3. On the Store’s Sound System “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”

CHAPTER 3

ON THE STORE’S SOUND SYSTEM: “ROCKIN’ AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE”

“Okay, which one?” Nicolette asks, her tone a little anxious. “I can’t decide.”

Damien studies the two shallow, handmade bowls she’s considering. They’re both beautiful, although their purpose, apparently, is just for show. “They’re both cool, but the glaze on the green one is special.”

“It is, right?” She runs a fingertip around the rim of the bowl. “I love it. But blue is her favorite color, so…” She sighs.

Indecision puts a little furrow in her perfect brow. He’s not quite sure why she’s struggling. At their first stop—a bookstore—she’d chosen a gift for her dad inside of three minutes. “Coin flip?” he suggests. “Rock paper scissors?”

“Sorry I’m so indecisive,” she murmurs. “I just want to get it right.”

“Because your…step-whatever is a great gift giver?” he asks.

Nicolette laughs, and then gives him a sideways glance that, in spite of its brevity, still makes his breath catch.

He’d thought he’d remembered how beautiful she was. But he hadn’t. Not really. Since picking her up an hour ago, he’s felt a little tongue tied. And overwhelmed.

It isn’t just the perfect curve of her cheekbones, or the bottomless blue of her eyes. It’s her energy. It’s the sunny sound of her voice and the way she listens with her whole body. Like he’s someone who matters. Nobody else looks at him like that.

“Actually, she’s not the best gift giver. I mean—her taste is fancy.” She makes a face. “She’ll probably give me a designer fragrance that I’ll forget to wear. Or a big silk scarf. The last time I tried to wear a scarf, I looked like someone who’d just lost a wrestling match with a tent.” She smiles, and her eyes crinkle in the corners.

“So then why are you sweating this?” He waves a hand over the two bowls. They’re both made by the same Vermont artisan, and they both cost over two hundred dollars. If he ever bought a bowl for that price, it had better include a wish-granting genie.

She runs a hand lovingly across the green bowl again. “This woman is the first person my father has dated since my mother died. So it’s important to try.”

Ah . “Get the green one, then. If it calls to you, maybe it will call to her, too.”

“All right,” she says. “Why not?”

By the time they make it to the check-out desk, Damien has picked up a couple of gifts, too.

The young man behind the counter wraps and boxes the green bowl with more care than Damien imagines donated organs receive before they’re put onto the Life Flight helicopter. He estimates that half the attention is due to the bowl’s price tag and half to Nicolette’s attractiveness.

Honestly, he doesn’t blame the guy. See also: the taxi driver who’s assisting with Christmas shopping.

“Thank you for your help!” Nicolette tells Damien when the transaction is done. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says, feeling more than a little gobsmacked by her smile.

“All right, one more stop,” she says, turning for the door.

“I can carry the bag,” he says, reaching for the handle as they emerge into the chilly air of the Church Street Marketplace.

“No way,” she says, holding the bag out of his reach. “You are a saint for putting up with me. A saint .”

“Like I didn’t procrastinate, too?” He’s just purchased a set of candles for his mother and a throw pillow for his sister in the precise shape of a goldfish cracker.

“I still think you should have bought those singing refrigerator magnets.” She bumps his shoulder with her own. “The world needs more rude lyrics for Christmas carols.”

“You’re a menace. Do you know how loud our house is already? With five people?”

House isn’t even the right word for where he lives. Nicolette has almost certainly never been inside a cramped double-wide trailer, and he’s not about to describe it to her.

She shakes her head. “I’m an only child. Lots of silence. And, well, classical music now that Veronica’s twins live there during all their boarding school vacations.”

He can’t even imagine living in a home where two or three simultaneous arguments aren’t the norm. “You still have to find something for them, right?”

Her forehead creases. “Yes. I don’t have any ideas. Maybe I’ll have to go with something from that chocolate shop. But that’s lame, isn’t it?”

