Page 5 of A Candy Cane Christmas
Hazel giggled. “That would drive me nuts… Hazel nuts.”
I chuckled at the inside joke and ruffled her hair. “I bet it would.” I took another deep breath. Okay, I’d managed to solve the first problem. I might as well barge on while I was ahead. “Hazel, sweetie, would it be okay if I went downstairs for a minute to talk to Mr. Elf? Just to make sure he knows he doesn’t have to wear his work clothes on Christmas.”
And to figure out if he’d show up at all. And maybe get his name. Calling him Mr. Elf was starting to feel weird.
Hell—ooo Kitty, maybe on the way downstairs, I’d finally manage to make up my mind about wanting Mr. Elf to come over or not. Because that was likely after obsessing over this question for the past two days.
“Okay, Daddy. Can you put on a show for me first? I want to learn more about lions.”
“Lions?”
She nodded. “Mrs. Coleman taught us about lions today, but I want to verify.”
Snorting out a laugh, I opened up my—well, more like our—tablet to put on a kids’ documentary about lions.
“Here you go, sweetie. You know the rules?”
Her eye roll was epic. “I’m four, Daddy, and I’m gonna be five soon. Of course, I know the rules. No opening doors, I’m not allowed to put on a different show, even though I know how to, and if I think something’s wrong, I’ll call for you because you’re literally going to be out in the hallway.”
I nodded, feeling a little pang as I watched her for a second before getting up and ruffling her hair again.
Shi—take. She was getting big. Five. Holy cr—ustacean. My little girl was turning five in two months, yet it still felt like yesterday when the nurse had handed her to me for the first time. That teeny, tiny bundle of spitfire with a set of lungs a professional diver would envy.
Turning around, I grabbed my keychain out of the small ceramic bowl Hazel had made for me and left the apartment.
It was just a conversation. Just a super quick chat I was about to have… with the guy I’d been crushing on since he’d moved in a year ago. The guy I’d never ever had a conversation with that went beyond a simple hello. You know, except for the one time when my daughter had invited him over for Christmas.
The air in the hallway, as stale as it might normally be, carried a hint of vanilla and cinnamon. I took a deep breath and let the smile spread across my face. I closed my eyes just for a second and inhaled deeply again, focusing on the scents. Definitely Mrs. Morrigan’s Christmas cookies. Shealways started baking her buttery pieces of heaven right after Thanksgiving—and I knew she’d be coming over asking for a little helper to cut out the sugar cookies in the upcoming days.
After a while, I opened my eyes again and headed toward the stairs, the smile still on my face. A few of the stairs creaked a little, and the walls could use a fresh coat of paint, but this building was still nicer than I ever expected to be able to afford as a teenage dad. Good thing I knew the owners.
The way down the stairs didn’t take much time at all, and before I knew what I was going to say, I stood right in front of the dark brown, wooden apartment door that looked just like my own apartment door, with the difference that this one said 4C instead of 5C.
To knock or not to knock, that was the question. I’d come so far already, but taking that last step was really fudging hard. Social interaction was hard. Period. But social interaction with someone as gorgeous and adorable as my downstairs neighbor? That seemed daunting.
What was I even going to say?
My palms were getting sweaty, and even the calming notes of Mrs. Morrigan’s Christmas cookies failed to keep me calm.
If I didn’t knock now, I’d turn around and go back upstairs, so… I did it. The knock-knock resonated through the hallways, ripping through the peaceful quiet.
For a while, nothing happened.
The tension inside me curled tighter and tighter.
He probably wasn’t home yet. It was just after five, and if he really worked as a mall elf—which, given his costume, was an educated guess, but a guess nonetheless—he might still be out helping little kids sit on Santa’s lap.
Just one more try, I told myself.One more try, and if he doesn’t open, you can go back upstairs and write him a letter instead.
That was probably what I should’ve done in the first place, but it was too late now. I knocked again, adrenaline surging through my veins.
It’s okay, he isn’t home; you can go back up…Fudge.
The door in front of me swung open and revealed my downstairs neighbor. I blinked at the sight in front of me. My downstairs neighbor was covered in paint.
“Uhm…” I said, unsure how to proceed because, quite frankly, I couldn’t stop looking. There was so much to see. His copper curls were tied in a loose bun that still managed to show off his unruly hair. A fat stripe of blue covered his left cheek, sprinkles of a deep, luscious red sat atop his freckles, and a dark green was smudged right above his copper eyebrow. His eyes sparkled almost playfully, and his lips were tilted into a smirk that challenged me to say… probably anything.
“Hi,” I added eloquently. “I’m Theo. Uhm… I’m your neighbor. The one with the kid? Though there is the Porter family in apartment 2A, and also Mrs. Smith with her son in 1E. What I mean is…”
