes his mouth and shakes his head, then runs his fingers through his hair and down his neck. “I don’t know. It’s just been a great night, that’s all. It feels like old times and I don’t want them to end.” Chris takes my hand and uncurls my fingers, placing my keys in my palm.

Pressing my lips tog
ether, I glance up at him. “I don’t want to leave.”

That sexy s
mirk crosses his lips. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

There’s a fire crackling in front of us. Chris is sitting on the couch next to me while I cradle a cup of cocoa and sip it slowly. I stare at the dancing flames, wondering if I’ve lost my mind. Not leaving now means that I’m staying. The snow is piling up outside and the roads are getting worse. I glance at the window again with worry twisting my gut into knots.

Chris notices and stands up after setting his cup down on the coffee table. He walks over to the tree and says, “You want to see something funny?” I nod. He twists the base so the trunk turns and the tree spins slowly. The part that faced the wall is bare. “I didn’t get a chance to finish so I shoved the
undecorated side into the wall.”

I laugh
lightly. “Slacker.”

“Always. But now we have something to do until Santa comes.” He winks at me and reaches for a box that’s on the floor at the base of the tree. He sets it down on the table and opens the lid. “Come help me finish it.
There are a few more ornaments in here and a shitload of tinsel.”

He’s so tactless sometimes
, and I wonder if it’s on purpose. Chris is always suave, constructing these wonderful sounding sentences and then throws in some jarring slang or a nasty word just to mix it up. I love it. Every time he does something like that, it’s difficult not to smile. The corners of my lips tug up on their own and my bad mood evaporates.

I place my mug down and walk over, and pick up a glass ornament. It’s a green ball with ivy etched into the sides. I walk toward the tree and hang it on a branch. Something deep inside twists and I don’t feel the agony until the smile falls off my face. I swallow the tears, the loss, and every never-again
scenario that pops into my head—basically, all the grief from losing my mom—and take another ornament.

I do it again and take a slow steady breath. Chris
moves closer to me and reaches over my head, putting a plastic Santa head up high. Before he steps back, he lingers in the space and I can feel him there, wondering if he should put his hands on me and offer some comfort. He knows what’s going through my head, he always has. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he saved this to make me do it with him.

The first time is the hardest.
For the past few years, I let this holiday come and go. There were no decorations, no lights or tinsel. Decorating a tree next year won’t be so bittersweet and the following year, it might even be nice again. But this year, right now, it’s ripping out my insides.

Chris lingers and slips another ornament into my hands. He takes my fingers and helps me reach forward and loop it over a branch. The added sensation of his touch shorts out the horrible feelings and makes them collide with the strong
certainty that Chris brings. My pulse pounds harder as he does it again and again. His touches linger and I can feel his breath on the side of my neck. Somehow my mood changes, and decorating a tree becomes sensual. The painful memories fade and it’s just me and him, here, now. There are no ghosts, no remorse.

He hands me the last ornament and as we hang it togeth
er he whispers in my ear, “You’d make an excellent elf. I need to be careful that Santa doesn’t whisk you away tonight.” He laughs for a second and adds, “Between that outfit and your height, it’d be an easy mistake.”

The corner of my mouth tugs up into a crooked smile. I round on him and poke a finger into his chest. “You’re just jealous that this much awesome fits into one little package,
especially since you’re so big and lacking.”

“Did you just comment on my package?”

My jaw drops and I shove his chest with my fingertips. “I did not!”

“Yes, you did. You said it was big
, too. I heard you. I knew it! You want me.” He closes his eyes like Cupid shot him in the head and dips his shoulders from side to side like a lovesick girl.

I take the opportunity to grab a
fistful of tinsel and stuff it down his shirt. When he opens his mouth to yell at me, I shove my other hand up, too. “Eat tinsel!”

Chris laughs and swats me
away, spitting out the silvery strips of plastic before reaching for me. I yelp and back away as fast as I can, but the back of my knees hit his couch. Chris rushes at me and jumps, but I manage to sidestep him. He flies across the table and lands on the couch before rolling onto the floor. We both freeze for a second. I wait for him to move. For a moment I think he’s hurt until his lips curl into a smile.

“You’re going to pay for that.
” He jumps up and lunges at me.

I screech and try to get around the table, but
I’m lacking in the stealth department. He manages to grab my thigh and we tumble to the floor. Chris pins me down and has an evil look on his face as his gaze shifts to the cup of cold cocoa on the table.

“Don’t you
dare!” I laugh nervously, and try to twist away, but he’s on top of me and way too big. I can’t move.

“I don’t kno
w. You’ve been a little naughty Brooke.” He reaches for his mug and tips it slightly but the contents don’t pour out.