2. Christian

TWO

CHRISTIAN

I pushed food around my plate until my mother’s firm suggestion to stop playing with it. The tone—not unkind—she used took twenty years off of me in an instant, making me sit up and hold my fork tighter like the eight-year-old I had once been.

“Sorry,” I breathed.

My mother’s lips formed a little smile. “And don’t let me catch you avoiding peas.”

Dad chuckled from his seat at the head of the dining table. “You heard the boss, Christian.”

“Ah, I think I’m old enough to know if I don’t like something,” I said, bracing for a storm.

“That’s exactly what a child would say,” Mom pointed out matter-of-factly. She scooped a large spoonful of peas and topped my plate.

I didn’t have it in me to argue. If anything, some small part of me longed to be told what to do and to have no choice but to obey. The simplicity that no longer existed in my life seemed like the only thing that could make me feel a little less like crap right now. So I ate my damn peas and licked the plate clean.

I offered to do the dishes tonight. Dad cracked open a can of beer after dinner, settling in his armchair facing the TV. Mom had a cup of tea and a sweet romance paperback open in her lap. Seeing them slide into their comfortable evening so easily made me both glad and mildly jealous. Not that I would want to ruin their unwinding time.

So I swiftly packed up my doom and gloom and carried it upstairs to my childhood bedroom. It still looked the same as when I had left it ten years ago. I’d spent little time back here since leaving for college, visiting my family twice a year, then only once, until three years ago when I’d stopped coming altogether.

They hadn’t done anything to push me away. In fact, they’d tried hard to pull me closer, but facing their never-ending optimism that things would turn around if only I persisted had gotten unbearable. I couldn’t keep visiting with bad news and disappointing reports. My life had not turned out the way I’d imagined, and I just didn’t know if everyone had overpromised or if I’d screwed it all up so badly that I got what I deserved.

The bedroom was cozy enough. A small desk was tucked in one corner, flanked by a large bookcase with stacks of old comics and fantasy paperbacks. The ceiling was covered with fluorescent stars and snowflakes that glowed late into the night. The dark green walls gave the room a cozy, moody look when the lamps were on. My double bed was a gift from my grandparents when I’d outgrown my childhood custom-made sleigh-shaped bed. Other kids had slept in race cars, but my family had always lived and breathed the Christmas holidays all year round.

I looked through the old comics on my bookshelf, then lifted my gaze to the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the only hardcovers I had in here. My fingers traced them, and I indulged in some sweet memories of the long nights I’d stayed up struggling with the endless passages until some otherworldly magic would happen and the words would transport me to Helm’s Deep or the Fields of Pelennor. Magic. Somewhere along the way, I stopped believing in it.

Holding a deep breath in my lungs, I picked up my black coat and gray scarf, turned on my heels, and walked out. I told my parents I would be back later, and I slipped out of the house and into the cold December evening.

Our house was a fairly big one for the three of us alone. Looking at the drive, it was similar to the houses that flanked it, except that my parents had gone overboard with the Christmas lights. Or they hadn’t. This place had a zest for colorful lights, and my parents were no different than most inhabitants.

I walked down the street that led me straight into Santa’s Village, where families enjoyed the festive cheer, Christmas music poured out of every shop, and the scent of cinnamon in the air was probably mandatory by law.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was the town’s Grinch, but I definitely didn’t get it . Not anymore, at least.

As I passed Santa’s Helpers Animal Shelter, the cozy orange streetlights drew my attention to the right. Nutcrackers, Santa’s Workshop, Ginger’s Bread, and the White Elephant lined the street I walked, but I pressed on to the town hall and took a left turn, trying to tire the thoughts out of my brain.

Just last month, I’d found myself needing to ask my parents for help. At twenty-eight, calling Mommy and Daddy for rent money was a devastating blow. I had scraped by for so long, trying my very hardest to impress potential employers in New York, yet my best was never enough. Those who had given me a chance soon found that my ideas were too “out-there” and “not exactly aligned with the cost-efficient philosophy of the client.”

