Page 26 of A Love Like Christmas Time
He might pretend he’s not having fun, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitch as I sing along to Mariah Carey, though very badly in comparison, then dance around the room to Jingle Bells.
The next garland lines his counter. There are enough for one more on the menu board behind it. Another four to line each of the windows. While he puts on the baubles, I place pine arrangements with fake candles at the centers of each table.
“It looks so good!” I say cheerfully and sink onto one of his chairs for a short break, stretching out my legs and letting my eyes roam the room as he climbs down the ladder.
Yes, I like it. It’s slowly coming together, and it's even cuter than I imagined. He folds the ladder together and leans it against one of his windows for later, then takes a seat next to me.
“What do you think?”
“It’s okay, I guess.”
I watch him from my periphery.
“Why do you not like Christmas?” The question comes out in a whisper. It feels wrong to ask, the words bitter on my tongue, but I can’t stop myself. “You don’t have to answer,” I quickly add when he tenses. “I’m just curious. I mean, I love Christmas — how everyone comes together to do good, the cookies, the holiday decorations, it makes me happy. I don’t understand what could make someone hate that. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Pretend I never asked.”
He remains silent, his heavy breaths the only sound filling the room. “Okay, tell me more about the Christmas market.” I change topics. “Nic and I-”
“It was Christmas time when she left,” he mumbles, and a cold fist grips my heart. His voice is barely above a whisper, but the pain in it knocks the air out of my lungs. Slowly, I turn my head to him.
“Who?” I ask softly, fighting the urge to reach out.
“My mom,” he finally mutters, then jumps up from his chair, twisting away from me and walking to the counter with quick steps. I can only watch after him, too stunned to react.
What?
So many questions race through my head, my heart breaking for him. When did that happen? What would lead to that? How old was he?
“I’m sorry, Caleb,” I whisper, but he shakes his head and clears his throat.
“Forget I said that.” He grabs the ladder and unfolds it again, quickly climbing the steps and holding out his hand. "Get the next one over here."
“Okay,” I whisper and pick up the box to set it on the table closest to him. He hammers the nails into the frame without another word. When the time comes for me to hand him the garland, I softly close my fingers around his wrist.
“If you ever want to talk about it—” I wait until his head turns around. “I’m here.”
“Are you?” he asks with such heaviness in his voice it makes my breath hitch, and such skepticism and sincerity in his eyes I almost forget how to breathe.
“Yes.”
His eyes say he doesn’t believe me. I guess I’ll need to prove him wrong.
Chapter 10
Lauren
“Admit it,” I say in a singsong voice and tug at the sleeves of Caleb’s shirt. “It’s cute!”
Time runs by in the blink of an eye when you are having fun. And boy, did I have fun.
By the second- to -last garland, the frown even slipped off Caleb’s face. I’ll pretend it wasn’t because my rendition of ‘Santa Claus is coming to town’ was particularly bad. Now there are fake pine garlands over his door, along his windows, and over the chalkboard menu behind his counter, decorated with the occasional red or golden bauble and ribbons.
I did bring fake snow spray for his windows, but after a murderous glare from him, I put it right back and instead added some scribbles to his menu board instead to keep busy. Mistletoe is surprisingly tricky to draw with chalk, and it turned out a little wonky, but the little snowman in the lower left corner makes up for it!
There’s only one thing that is still missing.
I rush over to the last box, and Caleb groans. “Seriously? I just put away the ladder.”
“That’s okay. You won’t need it.” I grin and pull out a wreath, holding it up proudly. “Here. It’s handmade with smiles, sweat and tears.”