It’s hard for him to concentrate when he badly wants to kiss that wrinkle between her eyebrows and make it go away. “Lame is a strong word. Who doesn’t like chocolate?”

“But, ugh,” she complains. “What in the world would they want from me? They wear brands I’ve never heard of. And they like classical music, which I don’t understand.”

“Hmm,” he says, trying not to stare. Her blue eyes are so expressive that it almost hurts to look at her. “There’s a violin shop across the way. Maybe they know what musicians want?”

“Wait, where?”

He puts one hand lightly on her shoulder and steers her across the pedestrian mall. It takes a moment because the place is so full of shoppers.

“Okay, yes!” she says, admiring a window display that says Gifts For the Music Lover . “You’re a genius.”

That is sadly not true, but Damien appreciates the compliment anyway.

“I’m buying that .” She points at a book in the window. The cover indicates it’s about the history of Bach’s cello suites. “They play those pieces all the time. And maybe one of those.” She points at an ornate book of Christmas carols. “I’ll be right back, okay? Then we can finally get out of here.”

“Cool,” he says. Although he wouldn’t mind if they stayed here all night. Shopping with Nicolette is the most fun he’s had in weeks.

He’d like to see more of her, but he knows better than to ask. She’s probably dating some college guy already. Some guy who’s also going to be a lawyer.

Some guy with money and ambition.

He wanders over to a giant Christmas tree in the middle of the pedestrian walkway and stares up at the lights. He does that thing where you let your vision blur, so that you’re seeing something without really seeing it.

As a rule, he hasn’t spent much time on deep thoughts about his future. But spending time with Nicolette invites him to see himself from her perspective. She makes him wonder what it would be like to be a college guy. To think bigger.

“Nice tree, isn’t it?” she asks a few minutes later, startling him with a stealthy approach.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing over to find that she’s gazing up at the tree in much the same way as him. The white lights reflect in her clear eyes, making her look even more angelic than ever. “Got what you need?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says dreamily, still gazing at the tree. “I wish I were one of those people who just loves Christmas. But the truth is I don’t.”

“It’s a lot of pressure,” he says.

“It is. But also, my mother loved Christmas so much. And since she died, this time of year always makes me miss her more. It’s always a little hard.”

Ouch .

“How about you?” she asks. “Big fan of Christmas?”

He looks up at the tree again, considering the question. “It’s all right. But I don’t have, like, ye olde happy childhood memories. At my house, Christmas always meant stress. My mother always wanted to celebrate, and my father couldn’t take the pressure. ”

“Did they fight?” she asks, still gazing at the lights.

“Sometimes. Or he’d manage to lose his job a couple weeks before Christmas and disappear for a few days. So she was always in distress, trying to make everything seem jolly when it wasn’t. I’m one of the oldest, so I was one of the first to realize that Santa wasn’t real. She used to recruit me and my older brother to help her make it magical for the little kids.”

“Your older brother… Matteo, right?”

“Wow. Good memory. Yeah. One year we went with to, uh, Toys for Tots to help her choose gifts. The toys are free. And everyone who volunteers there is so nice, but I was so embarrassed.”

God, he doesn’t know why he’s telling her all this. Like he’s secretly hoping she’ll recoil from this story, so he can stop wanting to kiss her senseless.

She turns to him, and that forehead wrinkle is back. “Christmas is just the weirdest holiday, isn’t it? There’s this entire mythology for children, all based on lies. With colossal expectations. We all run around trying to pick the perfect gift for everyone like it’s a blood sport.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles because it’s true. “I think you played a solid game, though. Great hustle. Good footspeed. It’s a silver-medal performance at least.”

She bonks him gently with her newest shopping bag. “Let’s buy some wrapping paper and go.”

“Wrapping paper?” He isn’t sure where to find that.

“I saw some at a store by the parking garage. If they also have ribbon, maybe I can win the gold medal. You probably need some too.”

He supposes she’s right.