I didn’t last long in those jobs.

As I walked across the street from the town hall, I slowed down. The shop on the corner poured subdued yellow light onto the sidewalk. My legs had brought me here, not my conscious mind. Yet even at the first sight of it, I knew I had come to the right place.

Jingle Bites.

Mom had said that it was somewhere in Santa’s Village, although she hadn’t visited yet. She’d heard from Aunt Francene that Milo Montgomery was back in town, and I hadn’t believed her. I couldn’t. Milo had been such a huge part of my boyhood that it seemed impossible he could exist beyond those memories. It seemed impossible that he could have left Christmas Falls and had a life I wasn’t a part of.

The shop was empty, but warmth washed over me as I pushed the door open and triggered a brass bell above my head. The scent of chocolate, rich and velvety, filled my nostrils and lungs with my first inhale, and the sound of a man’s voice—not a child’s, which again surprised me—came from somewhere in the back.

“Welcome,” he called. The voice was high and melodic, unmistakably his. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” There was a little urgency in that tone. “Help yourself to some samples on the counter if you’d like.”

I didn’t know how to move my feet. I hardly remembered how to breathe. Warmth filled me so quickly that my cheeks burned and my eyes stung. This place was so incredibly cozy that it felt like stepping into a dream. Dark wooden surfaces, Christmas decorations, mistletoe wreaths, and potted plants were just the beginning. There were tables and a counter with heaps of chocolate treats, and classical music with festive overtones played from the speakers.

“Found anything you like?” Milo’s voice asked before he stepped through a passage behind the counter and looked at me. The cheerful, welcoming smile on his face wavered for a moment as he halted, taken aback.

I stood in the middle of his little shop, watching him wordlessly as if to make sure it really was him. He was all grown up, tall and slim, his eyes impossibly blue and his hair dusty blond. The smile remained on his face, revealing dimples on each cheek.

“Hello,” I said quietly, not trusting my voice.

Milo stared at me a moment longer, then took quick steps around the counter and across the shop, throwing his arms around me in a surprise hug.

My body tensed in response, arms stuck for a few heartbeats, until the lavender scent mixed with something nutty and sweet reached my nose. Inhaling, I found myself relaxing, and my arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. It felt good to do this. It felt right.

Part of me wondered who this person was. I had to be as much of a stranger to him as he was to me after fifteen years. The last time I’d seen Milo, he’d been smiling despite the tears in his eyes, and the thick, blond curls on his head were matted with breaking sweat. Nothing was worse than crying in the summer heat.

As he slowly released me, we stepped back from one another as if to take each other’s measure.

“Hello,” he said, his voice electric with some mix of excitement and disbelief.

“Hi,” I whispered.

Milo nodded, his smile broad and pearly. “We did that already.”

“Yes, I guess we did,” I agreed, looking at him closely. His cheekbones had always been high, but these fifteen years had defined them, sculpting the boy I once knew into a man.

“I was going to look for you later this week,” Milo said, wiping his palms against the black canvas apron. I hadn’t noticed any smudges on his hands.

“You heard I was back?” I asked. It was a stupid question and the least important of all. The question I’d meant to ask was, You were going to look for me ?

“You couldn’t have been away for so long to forget the mass communication media of a small town,” Milo said in that light, fluttery voice.

I barked a laugh, my first in a long time, and shook my head. “I guess I should have known.” I scratched the back of my head and shifted my weight. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret.”

He smiled at that.

Words faded then. We stood in the twinkling yellow Christmas lights and the glow of Edison light bulbs, eyeing one another carefully.

The silence compelled me to say something, so I chose poorly. “How have you been?”

Milo snort-chuckled and shrugged. “Good.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Good.”

