by Anthology
“I’m okay, John,” she finally said. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”
“That must have been quite a fall! I heard you scream and came out to see if you needed any help.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” she said ruefully. “I think my pride is bruised worse than anything else.”
“You’re sure you don’t need me to call an ambulance or anything?”
Jenna groaned. “That would be ambulance number six,” she whispered under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m fine, really. If you could help me up.”
“Of course.”
Jenna expected him to offer her a hand, or maybe an arm for leverage. Instead, he scooped her up into his arms, rose easily and headed up the porch steps. He even managed to sling her traitorous bag over his shoulder.
Wow! Cute, strong, and chivalrous! This guy looked better every minute.
After fumbling a bit with the front door, John carried Jenna into the foyer of the house. He paused, still cradling her in his arms.
“Are you going to be okay? You know, on your own? You’re welcome to come in for a drink and to warm up by my fireplace.”
Was he flirting with her? The shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with the bits of snow still stuck to her. Then she remembered what day it was—Christmas Eve. Not the best time for her to be starting something like this. Actually, it was the absolute worst time. She really ought to get out of range of the poor guy before the romantic-sounding fireplace set his apartment on fire.
“Thanks, that’s nice of you, but I’ll get out of your hair now.” He gently set her down, keeping an arm wrapped around her for support. Did he seem reluctant to let her go? Stay focused, Jenna. He’s a nice guy. He doesn’t need to get dragged into your troubles. Planning a semi-graceful exit—or at least an exit more graceful than her entrance—she said, “It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than—owwwww!” The second she’d put her weight on her left foot, lightning bolts of pain shot through her ankle. Clinging to his arm, she began hopping around like a wounded duck, squawking all the while. “Ow, ow, ow, ow!”
“Okay, that’s it.” Without waiting for her approval, he scooped her up again. “I’m taking you into my apartment for a while. There’s no way you can make it up all the steps to your apartment on that ankle.”
As they headed toward his apartment, Jenna remembered the last ground floor tenant. He’d been 86 years old with three cats. She hoped John had redecorated, or at least gotten rid of the smell. She expected something sparse, dark and masculine. Instead, John opened the door to a winter wonderland. It was festive. It was bright. It was hell.
~*~
Jenna scanned the room, hoping it wasn’t as bad as it looked. A lit fireplace dominated the cozy living room. The flames crackled merrily, casting a rosy light over the rest of the room. The fireplace was fine. She had no beef with it. Well, other than the stockings hung by it—with care, she was sure. It was the rest of the room that was the problem. The place was wall to wall Christmas! From the big Christmas tree in the corner, twinkling with little colored lights and decorated to the max, to the crocheted snowflakes hanging in the windows, to the dozens of Santas and snowmen seemingly scattered on every flat surface. There was even one of those miniature ceramic towns set up on a corner table. Granted the room had a certain warmth and charm to it, and all the decorations were interesting or amusing, rather than tacky or commercial, but there was just so much Christmas!
“Could you carry me up to my place after all?” she asked John, trying to keep the pleading out of her voice.
“I’m not sure I could handle all the stairs, to be honest. Besides, you might have a concussion. I think you need someone to keep an eye on you for a while. If you’re still feeling okay later, we’ll see what we can do about getting you up those stairs. Sound good?”
He seemed so reasonable, and so darn cute, Jenna felt like a Scrooge pursuing the issue. Surely she could handle all these decorations for an hour or so. Her fall had been a real doozy. Maybe something that big and painful meant Christmas was through messing with her for the year.
Yeah, right.
John lowered her onto his plush red sofa, careful not to jar her injured ankle. “Let’s get you a little more comfortable. Can I take your coat?”
Jenna managed to undo the peacoat’s buttons, but had somehow gotten it tangled under her.
