Page 21 of The Christmas Box

“Lexi, this shop is adorbs,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to check it out and I’m so glad I did. And that box is beautiful. What an awesome idea.”

“Feel free to spread the word,” I tell her loudly enough for other shoppers to hear. A few more have arrived and found their way to the box, as well. “When it comes to making wishes, the more the merrier.”

“Let me at it,” a laughing forty-something mom with her college-age daughter says. “I’ve got so many things to wish for, I might be here all day!”

That’s when her daughter announces, “Mom, I have to have this,” pointing to a fleecy Rudolph blanket. “And that snowman figurine.” She points. “We have to get that for Mimi.”

“Good thing I didn’t go home,” Dara says to me under her breath as she ditches her coat and hat behind the bar. “The rush to make wishes is on and you’re officially a genius.” She starts toward the register as several shoppers head in that direction while still more walk in the door.

And though I don’t know if I’d go that far, I’d at least say things are looking up. Maybe the wish I put in the box just a little while ago is already starting to come true. And maybe my wish upon a star will, too?

That night I’m curled up in my PJs watching Elf in my apartment upstairs. Sitting with me on the couch is my beloved teddy bear, Crinkle. A gift from my grandma when I was very young, he wears a red, fur-trimmed Santa coat and, as the story goes, was introduced to me as Kringle, but apparently my four-year-old brain heard Crinkle. And Crinkle he has been ever since. I’m treating myself to a star-shaped sugar cookie from Janie’s Bakery as I watch Buddy the Elf walk across the candy cane forest and through the Lincoln Tunnel, and I’m also...keeping an occasional eye out the window for Travis’s truck. He’s been gone all day.

Not that I’m keeping tabs on him or anything.

It’s certainly none of my business where he is or what he’s doing.

But when finally I hear the familiar rumble of the old Ford, along with the slam of its door, I peek out to see Travis going inside. The Christmas tree Dara and I snuck in this morning has been shimmering in the second-floor window all day, and now that darkness has fallen, it adds to the cheer of all the other holiday lights up and down Main. And frankly, I’m glad it’s there to provide some light for Marley. Only, wow, I wonder how many times she’s gone to the bathroom by now, probably not on the paper.

The movie continues, but my mind stays across the street. I imagine him walking up the stairs, emerging into the apartment to be greeted by the happy glow of a Christmas tree. I envision him feeling warmly toward me for doing it, and then deciding maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

That’s when an interior light illuminates his apartment. And the Christmas tree lights promptly go out.

Just like that.

My heart sinks.

Why was I so foolish to think he’d respond the way…well, the way most people would? He’s not most people. I guess I was wrong and that particular wish isn’t coming true, after all, and my distraction was…just a distraction. So much for Operation Wish Upon a Star.

December 8

Lexi

I’m outside clearing the sidewalk of leftover slush, grateful for yesterday’s increase in business, but sad that Travis still hasn’t seen the light. Or thelights—literally. When I think of him turning off the tree lights while his others stayed on for hours afterward—I just happened to notice—I can only draw one conclusion: He reallyisa Grade A Grinch. Christmas magic is not going to darkenhisdoor—he’s firmly committed to that.

I go back inside with an hour to spare before we open, and with time on my hands, I start the coffee since I could use a cup after not sleeping particularly well last night.

Then my eyes fall on the wishing box across the room. Every person who came in yesterday left a wish inside. Some had heard about it through the Winterberry grapevine and others only found out about it upon happening in, but everyone loved making their wishes. And so the thing that felt “missing” from the shop was indeed that little spark of magic, and this beautiful box filled the void.

After the coffee brews, I pour some into a mug circled with reindeer leading Santa’s sleigh, and I take heart that at leastsomepeople can embrace the holidays.

When the sleighbells on the door suddenly jangle like they’ve been hit with gale force winds, I flinch, sloshing a little hot coffee on my hand, and look up to see the box maker himself.

Uh oh. I try to ignore the angry look on his face, along with the seething pain on my skin, as I announce cheerfully, “Great news! The wishing box is a hit! People are talking about it all over town!”

“Swell,” he says dryly, sliding onto a stool at the coffee bar. “Give me my free coffee.”

“Hang on a minute,” I say, because the burn stings. I set my cup down, then dash to the sink, running cold water over my hand. “I burned myself when you came barreling in here like a madman.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He actually sounds concerned, like maybe my injury defused his anger a little.

Though I assure him, “It’ll be fine,” as I grab up his usual green-speckled Santa mug and pour his coffee. Maybe I should have milked the burn more, but I’ve decided I might as well get to the matter at hand. Sliding the cup his way, I venture cautiously, “You seem…unhappy.”

He arches a menacing brow in my direction before growling, “I remember when you could leave your door unlocked in this town.”

Nibbling my lower lip nervously, I ask, “Um, what happened? Did you have a break-in? A burglary?” I’m suddenly regretting my impulsive tree delivery. It seemed like such a cheerful idea at the time.

“Worse,” he snarls at me. “Some holiday-crazed, rogue decorator took it upon herself to come into my private space and erect a full-size Christmas tree, complete with blinking lights.” He continues to appear extremely put out with me.

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