He pressed his lips together, dropping that blue gaze down my face and lifting it back to my eyes. “Now that that’s out of the way…” He laughed, and I joined him, my heart skipping a beat or two with nervousness. I’d run into the lair of so many fond memories without giving it all a single clear thought. I hadn’t even considered what questions to ask him or what things to tell him. I hadn’t even wondered how different he would be. I hadn’t asked myself what I would look like to him after all this time. “Want a chocolate?” he asked.

Relief washed over me so incredibly quickly. The simplicity of the question didn’t require me to tiptoe around the answer and to call back on what I remembered of him. It was so easy just to say, “I would love one.” The relief was audible in my tone, a pent-up sigh releasing with the words.

Milo gestured toward the counter with a tilt of his head, his rich, wild curls swaying with the movement. “Come on, take a seat,” he said, patting a wooden barstool with a black faux leather seat.

I sat down, arms folded on the smooth wooden counter, and Milo circled it to stand on the other side. He narrowed his eyes and inspected me for a moment. “Do you still like sour cherries?”

My eyes widened for a split second. I’d completely forgotten about those bonbons with very sour cherry-flavored filling. “I…I’m not sure.”

A corner of his lips ticked up in a half-smile, and Milo pulled out a drawer from beneath the counter with individually wrapped candy bars arranged neatly. “Here. Try this.”

It was a small block of chocolate wrapped in gold foil with a red paper label wrapped around the middle third. It had the bonbon logo that matched the sign on the door and the name of his shop printed in an elegant font.

I frowned as I inspected it.

“It hasn’t gone bad, I swear,” Milo joked.

But my frown deepened as I ran my finger over the letters. “Is this…handwritten?”

“It sure is,” Milo said like it was no big deal.

I gazed at the chocolate with reverence. Carefully, I tugged on the label to pull it off, but its ends were glued tightly.

Milo laughed. “Just rip it, Christian. I’ve made hundreds of them.”

“It feels like a crime,” I said, catching a glimpse of mischief on his face.

“I don’t remember you worrying much about breaking the law when we were sneaking around Milton Falls Christmas Tree Farm.” There was nothing scolding in his voice, but I still felt the heat touching my cheeks. We’d been reckless at times. “Did you hear they added a light maze this year? Ugh, I wish I was twelve for just one night.”

My heart lurched, and I met his gaze squarely. “Did they?”

Milo nodded.

But I shrugged like it was nothing. “We made our own mazes.”

“That we did,” he agreed a little more joyfully. “Are you going to eat it or let it melt in your hands?”

I snorted and ripped the paper label. “There. I ruined it,” I declared, not exactly unfamiliar with the sensation, then unwrapped the gold foil and broke off a piece.

I popped the small chunk into my mouth, letting the chocolate rest on my tongue for a moment before it began to melt. It was smooth, velvety, with a rich cocoa taste that wasn’t overly sweet, just the right balance of indulgence. Then, as my teeth sank into the center, a burst of tartness hit—sharp, tangy, and unmistakably cherry. It cut through the richness of the chocolate, the sourness making my lips pucker slightly, but in the best way possible. It was a nostalgic flavor, that same punchy sour cherry I’d almost forgotten, now surrounded by a luxurious coating that felt more grown-up and refined but still playfully familiar.

I closed my eyes briefly, letting the taste flood my senses. It was as if the flavor had transported me back to boyhood when Milo and I would sneak sweets and get into trouble. But this version? It was more than just a memory—it was layered with complexity. Beneath the sophistication, that simple joy remained.

When I opened my eyes, Milo was watching me, an expectant grin on his face. “Still like sour cherries?” he asked.

I swallowed and smiled. “Yeah. Still do.”

We were silent for a short time, and then Milo broadened his smile. “It’s good to see you, Christian.”

I nodded my agreement. “It’s good to see you too, Milo. You’ve no idea.” I broke off another piece of chocolate as the flavors slowly faded from my tongue. That incredible, colorful reaction was not as strong as the first time, perhaps because I knew to expect it, but the chocolate was just as delicious. “No way you made this,” I heard myself say.

Milo gasped, his hand grabbing his chest. “How dare you?”

