“That’s the key though, right there,” Ben said. “He’s happy to do it. And if they’re really in love, then when he starts to feel differently about work, Hayley will support him.”
Chase raised his eyebrows. “I hope she will. But it seems like these days it’s just as likely they’ll end up splitting up.”
“Nah,” Ben said, shaking his head. “If you want to make stuff work, you can. You just have to have the right attitude.”
“Says the guy who’s never been married,” Connor said dryly.
Ben grinned. “Whatever. I’m just saying. There’s nothing wrong with believing something will work out. I’d rather be optimistic and take a risk than miss out on something amazing because I was too scared it might not work out.” Ben stood, carrying the chip bowl to the kitchen for a refill. “Text her,” he said. “Take the risk.”
Connor considered Ben’s encouragement as he left late that night. But Chase’s opinions sounded louder in his brain, validating his own fears and giving them renewed strength.
Aside from that, it might not matter even if he did want to text her. After their run-in on the beach? It was doubtful she’d even respond.
Once inside, Connor dropped onto his couch, letter in hand, and pulled the dictionary his high school English teacher had given him as a graduation gift off the bookshelf beside him, using it as a makeshift desk.
He pulled a single sheet of stationery out of the box he’d purchased earlier that afternoon, grumbling when he realized there wasn’t a pen within reach. He riffled through a kitchen drawer and finally found one in the junk drawer on top of a menu from Lou’s Café.
A sudden wave of nervousness washed over him, but he pushed it away with a couple of deep breaths. It was just a letter.
He ran a hand through his hair. Just words on paper.
Dear Christmas Pen Pal,
That is a mighty confident claim—professional Cornhole playing. I’m not saying I doubt you. It’s just that those people on TV are really serious about their sport. Maybe we could get together and play sometime . . .
Connor reread the few lines he’d written and sighed. It was probably too soon to be suggesting they get together in person. He balled up the paper and started again.
Dear Christmas Pen Pal,
That is a mighty confident claim—professional Cornhole playing. I’m not saying I doubt you. It’s just that those people on TV are really serious about their sport. You really think you could take them?
Three things about me. Let’s see. I’m really good at my job. It’s a job that requires you to stay calm, even in stressful situations and I’m really good at that. In fact, I don’t get ruffled easily in general. I don’t have much of a temper, though sometimes I do get a little mouthy. That’s the word my mother used when I was a kid.
What else? I hate olives. I don’t understand how anyone can NOT hate olives. I’ll eat just about anything. But not olives.
And finally, something that might make you feel better about yourself. I like to watch romantic comedies with my grandma.
I’m guessing you’re laughing. It’s fine. I can handle it. My grandma is pretty amazing. She always adds funny commentary to the movies, and she makes really good caramel popcorn. We’ve been watching movies together since I was a kid, but it’s only recently that they’ve all become romance-themed. I think she’s trying to tell me something . . . transmit her hopes and dreams for me through Hallmark-style indoctrination. I don’t know what she’s so worried about. It’s not like I’m opposed to the idea. I guess I’m just waiting for the right person.
Who knows? Maybe I’ve already met her, and I just haven’t realized it yet.
Connor paused. Was he being too obvious? Maybe not. It was the point, after all. If he were totally honest with himself, he was only writing because he hoped the woman might be someone special—someone he could get to know.
Tell me about the college education you aren’t using. And how you’re planning to fix things. You’ve made me curious.
Until next time,
C.M.
PS. I like calling us friends. It feels . . . right.
He hesitated before sealing the letter, wondering if he ought to use his full name. But there was something mysterious about signing it C.M. Full names meant Google searches and social media stalking. Full names made things seem real and possible, and in many ways, he worried it might kill the magic of their letter exchange. Plus, it was more than she’d admitted. She’d only signed her letters as his “Christmas Pen Pal.” They’d hopefully work up to using names eventually, but . . . he wasn’t sure he was ready for that quite yet.
Chapter 9
Dahlia
“But seriously, read this letter,” Dahlia said, thrusting it across the table at Lily. They sat on the outdoor patio at The Obstinate Daughter, a pizza place on Sullivan’s Island that was famous for its eclectic pizza toppings and top-notch crust. “Trust me. You’ve never read anything so perfect.”
Deacon leaned over Lily’s shoulder, his eyes scanning over the letter. After just a few moments, he looked up. “You told him you were good enough to play professional Cornhole?”
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. “I beat you every game, don’t I?”
“Oh my word, he watches movies with his grandma?” Lily pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Right?” Dahlia leaned back in her chair. “He feels too good to be true.”
“Of course he’s not too good to be true,” Deacon said with a grin. “He probably looks like Gollum.”
Lily smacked him on the chest. “He does not,” she said. “I think he sounds adorable.”
Deacon chuckled. “I don’t know. It sounds risky to me. How could you possibly learn enough about a person through letters to know you’re attracted to them? I know it’s not the most important thing, but physical attraction does matter.”