“Here, let me help.” John leaned around her to tug at the stuck coat. Their eyes met as he moved in. God, he was so cute. He was close enough that she could smell his breath…the exact peppermint of a candy cane. Of course. She sighed and pulled back a little, breaking eye contact. He eased the fabric out from under her and tossed it over a nearby chair.
He knelt beside the couch. “Let’s get these boots off.” The right one slid off easily, ruined heel and all. The left one proved more difficult, due to the swelling.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you. Let me take a look.”
“Are you a doctor or something?”
“No, sorry, I’m an accountant.” He stripped off both her ruined nylons and wrapped his hands around her injured ankle. “But I was an Eagle Scout, so I think I can help.” He smiled as he gently squeezed and prodded the tender flesh above her foot. “I don’t think it’s broken. Probably just twisted.” Cradling her foot with one hand, he dragged the coffee table closer to the sofa. Snagging a pillow off the foot of the couch, he set it on the table and eased Jenna’s foot onto it. “I think I’ve got an ace bandage around her somewhere. I’ll go find it. You keep your foot elevated. I’ll grab an icepack for your head, too.” John stood and headed out of the room.
Even through her pain, Jenna couldn’t help noticing the way his faded Levi’s hugged his butt. She sighed, then grimaced as the slight movement jogged her ankle. Great—a possible concussion and a sprained ankle. Not to mention that she’d met this great, cute, nice guy and then found out he obsessed with the very thing she hated most. This had to rank as one of the worst Christmases yet.
“I’m cursed!” she muttered.
“You’re what?” John asked, as he returned to the living room with his first aid supplies.
“Nothing.”
“I thought I heard something about a curse.” John handed Jenna a bag of frozen peas. “Put this on the back of your head.” She complied, wincing from the cold. “I brought you a towel for your hair, too. And I’m heating up some milk for hot chocolate. I thought you could probably use something warm to drink.”
Could this guy be any nicer? Then she noticed the towel he’d handed her was red and green with a little snowman on it. She had to get out of here.
Jenna gently rubbed her damp hair as John knelt and wrapped the bandage around her ankle. Although he was very gentle, it still hurt. To distract herself, she tried to focus on something else. Her eyes landed on a miniature glass Christmas tree with little removable glass ‘lightbulbs.’ Her grandmother had owned a similar tree. Jenna still remembered her trip to the hospital to remove the little bulb she’d gotten stuck up her nose. Granted, she’d only been three at the time, but that had been the first time the curse had shown up.
“There. That should do it.” John abruptly sat back on his haunches and looked up at her. Startled, she tried to refocus on him, but it was too late.
“I see you noticed my little tree. It was my Gram’s.”
“Yeah, my grandmother had one, too. Well, she used to.”
“Oh? What happened to it? Did she give it to you?”
“Um, no. Actually it had to be put down.” Before John could ask what she meant, she hurried on, “I’m not really into Christmas.” Geez, was that the understatement of the year, or what?
“That’s too bad,” John replied as he stood up. “I’m sure you can tell I am pretty ‘into’ it. I think the milk is hot enough now. I’ll go mix up the hot chocolate. Would you
like a shot of peppermint schnapps in it? Or is alcohol bad for potential concussions? We didn’t really get into those types of things in the Scouts.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t have a concussion, so schnapps would be great. Thanks.”
John headed into the tiny galley kitchen where she heard him banging about, getting their drinks. I wonder if he has a girlfriend. If so, she’s a lucky girl. Although, come to think of it, the apartment didn’t really give off a super masculine vibe, especially with the Christmas stuff everywhere. And schnapps wasn’t too manly either. Perhaps there was a lucky boy in the picture. Not that it mattered. No way would she get involved with this Christmas freak. Even if he did have the cutest dimples . . .
“Here you go,” John re-entered the living room, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of cookies. Jenna could smell the sharp molasses from across the room. Yum. Gingersnaps.
Handing her a mug, John rested the tray on the coffee table next to Jenna’s propped up foot, and sank onto the sofa beside her. “Cookie?” He offered her the plate. She snagged a cookie and held it up to inspect it.
