Page 36 of The Christmas Box

He lowers his fork to the paper pie plate to briefly squeeze her mitten-covered fingers in his. “Doing pretty good, thanks. Sure am enjoying this evening. I knew your grandmother from the diner.” Then he takes another bite and asks her, “Have you tried this pumpkin pie? Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

“Not yet,” she tells him.

“You do like pumpkin pie, don’t you?” he teases her.

“Do I like pumpkin pie?” she jokes back. “Do reindeers fly? Does Santa say ho ho ho?”

I can’t help thinking that the only SantaIknow doesn’t seem to go ho ho ho as much as she tries to play holiday matchmaker. As if I need Helen to point out how cute Lexi is. As if she isn’t already on my mind enough without that. As if I don’t find myself flirting with her without meaning to. As if every time we touch in some tiny way doesn’t make my skin tingle and my chest tighten. Somehow, she’s even cuter tonight than usual—a complication I don’t need right now. But a question lingers in the back of my mind: How long can I ignore all that?

When yet another friend of Dad’s walks up, pulling him into the next conversation, Lexi says to me, “Sweet of you to bring him.”

“He wanted to come,” I inform her. “Wasn’t my idea.”

But she just shrugs. “Well, it’s still nice. He looks happy. Even if I’m sure you hate this.”

I want to say that I do—a knee-jerk reaction. At this point, I kind of have a reputation to uphold. But as I look around at the laughing kids, a snowman someone built near the gazebo, and the tree—its lights sparkling, its boughs glistening with snow—I can’t quite do it. So instead, I’m honest. “It’s not awful.”

Lexi

A little while later, after Travis has waved goodbye and wheeled his father away, a tap comes on my shoulder and I turn to see Brenda, a friend of my mother’s who waited tables at the diner back in the day. Her long, silver hair is pulled up into a high ponytail atop her head, a sprig of holly tucked in as an accoutrement. “Whowasthat man, Lexi?” she asks, sounding all dreamy and suspicious.

“What man?” I blink, playing dumb.

Beside me, Dara has tuned in to the conversation, too.

“The very handsome one who sent you this,” Brenda replies, holding out a paper plate on which rests a perfect triangle of pumpkin pie heaped with fluffy whipped cream.

“He sent mepie?” I scrunch up my nose, feeling both smitten and a little confused.

Brenda nods as if I’m keeping some secret from her, but I just take the plate.

“Is this…like when a guy sends a woman a drink in a bar?” Dara suggests, one fingertip to her lips as she ponders it. “Just the small-town version?” Then she addresses Brenda. “Oh, and he’s the long-lost Travis Hutchins, who once stood Lexi up at a high school dance and is now rehabbing the Lucas Building, while keeping watch over his father, Tom, who has a terminal illness.”

We both just gape at her dramatic yet concise explanation.

“What can I say?” she goes on. “Mom and I like to watch the few daytime soaps still on. Sometimes I view things through that lens. Especially when the shoe fits. And now that I think about it, this one definitely does. All he needs is a little romance with the girl whose heart he once broke to help him through a difficult time.”

But at this, I draw the line. “Don’t be ridiculous. He did not break my heart.”

She casts me a doubtful look.

So I add softly, “He only bruised it a little.”

“Well, all I know,” Brenda says, “is that he was a looker. I’d eat pumpkin pie—or pig slop, for that matter—with him any day.”

As I try the pie—which I can’t deny tastes a little sweeter just knowing where it came from—Brenda is drawn away by another customer, leaving Dara to lean close and say privately, “Don’t look now, but I think he likes you, too.”

“It’s just pie,” I tell her.

“And gingerbread buildings and...well, who knows what other scrumptious treats are in your future.”

Despite my denials, I can’t help feeling a little giddy inside—even if itisjust pie. I love that he brought his father here tonight—although, wow, Tom looks so much thinner than when I last saw him. I love that he made the gingerbread shop for me, and that he took Marley to visit with people who surely needed it. And I love that he plugged his tree lights inagaintonight.

Only…it’s hard to let myself feel happy for long when I remember why he’s here. Because how am I going to feel when his time in Winterberry comes to a close and he gets in that truck and goes back to Chicago for good?

No, he didn’t break my heart when he let me down at the Christmas Ball—but if I’m not careful, he might soon.

Travis

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