Page 46 of The Christmas Box

“Sneaking Christmas trees around under the cover of darkness.”

“We snuck yours around in the daylight,” I correct him, still doing the loud whisper thing. “When you weren’t home. This will be trickier—being quiet as we drop everything off.”

That’s when I trip over something and go sprawling into the piled-up snow on the roadside with an, “Oomph.” Following closely behind, Travis comes tumbling down on top of me, his weight pressing me deeper into the drift, tree branches poking into my neck. He mutters a few curse words, then asks if I’m okay.

“I’ll survive,” I tell him as he gets to his feet, then reaches down, pulling me up by one mitten. It happened fast, but the warmth of his body on mine pretty much overrode anything else like branches in necks or freezing cold snow.

“We’re pretty bad at this so far,” he announces.

“But our hearts are in the right place,” I remind him. “I just hope the tree’s not damaged.”

He sets it upright on the road and tries to inspect it in the dark, pulling out his phone to shine it on the branches.

“Stop—they might see,” I caution him, reaching to cover the light.

“Oh, right,” he says. And I realize we’re almost holding hands now, around his phone, and I like it. Even through mittens, it’s nice.

“We have to be more careful as we get closer,” I warn softly once we’re moving again, me with the bags and him with the tree. It takes a lot of quiet creeping for us to push through the sagging wooden gate, but then we follow a beaten-down path over the snow to the wide front porch.

As we step quietly up onto it, lugging all our surprises, I spot a tow-headed pre-school boy I know to be named Caleb near the front window, sitting cross-legged on a rug, watching a TV that’s apparently right beside the window. “Get out of sight,” I whisper to Travis, realizing we’re directly where he could notice us.

We both flatten our backs against the house, side by side. Even in the dark, I can make out that Travis looks a little exasperated, and I’m stressed, too. But a moment later, he props the tree in a corner near the door, and I leave my bags beside it, a card from Santa tucked in one of them. After exchanging satisfied glances, we go scurrying back to the gate, rushing to get away in case our movements bring anyone to the door.

As we walk briskly back up the road, our relief is palpable, and he lets out a low laugh, declaring, “That was weirdly fun.”

“It was,” I agree with a smile.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he says, then grabs my hand and pulls me into a jog toward the truck. The cold air suddenly feels exhilarating. Or maybe it’s his hand in mine.

Or maybe it’s what I know for certain in this moment: That at least one of my wishes has really come true. He might not ever admit it, but I know he’s feeling the holiday magic right now, the magic I wished for him. And I am, too.

Or…could it be something else altogether making my heart expand in my chest?

As recently as yesterday I questioned the notion that I might be in love with Travis Hutchins. But today if feels a whole lot closer to being…undeniable.

December 16

Lexi

Late last night I discovered a wish from Carol Ann Vaughn for a wheelchair ramp for her mother, Kathryn, and when Travis comes over for coffee this morning, I explain that Kathryn has become almost housebound. “They have a really hard time getting her in and out now. She has one of those electric chairs with the sturdy wheels on it, and if she could bring it outside, she’d have so much more independence—she could ride it up here to town, or even just be out in her own yard with more ease.” I tell him her house is right around the corner, “on Williams Drive, right off of Grant, and I happen to know from chatting with Carol Ann that they have Kathryn out of the house all day for some doctor’s appointments in Lexington.”

“So what you’re suggesting,” he says from his usual stool at the end of the bar, green speckled mug in hand, “is that you think I can design, construct, and install a wheelchair ramptoday, before they get back.”

I merely nod, hopefully. “Can you?”

He shrugs. “Probably. Need you to take me there ASAP, though, so I can get some measurements and draw up a plan. No time to lose.”

I pull out my phone and call Dara, with fingers crossed. “Any way you could mind the store again today? Travis and I have more wishes to fulfill.”

When I explained why I needed her on such short notice yesterday she thought it was awesome, and now she says, “Sure. Give me twenty minutes.”

It’s not snowing, so I’m hoping for a profitable day at the Christmas Box while I’m gone, but I’m mainly just focused on bringing some good in to the world however I can.

Travis

Part of me can’t believe I’m installing a wheelchair ramp I just hammered together in a couple of hours in Dad’s workshop out at the farm. That same part of me can’t believe how often the word “wheelchair” has come into my conversations these last few weeks. Up to now, I’d never even been around anyone in a wheelchair; they were just a distant thing in other people’s lives. But now I’ve come to understand how much they matter for people who need them to be mobile, so I’m happy to do it.

Lexi stands beside me, passing me tools, and when I’m done, I climb on top of the ramp and bounce a few times to make sure it’s sturdy.

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