Page 22 of A Curvy Wonderland

“I recognize that paper,” she whispered.

I followed her gaze down to the metallic red paper. My cheeks were starting to feel hot.

She looked up at me. “So the Santa suit wasn't just for show…”

I looked down at the table. “I thought some gifts from Santa might help Tatum and Lucy enjoy their time a little more… Please don't tell them,” I added. I want it to be special for them.”

She smiled at me, eyes shining with a light all her own.

“What?”

“And his heart grew three sizes…”

Now my cheeks were on fire. I stared at the table.

“Look at you, ya big softy,” she teased.

I shook my head at her. “More wrapping, less talking.”

She rolled her eyes. As we got to work, I explained the label system I had, so we could keep track of all the gifts and ensure they were delivered to the right place. With nothing left to explain, I focused on wrapping, but after a few minutes I didn't hear her paper moving anymore, and noticed she was watching me.

“How do you wrap presents like that?” she asked. “That’s so cool how you can tuck the card inside.”

“Oh... I looked it up on YouTube.”

She tossed her head back and laughed one of her happy laughs, the kind that made me feel all light inside. “Of course you would have to look up how to wrap a Christmas present.”

“Hey, you're the one asking Scrooge how to wrap something.”

“Fair,” I replied.

I got out a new present and walked her step by step on how to do it. Then she got her own gift and tried to follow the steps, but she kept folding the paper in the wrong direction.

“Here, let me show you,” I said. I got up from my chair, walking to stand beside her, and guided her hands on the paper.

I swore I heard her breath catch when we touched.

I thought I might be relieved that I wasn’t alone in my reaction to feeling her skin under my fingertips. But instead, it made my breath more shallow, our connection sizzling even more than before.

Somehow, we finished wrapping the present, and she held it up. “This is gorgeous,” she said. “Thank you for the help.”

I nodded, only because I didn't trust myself to speak.

We worked silently for all of three minutes until Holly said, “Now that we're wrapping presents, we're going to be here for a while...”

I looked up at her, but she was focusing down on the careful way she was folding the wrapping paper. “Do you have time to tell me why you hate Christmas?” she asked tentatively.

I’d known that if we spent much more time together, this question would come up, and I'd worked my answer over a million times in my head, trying to find the perfect way to explain it without making her sad, making things awkward between us. I took a slow breath.

She whispered, “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

Something about the gentle way she said it made me feel safer around her, like I wasn't just a puzzle she was working out, she was genuinely interested and cared about me.

When you had a background like mine, you could tell there were some people who just wanted the drama, and some people who really cared.

So my voice was quiet when I answered, “I was adopted when I was six years old.”

She looked over at me, the present she was wrapping completely forgotten. “You were? You and your mom look so much alike.”

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