Page 18 of The Christmas Box

Lexi

I’ve taken it all in through the shop window. One minute I’m standing there admiring my beautiful new wishing box, and the next, I hear the squeal of tires outside. As the big pickup moves on, I let out a sigh of relief, reporting to Dara, “She’s okay. She’s okay. And…oh my God, he’s stooping down, petting her…almost kind of hugging her. Maybe he’s not a dog-hater, after all. Only…” That’s when I notice something else. “Oh no. No, no, no. This can’t be.”

“What? What can’t be?” comes her worried voice from across the store.

“It’s snowing,” I announce. “It’s actually snowing. Again.” I end on a sigh.

Dara walks up beside me, joining me to peer out on the suddenly-snowy doggie drama. Then she tosses me a suspicious sideways glance. “You like him.”

I turn a you-can’t-be-serious look her way. “Because I’m glad the dog didn’t get hit by a monster truck means I like the guy who claims not to want the dog? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No,” she says. “You like him because…maybe you always did? Even back in high school? And now he’s back and not as bad as you thought?”

She’s fishing. Putting her small-town-detective cap on. But it’s not working. “We have nothing in common,” I point out.

She’s on a roll now, though. “And that’s why you asked him to build you a box, so you’d have a reason to see him again.”

Now I roll my eyes. “I asked him to build me a box because he’s, like, a master carpenter or something.”

“You could have called Talc Brewsaugh,” she points out. The carpenter who did all the work on the inside of the shop for me after I bought it.

“Talc stays busy, and it would have been a very small project for him. Travis was right across the street, and the obvious choice when I decided I needed a wishing box.”

“Or maybe he’swhyyou decided you needed a wishing box.” She sounds so accusing. “Maybe it was subconscious. Maybeyoudon’t even know you like him.Yet.”

I release a tired breath and shake my head. “I think I know what I like. And it’s not the guy across the street, no matter how pretty that box turned out. I mean, he’s not an awful person or anything, but…he’s hardly my type. He’s grouchy at least half the time. He has all this baggage with his dying father that he doesn’t seem concerned about dealing with. And he’s barely acknowledged what he did to me in high school. After all, you can’t just say a few words—none of them sorry, by the way—and expect everything to be fine.

“And on top of all that, he hates Christmas. How could I, of all people, ever want to be with a guy who hates Christmas?”

December 7

Lexi

Okay, he hates Christmas, but…for some reason I still hold out hope.

Not because I’m into him like Dara thinks. But because I made that wish. On the star. The truth is, every time I see him—whether he’s being gruff or nice—that wish comes back to me.

And something about that night, that moment, just felt...like someone somewhere was listening. God, the universe, angels—whoever makes such things happen. And sure, if I said that out loud to anyone, they’d think I was a loon. But I personally think miracles are all around us if we care to look. I think they happen every day—we just don’t always know about them.

And despite all of Travis Hutchins’ many flaws, I guess it just makes me sad when someone can’t embrace the goodness of the season. The more I come to know about him, and about what’s happening with his dad right now—well, I continue to think that he, more than most people, would really benefit from letting a little Christmas warmth into his life, believing in the magic.

Or…maybe I’m deluding myself. Maybe I want him to be someone he’s just not. Someone who apologizes for his mistakes. Someone who cares about his dying father. Someone whocouldbelieve.

Or…maybe I’m just letting myself get wrapped up in this idea of wanting him to like Christmas because I’d rather think aboutthatthan the potential grim reality facing my brand new business? Maybe I’m distracting myself from my own problems, which I have no idea how to solve, by worrying about something I think Icanfix? Though why I think that, I have no idea—that wish certainly hasn’t shown any signs of coming true yet.

This morning, I’m standing in the same spot as last night when Marley nearly got hit by that truck, peering out the window. And just like then, it’s snowing. It’s snowed off and on all night. The streets are slushy and Main Street is depressingly still when Dara comes plodding up the snow-covered sidewalk in her fur-trimmed snowboots, bundled from head to toe.

“I probably should have called and told you not to come in,” I say glumly as she pushes through the door, the bells jingling her arrival.

“I can go home if you want,” she offers, “but the snow is supposed to end soon and it’s Saturday, so I think people will come out anyway.”

I gesture to the empty, quiet thoroughfare outside. “It’s ten o’clock, our lights are lit, our door is open, and no one’s here.” I let out a sigh and confide, “I thought…if I build it, they will come, you know? Like in that old Field of Dreams movie.” I shake my head. “But if this is what a Saturday in December looks like, how empty will we be the rest of the year?” Maybe Travis was right and this was a stupid idea in the first place.

Unzipping her parka, she walks over to stand behind me and uses mittened hands to massage my shoulders in a pep-talky way. “Know what I think you need? To put a wish in your pretty new wishing box. Have you yet? Has anyone?”

I glance at it, now ready for business with ink pens and slips of paper. “No. Snow’s kept everyone away since it showed up yesterday.”

“Then I say we christen it,” she suggests, pulling me toward it by one mitten.

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