“But maybe once you really get to know someone, you’ll find them physically attractive because of how awesome they are overall, even if you would have ignored them at first glance.” Dahlia took the letter from Lily’s outstretched hand and refolded it before tucking it back in her purse. “People can be shallow, yes. But that doesn’t mean we have to be.”
“So would you date this guy if he looked like Gollum?”
“He doesn’t look like Gollum,” Lily said, shooting Deacon a pointed look.
“Fine. But what if he looks like that guy over there?” Deacon motioned to an older, balding man across the patio. “Or the guy next to him. How do you feel about face tattoos?”
“Geez, you really know how to kill a moment, Deac,” Lily said.
“Sorry. I’m not trying to be a buzz kill. He really does sound like a great guy. I’m just saying. We don’t live in a Hallmark movie. The odds of him being someone that would generally turn the head of someone as beautiful as Dahlia are slim.”
“And maybe that’s the point,” Dahlia said. “This way I’m getting to know someone for all the reasons that actually matter, and not just the superficial stuff. Obviously dating the pretty boys hasn’t worked out too well for me in the past.”
“She just burned you, Deac,” Lily said mockingly, her tone serious.
“Okay. Fair enough.” He looked at her across the table, his eyes sincere. “Just be careful, all right?”
She shrugged, sensing the weight of Deacon’s words, but not necessarily understanding why he was so concerned. “I’m just writing letters.”
The conversation moved on to other topics as dinner progressed, but Dahlia couldn’t help tossing glances toward the guy with a face tattoo on the other side of the patio. The truth was, the guy could be C.M. She had no way of actually knowing what he looked like. Deacon was right to warn her, to suggest she be cautious. The guy really could be a total creeper.
Still, something in her gut told her he wasn’t. That he was someone special, and that their letter exchange was the beginning of something big.
“How’s the toy drive thing coming?” Lily asked as they all stood from the table at the end of their meal.
Dahlia followed the couple to the parking lot, trying hard not to envy the way Deacon helped Lily down the stairs, one hand hovering protectively at the small of her back, the other gripping her hand. They loved each other so much.
Dahlia forced a calming breath. And she loved them.
“The toy drive is happening,” she said when they hit the bottom of the stairs. “Mrs. Greenly loved the idea and the fire station is happy to host.” It had only taken Dahlia a few more rote Santa letters to decide she wanted to do something more. A few phone calls later, she’d found herself heading up a toy drive that would, instead of just answering letters from Santa, actually provide the requested gifts for the letter writers. It would take some coordinating with the kids’ parents, and Dahlia would have to suck it up and actually do some fundraising to make it all work, but she was excited to take it all on.
“Three weeks from this weekend,” Dahlia said. “I wanted it to be as close to Christmas as possible. Can you come and help? We’ll be meeting Friday night to wrap and sort the presents, and then Saturday the kids will come to meet Santa and pick up their presents.”
Lily leaned forward to give Dahlia a hug. “Of course we’ll be there.”
Deacon followed suit, kissing Dahlia on the cheek. “Anything for you, Dahl. Count on us both.”
Dahlia walked to her car, counting her blessings that even after everything that had gone down with Deacon, she had managed to keep Lily and Deacon in her life, that they were such good friends to her.
They were more than she deserved.
***
Dear C.M.,
I love that you watch romantic comedies with your grandma. I love even more that you admitted it. Most guys your age wouldn’t, I don’t think.
I agree that olives are the world’s worst food. I have a friend who eats them like they are grapes, by the handful. It grosses me out just thinking about it. Her husband feels the same way and so they are always ordering olives on their pizza.
It’s ridiculous. I’d much rather share a pizza with someone like you.
I would love to learn more about your job. Mostly because you sound like you really love it. And that intrigues me. It feels like people are too frequently motivated by having a job that’s going to pay them a salary they love rather than having a job that just makes them happy. I mean, if you can have both, I guess that’s the best of both worlds, but happiness is more important, I think. Lots of money in a life that feels empty would hardly seem worth it. But that’s just me. Can you tell me more about what you do?
You asked about the college degree I’m not using. I graduated with a degree in art history. Art is fine. I like art. But I don’t really have a passion for it. And the degree didn’t really prepare me to do anything practical. I picked it because my mother thought it would be a good idea. In her mind, being a “supportive wife” was all I needed to aspire to. And an art history degree was a perfectly respectable way to accomplish that.
I’m going back to school in January though. To study business and entrepreneurial leadership. I have an idea, a business I’d like to open someday, so I’m hoping this degree will help me figure out how to make it happen. I haven’t told anyone about it yet. It still feels too new. Too scary.
Maybe someday.
-C.P.
***
Dear C.P.,
I’d love to hear about your business idea. I promise I’ll be supportive. And not tell you your only role in life is that of “supportive wife.” I mean, I hope to be a supportive husband someday. And I hope I have a supportive wife. But that isn’t all I want her to be. It’s about teamwork. And supporting each other’s goals and dreams and aspirations.
Does it make me too much of an idealist to believe a relationship like that is possible? I hope not.
At any rate, your idea is safe with me.