We burst out laughing after a moment of suspense, the playful glimmer in his eyes growing brighter.

“So, you like it?” he asked once all of the chocolate was gone.

“I’ll tell you this. You won’t find anything half as good at éclair.” I folded the foil in half and pushed it toward Milo.

“Ugh. Don’t mention them,” he said, sweeping the trash from the counter and tossing it into the wastebasket somewhere below. “They don’t know it yet, but we are at war.”

“Are you?” I asked, leaning in.

He shook his head, his curls dancing with the movement. “I’m kidding. But if I ever see you in their store, I’ll unleash a tempest of congealed marshmallow and expired caramel upon your unsuspecting taste buds!”

“Oh, I see,” I said mock-gravely. “So, there’s some competition there.”

“Just good sportsmanship,” Milo said, waving his hand off. “You know how it is. They’ve had an outpost here for decades, and every business in town has standing orders with them.”

He played it down with a cheerful tone of voice, but I felt a tingle of worry somewhere in the pit of my stomach. It would be too forward to ask if he was struggling. We hadn’t spoken in fifteen years. I had no right pushing my nose up in his business so brazenly.

“But I’m new,” Milo said reassuringly. “These things take time, right?”

“I should hope so,” I said. “I mean, everyone who takes a bite of chocolate here won’t forget it soon.”

Milo looked away, forcing calm to his face after an abrupt smile had made him light up. He was still weird about compliments, then. That hadn’t changed a bit.

“Can you believe it?” he asked, changing the topic. “Fifteen years.”

“I’m trying, but my brain refuses to accept that,” I admitted.

He leaned on the counter, folding his arms and tilting his head to look at me. “I asked about you when I returned, but they said you weren’t visiting often.”

“Busy,” I said shortly.

Milo didn’t seem taken aback by the curtness of my tone. “Right. Well, when Mrs. Fairchild said she saw you, I couldn’t believe it.”

Guilt slowly uncoiled in my stomach. It was a strange thing, fearing the distance we put between ourselves. “I would have looked for you sooner,” I said, my throat a little sore. “I was just…I don’t know. I came back a week ago.”

“I get it,” Milo assured me. “Christmas Falls can be a lot when you’re not around for a while.”

I chuckled, some of the guilt leaving me, but it was false. If only I scratched the surface, I would find plenty to feel bad for. Plenty I had done wrong. So I shook my head. “Mom told me the first evening. I just put it off because…fifteen years is a long time, Milo.”

He nodded as if he understood the most minute nuance of this argument. I wasn’t sure that I did. Why would I avoid seeing my old best friend? Why would I cling to the memory, afraid that seeing him would somehow ruin the good times?

“I want to fix that,” I said.

Milo lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re here now.”

“Not good enough,” I said. “How about I buy us drinks at Kody’s place?”

Milo thought about it, then shook his head slowly. “I have a better idea. I was going to visit the Festival Museum and check out the Arts and Crafts Fair. Take me.”

“Deal,” I agreed heartily.

Milo didn’t hide the happiness on his face. In that, he was exactly the same person he had always been. “Let me clean up the kitchen, and we can see some stalls while they’re still around.”

And so I did. Milo hummed a Christmas tune in the kitchen while I looked at the space around me. The entire shop was like a fantasy that only Milo could have dreamed up. He’d always been such an imaginative person but also particular about the details. It was no wonder that he had grown into someone who excelled at what he did. Not like me, who was stretched thin between a million different interests, never rising above mediocrity in any.

But when Milo reappeared, he had changed into a pair of denim jeans and a sweater, wearing a dark blue coat over the outfit and a woolen beanie on top of his head. He shot me an expectant look, and I hopped onto my feet, leading the way to the front door.

I didn’t fool myself that it could be so easy, but it almost felt like it was real. It almost felt like we could slide into a friendship without any explanations, any catching up, any visits to the murky, melancholic days that followed the day Milo cried as his mother nudged him toward the car that took them all away for good.