Page 19 of The Christmas Box

I let out a thoughtful sigh, liking the idea. “Maybe you’re right.”

“You first,” she says. “You dreamed up the idea—yours should be the very first one.”

I fill out one of the little forms she created.

Name: Lexi

My wish: For the Christmas Box to be a grand success in every way.

Then I fold it in half and slip it through the slot on top.

I watch as Dara does the same, dropping hers inside as well—and then we share a smile.

“There,” she says. “Didn’t that feel good?”

I nod. “Thanks for suggesting it.” Then I look around at the empty shop, all glistening and glowing for no one but the two people working there. “Now if only we had customers to make wishes, too.”

After Dara gets the hot chocolate and coffee going, she wipes down the counter and is soon reduced to fluffing tree branches. Despite the cheerful holiday music playing, the place feels quiet and still. A few minutes later, she looks up from behind an artificial blue spruce to say, “Maybe Ishouldgo. I know you can’t afford to pay someone when there’s nothing to do.”

It depresses me in more ways than one. The my-brand-new-business-failing way and also because I know she enjoys being here. She loves her mom very much, but got thrust into the role of full-time caregiver without much choice.

She’s right, though—I have to be practical. I just give her a sad nod of agreement.

She heads to the back room where she stashes her coat, and when I see her through the doorway rewinding the scarf around her neck that she just took off a little while ago, the sight only adds to my sadness.

We need some joy around here, but where is it going to come from?

That’s when I hear the slam of a door and glance outside to see Travis Hutchins’ old red pickup rumble to life. The wipers swish powdery snow from his windshield and a few seconds later, the truck pulls away, leaving a snow-free rectangle behind. The Lucas Building looks drab and lifeless in the December chill, like Travis’s bah-humbug attitude is somehow taking root in an old storefront I’ve always found perfectly charming until right now.

That’s when it hits me for the first time that it’s the only building on Main with no holiday decorations. No wonder it looks lackluster in comparison.

And as Dara starts back toward the door, rebundled, I say, “Wait.”

This halts her in place. “Why?”

“I just came up with a plan.”

She blinks. “A plan? About how to get more customers in the store?”

“No. About how to spread Christmas cheer. To Travis.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. Understandably, since I’ve changed gears pretty fast there. But it surprises me when she says, “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s a terrible idea.”

I push back. “How can you say that? You don’t even know what it is.”

“But what I do know is that if the guy’s not into Christmas, that’s his business. And maybe not something you should insert yourself into?”

I scrunch my nose up to tell her, “It just bothers me. He needs some Christmas joy in his life.”

She sends me a knowing sideways glance. “Like I said yesterday, you like him.”

“Do not,” I argue with the all the maturity of a fifth grader.

“And that’s why you care about how he feels.”

“I care about howeveryonefeels,” I claim, letting my gaze widen to punctuate the statement. “This just happens to be the person in front of me at the moment, the person who needs some merriness. And maybe I don’t need hislackof merriness bringing me down. There’s enough to worry about without having a Christmas hater right outside my window.”

Even as her eye roll tells me she’s not buying it, she asks, “Well, I still think drumming up business would be a much better use of your energy, but what are we doing to de-Scrooge the unsuspecting guy across the street?”

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