Page 60 of The Christmas Box

But by the time the clock strikes seven-forty-five, fifteen minutes before Lexi’s closing time on this last Saturday before Christmas, I’m well-ready to pack up my light, get in my truck, and blast the heat while I shed the Santa suit from over my more low-key clothing. Although I can’t see the big sign from where I am, Richard offered to drive out and turn off the lights a few minutes before eight, and later I’ll head there myself to dig out the posts to let it lay flat on the ground since its one day of tempting legal fate has passed. As for what happens to the sign after that, Richard said, “Eh, let’s talk about that after Christmas, huh? Might need it next year.” He ended with a wink.

On the way back to town, I give him a call and thank him again for all the help, and I pass along Dad’s thanks, too. He sounds happy enough about the whole thing, and wishes me a merry Christmas.

I’m beyond exhausted, and hungry, and more than ready to crash with my dog for a little while before I go dig up a sign under the cover of darkness, but when I pull to the curb across from the Christmas Box to see the lights still on, I can’t resist going over.

I can tell through the glass that the place is a mess. Lexi is scurrying around, trying to put things back in order, when the bells on the door draw her gaze my way.

I give her a grin. “Looks like the same tornado that took down that gingerbread house of yours came barreling through your shop here. Busy day?”

“You could say that.Bannerday, in fact.” She looks as tired as I feel, but that doesn’t keep a grateful smile from unfurling across her face.

I decide to play dumb. “Yeah? How banner?”

“Like…I-think-I’m-solvent banner. Like I-had-to-restock-things-all-day banner. Any idea how that happened?” she asks, head tilting and voice filled with playful suspicion.

“Oh,” I say, confessing just a little, “I guess it’s possible I had a hand in getting the word out to holiday travelers.”

“Is it true you actually put on a Santa suit and waved people in from the expressway, man who hates Christmas?”

I shrug, offer up one more small grin, and make another,biggerconfession. “I must likeyoumore than I hate Christmas.”

“I don’t really think you hate Christmas anymore,” she accuses me.

Too tired tocompletelygive up my Scroogy reputation tonight, I just tell her, “Don’t get started making crazy accusations, Alexandra Louise.”

“My only regret about having so many customers today,” she tells me, “is that I was too busy to come see for myself the day Travis Hutchins paraded around in a Santa suit next to the interstate.”

I just laugh, still not quite able to believe I did it. “Never happened,” I joke. “I’ll deny it ’til my dying day.”

“So I was wondering,” she says, flashing wide eyes, sounding a little flirtatious, and making me remember those kisses we shared, “if you might let me thank you.”

Well, this sounds promising. “What did you have in mind?”

“Are you busy the night of Christmas Eve?”

“Well, you know us Grinches don’t make a lot of holiday plans, so I’m free as a partridge in a pear tree.”

I feel her pretty laughter wash over me. “Then maybe you could come over. We could snack on some Christmas cookies. I could torture you with a Christmas movie or two. And after that…who knows?”

Okay, I’m liking the sound of this. Especially the last part. “It’s a date,” I say. And yeah, I’ve tried like hell to resist her charms, but…my resolve has worn thin. Maybe seeing where this thing between us leads is just another way of taking one day, one step, at a time.

That’s when the business phone behind the counter rings. I’ve never actually heard it do that before, and we both look at it like it just sprouted antlers.

“You should get that,” I tell her.

As she answers, I walk to the end of the bar to see a little hot chocolate remaining in the cocoa machine. Still trying to warm up, I reach over to grab a mug, and my cell phone falls from my pocket,clunkingto the floor.

I bend to grab it, hit a button to make sure it still works, and then…notice somethingelseon the floor peeking from between the short legs of a wicker stand where Lexi keeps extra cocoa toppings and paper cups. I recognize it almost immediately as one of the wish slips, and pluck it up, figuring it belongs in the box, that it must have gotten dropped when we were looking through them all.

She’s telling someone to hold on and that she’ll check in the back—when I see that it’s not just any wish. It’s fromher.

Name: Lexi

My wish: That Travis decides to stay in town, and maybe he even falls in love with me.

That’s when she exits the back room, telling the person on the phone, “Yes, I found one more and we’re open tomorrow from noon to eight.”

I cram the wish in my pants pocket.

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