Page 8 of Christmas Replay
“So, you’ll be living here now?” I asked as we made our way back to the living room and sat on the sofa facing the Christmas tree. Cliff had turned on the radio, and through the surround sound system, Elvis softly sang about having a blue Christmas.
“Yup. Part-time, anyway,” he confirmed. “When my parents moved to Florida, I just couldn’t bear the thought of someone else buying our family home.”
“You must have a lot of good memories here,” I said, looking around the beautiful room. “How did you get it decorated so quickly?”
“I hired a firm to come in and clean, decorate and stock it up,” he said. “I’m a fan of efficiency, and it just seemed easier than trying to do it all myself.”
“Smart,” I agreed. “They did a beautiful job.”
He shrugged as he took in the decorations around us.
“It’s a little cold,” he admitted. “When I was little, Mom and I would string popcorn and cranberries or make paper chains for the tree. There were always vintage ornaments and silly decorations. This is very formal compared to what I grew up with.”
I smiled at his stroll down memory lane. It seemed as if he’d had the kind of fairytale childhood I’d only ever seen on television.
Grandma and I had our own happy memories, to be sure. But once my parents had died and I’d moved to live with her, Christmas just wasn’t something either of us looked forward to. We’d get a tree, but it always seemed more perfunctory than wanted. Once she was gone, I’d stopped decorating at all.
“Where did you just go?” he asked softly, his hand coming up to cup my jaw and turn my face back toward him. “You look sad.”
“Just woolgathering,” I assured him as I pulled his hand away and entwined my fingers with his. “I’m not big on Christmas. But your story sounds nice.”
“Bad memories?”
“The worst,” I whispered.
I could tell he wanted to ask what had happened but was too polite to push. With a heavy sigh, I figured if I pushed through it now, got it over with, we could move on to happier things.
“My parents died in a car crash on Christmas Eve when I was eight.” I shrugged, trying to make it seem as if it weren’t that big of a deal. “I moved in with my grandmother, and we didn’t really do big Christmases after that.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, his brow furrowing as he studied my face.
“It’s okay.” I waved away his condolences and squared my shoulders. “It was a long time ago. But it’s still tough, sometimes. Since Grandma died, I haven’t celebrated Christmas at all. I noticed after I moved to Majestic Falls that everything closedsuper earlyon Christmas Eve—if they were even open at all. I keep the shop running late then after I close up, I go home, read, clean… Really, I do anything to distract myself.”
Silence fell between us, and Cliff ran his thumb over my knuckles, his face turned down to stare at our hands where they rested on his knee.
“Didn’t mean to bring down the room,” I joked. “This is lovely. And I’m sure we’ll enjoy making new memories in this home. Happy ones.”
I snapped my jaw shut as I realized what I’d just said. My cheeks flushed with heat, and I turned my head away, not wanting to see Cliff look at me as if I were insane.
What on earth had possessed me to say that to him?
His hand came up again, turning me back to meet his gaze. I looked up at him through my eyelashes and was relieved to see that the only look on his face was one of wonder.
He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my lips. When he pulled back again, he was smiling.
“I think that sounds nice,” he whispered. “I think that’s exactly what I’d been planning to do.”
This was crazy. How could we both be thinking things like this?
Suddenly, Taylor Swift’s voice filled the room, and Cliff smiled at me.
“It’s our song,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling me to mine behind him. He tugged me into his arms, and just as we’d done a year ago, we held each other close as we swayed in the middle of the room.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I admitted, drawing back to stare up into his eyes.
“Neither do I,” he told me. “But I’m not going to lose you again. This last year has been hell. I don’t care how crazy it is. I don’t care that it’s fast and reckless and strange. You’ve consumed my thoughts for three-hundred and sixty-five days, Alissa. That chance meeting changed my life. Maybe, it’s fate. Maybe, it’s insanity. Maybe, it’s a fairytale. But whatever it is, I want to see it through.”
“So do I,” I whispered.