“What, just circles? No gingerbread men?”
Jenna couldn’t believe she’d spoken out loud. How rude! Fortunately, John didn’t seem to be offended. He laughed. “I usually make gingerbread men with my two nieces, but since we couldn’t be together this year, I decided plain old circles were good enough for me.”
“Nieces, huh? Do you have a big family?” Jenna bit into the tangy gingersnap.
“Not very big. There’s only my parents and my two brothers. They’re each married. One has two daughters—the gingerbread girls—and the other had a son in August.”
Jenna couldn’t resist the opening he’d given her. “So you’re the only single one, huh?”
“Yep. Still single. Not even a girlfriend on the horizon. How about you?”
“No girlfriend on the horizon for me either.” Jenna was so hung up on John’s confirmation of heterosexuality that it took her a second to realize what she’d just said. “No boyfriend, I mean. Well, there was one, but we broke up today.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Don’t worry. He was kind of a loser anyway. He actually dumped me over e-mail. Tacky, right?”
“Well I’m glad you’re keeping your sense of humor.” He chuckled. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve had a very good day.”
“Let’s not talk about my day. Let’s talk more about you.” If John knew every miserable thing that had befallen her today, he’d probably shove her out of his apartment and lock the door after her. Not that she’d blame him. She really should leave. But it was so cozy sitting here in front of the fire with him, the schnapps and hot chocolate warming her insides. She’d leave after she had a few more cookies.
“Ok, what do you want to know?”
What it would be like to kiss you. Dang, where had that come from? How much schnapps was in this drink anyway? Flustered, Jenna searched for a more suitable topic, desperately trying to ignore the idea that in a room so full of Christmas, there had to be mistletoe hanging somewhere.
“Um, tell me more about the little glass tree. You said your grandmother gave it to you?”
“Mmhmm. She gave me most of my decorations, actually. She really got into Christmas. We always spent the holidays with her, out at the old farm. Some of my best times with her were helping her bake Christmas cookies or helping her hang the snowflakes. There was this one time, when I was about seven, when I got to go with her to pick out the Christmas tree. Now, this isn’t like getting a tree here in the city. This is farm country. So when we wanted a tree, we’d just go cut one down. Like Paul Bunyan, she told me. And I even got to carry a little axe with me.”
Jenna tensed, waiting to hear about some terrible accident involving this axe.
John continued, “We walked along, dragging a big sled behind us, for what seemed like hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes, until we found the perfect tree. It had to be a little round, you see, and not too tall. Grams called it a squat tree. So we found the perfect tree, and I start swinging my axe, putting all my weight into it and barely making a dent in the thing. I’ve got branches hitting me in the face, sap all over my mittens, and my arms are killing me. But I can’t let Grams down. Well, after a few minutes of this, I’m huffing and puffing and about ready to pass out when Grams pulls out a chainsaw from under the tarp on the sled and just goes to town on the tree. We had it down in minutes. She was sixty-eight at the time, and she took that tree down like it was nothing! And the best part? When we got back to the house, she tucked the chainsaw back under the tarp and told everyone what a great job I’d done cutting down the Christmas tree!”
Jenna gave a half laugh, half sigh. Thank God, no amputations had occurred anywhere in the story. If it had been one of her childhood memories . . .
She pushed away the thought and refocused on John. “Your Grams sounds wonderful.”
“She really was. She passed away five years ago. I miss her a lot, especially this time of year. The holiday season really reminds me of her. I think that’s why I like to put up all her old decorations. It makes me feel closer to her.”
God, he was sweet! She wanted to cuddle up right next to him on the sofa and have his arms wrap around her, pulling her close . . .
“...favorite Christmas memory?”
“Excuse me?” Jenna blushed.
“I said, ‘What’s your favorite Christmas memory?’”
