Page 33 of A Guardian for Christmas

“Now you’ll end up asleep before me,” she teases as I slide back into bed with her.

“Talk to me and keep me awake, then,” I say.

“Okay,” Esme says. “Let me tell you everything about the day I met this nice guy named Sagan.”

This definitely isn’t going to keep me awake, but I love hearing her talk.

She weaves in and out of the whole timeline of events from that day over a year ago.

At the bonfire, I’d found her warming her hands next to the flames. Her face glowed in the dancing light like a goddess of mischief, her layered, sandy hair turning coppery red in the firelight. I might have believed she was a mirage if I hadn’t done what I did next.

Feeling bold under her spell, I sidled up next to her.

She turned to me and smiled with cracked red lips. It was cold and windy that day.

I reached into my pocket and withdrew my chapstick, offering it to her wordlessly.

She took it without hesitation. “Thanks,” she said, batting her inky lashes as she smoothed the balm over her lips.

“I hope you don’t accept drinks from strangers as easily as you accept their chapstick.”

She countered, “Like this one?” Esme reached down and picked up a can of unopened Busch Light from the ground. I remember thinking how wildly incongruous that was. Esme should be sipping expensive wine at a fine restaurant in New York City, not chugging cheap beer at a bonfire in podunk Kentucky.

I knew nothing about her except the way she carried herself. The worldliness in her eyes.

She handed the chapstick back to me.

“Keep it,” I said.

Then she held out the can of Busch with a curious arched brow.

I shook my head and said, “No, ma’am. I’m sober.”

Esme snatched the can backward as if she had accidentally burned me with it. “I’m so sorry.”

“No worries. It is a party and I was dumb enough to come.”

She lifted one pretty eyebrow. “Not any dumber than me. Someone handed me this, and I can’t even drink it because of my medication.”

“Guess we’re both dummies, then,” I said, which made her chuckle, a sound that warmed every cold, empty place in my body.

“But I’m just smart enough to talk to the coolest person here.”

Esme rolled her blue eyes and laughed. “Correction. I’m a huge nerd.”

“Doubt it.”

“I am. I have no social life. When I’m not making decisions about how to fix my house, I spend all day with doctors and therapists who try to make decisions about how to fix me. Nothing works.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you that I can see,” I said.

Her pretty lashes fluttered. She looked away shyly and handed off the beer can to someone passing by. She rubbed her hands together, and all I wanted to do was cover them with mine, or hold her hand in my coat pocket, the way a boyfriend does. I still remember the yearning.

“Sometimes I just…shut down. It’s like…my brain says nope. And I lie down and do nothing.”

“If you need help with the house, maybe I could take a look. I’m not in construction anymore, but I’m handy. I also know people…”

I was trying too hard. Pushing too hard.

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