Page 22 of The Christmas Box

I’m sure I look guilty. “To be fair, it’s actually more of a sparkling effect. But there’s a bulb you can switch out to make it stop.”

He looks at me like I might be crazy. “That’s onlyoneof the many problems with this situation. Another is that you knew I wouldn’t want a Christmas tree.”

“It’s…for Marley,” I claim, however lamely. “In A Christmas Carol, Marley wanted Scrooge to embrace the spirit of the season. Marley understood what it was all about and just wanted his buddy to get it, too.”

He tilts me a look. “Well, the Marley at my place just wants food and shelter and isn’t too picky about anything else.”

Meanwhile, I’m still lip-nibbling. “I cleaned up some dog pee while I was there if that helps at all.”

In response, he holds up his index finger and thumb, close together, as if silently saying: a little. But there’s still not even a hint of a smile on his face as he finally picks up his mug. “I can’t believe you just came into my place. I mean, how would you like it if I just helped myself intoyourapartment?”

Okay, the truth is, I’m not sure I would mind. Which is a very bad sign and may mean Dara is right about me being attracted to him. Because Ishouldfind the very notion outrageous. A realization that makes me understand where he’s coming from. Okay, I overstepped.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. And I promise it was a quick in and out—I just put up the tree, cleaned up the pee, and left. It was an impulsive act, which I can now see wasn’t a good idea. Can you forgive me?”

He looks calmer now, drinking his coffee, perhaps thrown by my earnest apology—but at the same time I can also see the wheels spinning in his head. They’re spinning in mine, too. I’ve just apologized to a guy who’s owed me an apology for a dozen years and still hasn’t given it.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, meeting my gaze. “If…youcan forgiveme.”

Ah, maybe hedoessee the light, at least this particular one.

“For?” I’m not just playing dumb this time, though—I’m making sure we’re both thinking about the same transgression.

“High school. That dance. I’m sorry I wasn’t big enough to do the right thing back then.”

I take a deep breath, then let it back out, shocked by how much the words affect me. They’ve been a long time coming. And it’s something I should have completely moved past ages ago. But I guess things that happen to us when we’re young can have a lasting impact. Maybe I’ve needed this apology all this time without really knowing it—and here it finally is.

“Well, you were a punk,” I remind him softly. “I appreciate the apology, and yes, I can forgive you.” Though maybe I already had? I mean, despite what I keep telling myself, do you really go making wishes on stars for guys you haven’t forgiven? Or sneaking trees into their apartments? Or letting it warm your heart when you see them hug a dog?

“Then we’re good?” he asks, downing the last of his coffee.

I offer up a short nod. I could take him to task more; I could confess how much that night wounded my tender teenage heart—yet I understand many people find it hard to apologize and I suspect he’s one of them, so I’ll let him off the hook and put it behind me.

“But just so you know,” he adds, “I still couldn’t care less about having a Christmas tree, so I’m afraid you wasted your time there.”

I just shake my head and inform him, “Kindness—orattemptedkindness in this case—is never wasted.”

“Whatever you say,” he tells me, lowering his empty mug to the bar and rising from his stool. “You have a good day, Lexi.”

I lift my hand in a small wave, then watch him go. He’s always telling me to have a good day, or night—but I’d have better ones if he’d drop his guard just a little, just enough to let my wish for him come true.

After a brisk day of business, during which a steady stream of customers put wishes in the wishing box and left with shopping bags filled with gifts and decorations, I head upstairs to take a long, hot bath. Then I slip into a cozy pair of snowflake-laden pajamas, and soon enough find myself on the couch, watching a holiday rom-com—and glancing out at the windows across the street.

His truck is there.And the faint glow of a lamp dimly illuminates the second floor.

So what is it I’m waiting for?

The tree lights. I’m still hoping against hope that I’ll see the Christmas tree lights come on. I keep thinking maybe, just maybe, something will suddenly compel him to plug them in.

I wait all evening to see the happy twinkle of colored lights in his windows.

But it never happens.

December 9

Travis

Ispend the day doing detail work on the soap shelves, which are turning out well. The dog keeps me company, and following some advice from the internet, I put her on a leash I picked up yesterday, keeping her confined to the area near the layered “puppy pads” I also bought, to replace the newspaper.Each time I see her start to go, I guide her over. So far, she’s not really catching on, but at least I have less messes to clean up.

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