Page 38 of Stuck in Christmas

Eli pulled out a seat for me. “Your magazine has fans all around the world.”

I poked him in the arm as I sat. “Fine.”

He settled in the other seat and shook out a cloth napkin before placing it on his lap. “You are a great writer. I stayed up way past my bedtime reading everything I could get my hands on.”

I leaned on the table. “Which one did you like the most?”

He shook his head. “You’re asking me to pick a favorite? Not sure I could do that.”

“Then how can I be sure you read anything besides the lobster mac and cheese story?” I leaned back and grabbed my napkin, making a great show of shaking it out before placing it on my lap.

“You misunderstand. I couldn’t tell you which was my favorite because I liked them all.” Eli tilted his head at me. “I liked how you shared the amazing stories of ordinary people. The delivery driver who carries dog treats in his pockets for the dogs on his route. The policewoman who spends her spare time mentoring kids in her community. The kid who makes sure he greets thegarbage truck drivers every week to give them cold drinks.”

I snort-laughed. “That’s not exactly breaking news.”

Eli reached for my hand and enveloped it in both of his. The callouses spoke of hard work, from cutting down Christmas trees to hefting pots and pans around a kitchen. My hand was downright tiny in his big paws, and instead of thinking thoughts that would get me reset, I could only wait for what he said next. “But they are the stories this world needs right now.”

“I love my people stories, but sometimes I wonder if I’m just a fluff peddler.” I glanced at the mac and cheese before me.

“Fluff? Not even close.” Eli squeezed my hand and forced me to look at him again. “Have you ever looked at the magazine’s list of most popular stories online?”

He had me there. I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at the website at all. “No.”

That sparkle was back in his eyes. “Everything in the top 10 was a story you wrote. Seems to me this world recognizes these stories for what they are.”

“And what is that?”

Eli kissed the back of my hand and rubbed my wrist. “Stories with heart.”

I never wanted to kiss a man more in my life than I wanted to kiss Eli right then. But the moment was gone when he hopped out of his chair. “Oh, wait. I have one more surprise for you.”

I watched him disappear into another room. “Peach pie?”

“Nope.”

“Chocolate cake?” I yelled.

“Something I hope you like better than that,” he said as he returned to the table.

He placed a wrapped present on the table beside me. I carefully unwrapped it to find a beautiful, leather-bound journal. The front was carved with a Celtic symbol that resembled a tree of life. It took my breath away. “This is beautiful.”

“I thought you could use a journal to write your stories.”

“This is so thoughtful.” I caressed the butter-soft leather. “But it doesn’t seem like something you can get at the shop around the corner.”

He nodded. “It’s not from Christmas, Mississippi. While stationed in Italy, I stumbled upon this stationery store in Venice. Normally, I wouldn’t be one for browsing in a paper store, but something about this caught my eye. I found that journal there and bought it. I’ve had it for years and never knew why I bought it until I met you.”

Emotion washed over me as I realized how deeply he understood me, how effortlessly he seemed to see into my heart. It was overwhelming, tightening my chest, and without thinking, I pushed my chair back and stood up. I could no longer contain the warmth bubbling inside me. Taking a few steps forward, I threw my arms around him in a spontaneous hug, my heart racing as I pressed my cheek against his shoulder. Everything else faded away in that moment—the doubts, the cynicism, and the worry that I’d be stuck in this holiday forever.

All that mattered was our connection as if hehad become a beacon of light in my otherwise murky world—a murky world that suddenly had a soundtrack. Christmas music floated through the closed windows.

I pulled back from our hug. “You hear that Christmas music, too, right?”

“Christmas music?” Eli’s eyes were locked on mine as if he, too, was caught up in the haze of our connection. Then, he straightened. “Christmas music. Yes. Tonight is the Christmas dance.” He held his hand toward me. “Come dance with me.”

I glanced down at the jeans and bulky sweater I was wearing. I was dressed for warmth, not to impress. “I’m not dressed for a dance.”

Eli pulled me toward the door. “Good thing this is just a regular come-as-you-are dance.”

---