A few more questions for you: Favorite childhood game. Favorite food. Favorite beverage. Last book you read that you couldn’t put down. Or in your case, last book you listened to. I love to read, but I’m still partial to the feel of a book in my actual hands. I might, with a little convincing, be willing to give an audiobook a try. Though if I end up liking an audiobook, I might have to buy the book just to have it on my shelf. My grandma says this is weird. That I’ll check a book out from the library and then, if I like it, buy it for my own library. I just know that eventually I’ll read it again and then I’ll be happy to have it on my shelf. I don’t do it with ALL books, just the ones I love. What about you?
C.M.
PS. Olives on pizza are the WORST.
***
Dear C. M.,
I don’t think you sound like an idealist. I think the kind of relationship you described sounds amazing. And I know it’s possible because my two best friends have this kind of relationship with each other. They are amazing. And so supportive of the other. They really see each other, you know? They set the bar pretty high as far as relationships go, but I haven’t given up hope yet. Your letter actually gives me MORE hope. That there are men out there that get it. That are looking for what I’m looking for.
My business. Okay. I’ll tell you. But I just want you to know how terrified it makes me to think about saying these things out loud.
Here goes.
I want to run my own yoga studio. But more than a studio. I want it to be more like a retreat center. A place where people can go to relax and feel peace and find their center. But I don’t want it to be some posh, expensive ridiculous place that charges five bucks for a glass of cucumber water. I want it to be accessible. The people that probably need to de-stress the most are the people that are living on a budget. I want them to be able to come and do yoga and relax and get a massage without it breaking the bank. I’m still working out how I can make it happen. But I have ideas. Ideas of holding retreats that are high-dollar, targeting them toward women who have the income to indulge, but then use those profits to also have services that are more budget-friendly, or even free.
Does that sound crazy? I hope it doesn’t sound crazy. I don’t know anything about the actual business of running a business, so that’s what my classes will focus on in January. In the meantime, I’m dreaming and planning, which is fun. Also terrifying.
Almost as terrifying as olives on pizza. I’m glad we agree in that regard.
Favorite childhood game: Tetris. If you think I’m good at Cornhole, you should see me play Tetris.
Favorite food: Sweet potato pie. NOT pumpkin pie. It’s not the same thing and don’t you dare suggest it is.
Favorite beverage: Cheerwine, of course. Or sweet tea with raspberry puree and a twist of lime. I made that last one up and it’s to die for.
Last book I read that I couldn’t put down: This one is tough. Because I love books for different reasons. But the last novel I listened to that was just so gripping I couldn’t turn it off? The Other Side of Thinking, by Jenna Rafferty. So thought provoking. Have you read it? If you haven’t, you should. Then we can talk about it.
What about you? Same questions back at you. Game. Food. Beverage. And the best book you’ve read in a while.
-C.P.
***
Dear C.P.
At your recommendation, I just finished The Other Side of Thinking. I listened to it actually, since that’s the way you enjoyed it. I walked six miles on the beach last night just so I could get through the last few chapters. Wow. What a book. I can’t stop thinking about the way the main characters judged each other without even realizing they were doing it. It’s so interesting how our life experiences filter into what we see in the world around us.
I loved it. Thanks for the recommendation.
I love your business idea. I think it’s amazing. Do it. People would love it.
Favorite game? Would you believe it’s also Tetris? I swear it would have been my answer even if you hadn’t said
it first. It’s my favorite . . . because I never lost. I see a tournament in the not so distant future. Tetris and Cornhole.
Favorite food? What can I say? I love to eat just about anything. But I love a really good burger. And sweet potato fries. (Sweet potato pie is awesome too. My grandma makes an amazing one.) Favorite beverage? I’m not much of a social drinker. I like food too much to consume too many liquid calories, so my boring answer is water.
As for reading, I’m going to cheat and say the last book I read that I loved was the one you recommended to me. Thanks again, by the way. Before that, I read Macy Finley’s latest thriller and enjoyed it. Have you ever read any of her stuff?
-C.M.
***
Dear C.M.,
Macy Finley’s stuff is SO SCARY. I listened to one of her books and then I couldn’t sleep for a week.
It just occurred to me that you still haven’t told me anything about the kind of work you do.
Also (deep breath) do you think it’s time for us to meet in person? Or maybe advance our correspondence to something slightly more modern? Texting might be fun.
I’m not going to lie. These letters have been amazing. But I can’t pretend like I’m not spending inordinate amounts of time imagining what it might be like to meet you in person. If the thought scares you as much as olives on pizza scares me, pretend I didn’t say anything. But I’m ready whenever you are.
Dahlia stared at the letter, wondering if she ought to include her phone number at the bottom. Deacon would tell her it was too risky. That she ought to just set up a time to meet him in person so she could see for herself that the guy wasn’t a creeper before she gave him something as personal as her number. He’d also insist that when she did meet C.M. in person, she take Deacon and Lily along with her for an extra measure of safety.
The Christmas Letters: A Magnolia Bay Romantic Comedy Page 7