“Oh, I don’t have one. These cookies are great. I think I’ll have another one. Do you use dark or light molasses in them?” Jenna snatched up another cookie and stuffed it in her mouth, chewing dramatically.
John straightened up and set his mug down on the coffee table. He turned and looked at her, a frown on his handsome face.
“Okay, Jenna, what’s going on?”
She tried shooting him her most compelling ‘what? who? me?’ look, but the frown remained. She washed down her mouthful of gingersnap with the rest of her spiked chocolate, needing the liquid courage. It was time to spill.
Looking into the fire, she muttered, “I’m cursed.”
“That’s what I thought you said earlier. What on earth do you mean?”
Still avoiding his eyes, she continued. “It means I’m cursed. Not a fun, interesting kind of curse, mind you, from an evil witch or an angry gypsy. Just your run-of-the-mill, average, the-universe-is-out-to-get-you kind of curse. Oh, and it’s Christmas related.”
Jenna waited for John to laugh. She knew she sounded crazy, which was why she didn’t like to mention the curse to anyone outside the family. He didn’t laugh. She risked a quick look at his face. Not a hint of a smile. Or a frown, actually. John just sat there quietly, looking at her. She didn’t know how to react to no reaction, so she waited for him to break the silence.
Finally, he said, “So what exactly does this curse entail? I mean, I can see you don’t have warts or a tail or anything.”
“Well, the curse varies a lot. That’s part of the problem. It’s always something new. When I was younger, it was a lot of physical things. You know, a broken arm from tripping over my new dollhouse. Third degree burns from taking the Christmas cookies out of the oven. Eight stitches in my hand from a broken ornament. The emergency room staff knew us all by name by the time I was six, and if ambulances gave frequent flyer miles, I’d have earned quite the trip.” She shrugged and released a sigh.
“But it wasn’t only injuries. In third grade, at the church Christmas pageant, while I sang ‘Silent Night,’ MaryBeth Danvers pulled up my dress so the whole congregation could see my underpants. At the seventh grade holiday dance, my ‘best friend’ Emily Spires told Jimmy Donovan, the biggest bully in school, I liked him and he followed me around for the next two months. Then when I was a sophomore, my boyfriend broke up with me on December 23rd at Makeout Point because I wouldn’t let him get to second base with me. And then, on our way home, his car got stuck in the snow
and we had to sit there for two hours before someone found us and helped push us out of the snow bank.”
She checked to see if he was laughing yet. He wasn’t.
“The list goes on and on. It’s a tragic saga of break-ups, injuries, and embarrassments, some fairly minor, and others pretty serious. So I’ve become allergic to Christmas. I try to pretend it isn’t even happening, thinking if I simply ignore it, the curse will leave me alone. But we can see how well that’s going.” She gestured to her swollen ankle. “I know it sounds crazy. Believe me, I do. But it’s true.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the crackling of the fire the only sound.
“What are you thinking?” she finally asked him.
“That this place must scare the hell out of you. It probably looks like Macy’s Christmas Department came in here and threw up all over the place.”
She laughed in disbelief. He didn’t think she was crazy?
“No, no, it actually looks lovely in here. Everything is very cozy and homey. And now that I know about your Grams, everything is even more beautiful—special. But I admit when you first carried me in here, I was a bit…surprised. Overwhelmed. Okay, freaked out.”
“I noticed, but I wasn’t sure what was going on with you. I thought you might have decided you didn’t want to be alone with me or something.”
“Oh no, no, I really wanted to be alone with you.” Jenna blushed again. “Okay, that kinda came out wrong.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up next to him. “It sounds pretty right to me.”
His green eyes held hers as he slowly leaned toward her. As he drew even closer, she closed her eyes, lost in the sensation of being so close to him. Her stomach fluttered in excitement as she waited for the imminent kiss. She completely forgot where she was, not to mention what day it was, until his lips were just a breath away from hers. Dammit, it’s Christmas Eve!