by Lee Matthews
At the same time he said, “I’m so sorry, Tess.”
I took a few steps toward him, my heart pounding like mad in my chest. “Sorry for what?”
“For everything,” he said. “I only left because my parents didn’t want me talking to you anymore. They said since you were a member of the family that owned the lodge, it wasn’t…prudent was the word they used, I think. They were worried I’d say something that would mess up the lawsuit or whatever. And they didn’t want me texting you, either.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense,” I said, both stung and at the same time relieved. He hadn’t been avoiding me because he wanted to. He’d been avoiding me because he was ordered to.
“And I was a little mad, too, if I’m being honest,” he said. “It was awful seeing you with that guy. I don’t even know how to describe it.”
“I understand,” I said. “Especially now that I know what he did. But I never liked him, Christopher. You have to know that. I never even remotely thought about him that way. It was always—”
I stopped, realizing what I was about to say. The word you was on the tip of my tongue.
“Always?” He grinned, and reached for my hand.
“Yeah,” I said. “Always.”
He ran his thumb across the top of my knuckles, and I felt that touch in every last inch of my body. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe he was here.
“Wait,” I said. “Why are you here?”
“I got my parents to drop the lawsuit,” he said.
“You did?”
He tilted his head. “Well, settle the lawsuit. All they really wanted was for Damon to be fired and my medical bills to be paid. So once Loretta let him go, I talked them into dropping the ridiculous number they’d come up with for ‘psychological trauma’ and asking only for the money to cover the hospital and stuff. Which I think is fair.”
“Totally fair. Oh my God, Christopher. Thank you!” I let go of his hand and threw my arms around him, but the force of my hug sent him off-kilter, and we both went tumbling backward over the arm of the couch.
“Ow! Oof!” Christopher said.
“Oh God!” I crawled away from him and jumped up, careful not to touch his cast. He was sprawled awkwardly on the cushions, his good leg still hooked over the arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He straightened himself out until he was sitting on the couch and I was standing in front of him. He looked up at me, pushing his now mussed bangs away from his eyes. “Hey…whatever happened with the list?”
“Oh, I’m not going to finish it,” I said, waving a hand, the humiliation hitting me in a fresh, new wave.
“Why not?” he asked. “I mean, I got your texts, and texted you back, like, a hundred suggestions of things to replace five and ten.”
“You did?” I asked, gleeful.
“You didn’t get them?”
“I turned off my phone.”
He covered his face with his hands. “Oh, come on, Tess. You have to finish!”
I glanced at the clock. “There’s literally two minutes left. I mean, I already wore a strapless dress to a party to replace the sushi thing, but what can I do in two minutes that’s epic enough to be worthy of the list.”
“I don’t know…dance on a table?” he said, gesturing at the coffee table, which was still full of glassware.
“Yeah, that’s not happening.” I looked at him and an idea occurred to me. “Wait, what’s something you’ve never done?”
His eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yeah. I only did this whole thing because of you. You’ve been a part of it from the beginning. Give me something good,” I challenged. “Something I can do on your behalf.”
“Are you kidding? This is too much pressure. I can’t—”
“Let’s start the countdown!” the DJ at the teen party shouted, his voice reverberating down the hall and into the lobby. All the well-dressed adults milling around us began to murmur and pick up glasses, pouring out champagne and toasting.
“Twenty! Nineteen! Eighteen!”
“Give me something! Anything!” I said to Christopher, waving my hands.
“Uh…I don’t know, I don’t know!” he said.
“Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen!”
“Christopher!” I prodded.
“Fourteen! Thirteen! Twelve!”
His eyes lit up. “I’ve got it!”
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
He reached up his hands to me and I pulled him to standing—pulled him up hard enough that we bumped chests.
“Seven! Six! Five!”
Christopher looked into my eyes. We were so close our noses were practically touching. We really were the exact same height.
“Four! Three! Two!”
His breath was warm against my mouth as he said, “Ever kiss a guy wearing a cast before?”
My heart skipped as I realized what he was saying. I smiled, my skin tingling from the tips of my ears to the tips of my toes.
I closed my eyes, and I kissed him.
“One!”
Fireworks exploded outside the windows. Literal fireworks to mark our first kiss. But they may well have been inside my chest.
“Happy New Year, Tess,” Christopher said, his lips against mine.
“Happy New Year, Christopher.”
TESS’S NEW YEAR’S BUCKET LIST
Make a paper airplane that actually flies (20 seconds at least) ✓
Sing in public ✓
Strike up a conversation with a stranger ✓
Wear high heels outside the house ✓
Make out with a guy whose last name I don’t know (???) Kiss a guy in a cast ✓
TP someone’s house ✓
Get Adam Michel’s autograph ✓
Get a short, stylish haircut ✓
Ski a black diamond slope ✓
Eat sushi Wear a strapless dress to a party ✓
“It’s really happening?” I asked Christopher, holding my phone up so he could see my face as I shoved my feet into my newish Vans. He was sitting on an exam table at the doctor’s office, the paper sheet crinkling beneath him every time he moved.
“It’s happening!” he said gleefully. And maybe a little fretfully. Not that I could blame him. Some person was about to come at him with a circular saw. “Distract me while they get this thing ready,” he said, clearly trying not to glance at the doctor, who was off-screen. “What are you doing today, Type A?”
“I’m going to meet Jenna and Liam at the skate park,” I told him. “I told them I’d get them ollying before spring.”
Jenna and Liam were the ten-year-olds I was teaching how to skateboard. After returning home from our winter break trip, I’d gone straight to the indoor skate park downtown and signed up to give beginner lessons. It had both forced me back onto my board and introduced me to a lot of new people. Plus, I was making bank. Parents, it turned out, paid a good chunk of change for their kids to be entertained for an hour—and to learn a new skill.
“That’s awesome. Tell them I said, ‘hey.’ ” Christopher had met Jenna and Liam briefly during our second class, when I’d FaceTimed him to prove I was skating again. Not that he didn’t believe me. I just liked to keep him informed. I’d also called him after my first French club meeting, and when I’d gone with Lauren to volunteer at the animal shelter. I was trying new things all the time now. Some had worked out better than others (don’t get me started on the glass-blowing class), but I was really enjoying putting myself out there. Although I was kind of shocked at how long it was taking for my right eyebrow to grow back. Fire was not my friend.
“What’s your latest new thing?” I asked. “Aside from getting your cast off?”
I heard the saw fire up in the background, and Christopher gulped.
“Well, I bought my first train ticket to Philly,” he said.
I almost dropped the phone. “You did?”
Christopher’s parents hadn’t let him come visit me yet, because they were worried about him navigating mass transit with his cast and crutches. But we’d been hoping they’d let him come visit once he got the cast off.
“I did!”
“Okay, time to hand the phone off,” said a voice off-screen.
Christopher handed the phone to someone else, and for a second I just saw the ceiling lights and something blue, but then I was focused on Christopher again.
“You there?” he said, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I’m here!” I shouted, hoping to be heard over the buzz of the saw.
He opened his eyes after the blade first hit the plaster and watched until the cast was completely free, a big grin on his face. As soon as it came away, I cheered, and Christopher sat up to better see his pale and shriveled skin.
“It’s still there!” he joked, looking at me.
“Well, that’s a relief,” I joked back. “Think you’ll be ready to try skateboarding when you come out here?”
He gave me a wry look. “Sure,” he said. “Add it to the list.”
“You know I will!” I said, shooting him an air kiss.
And you know I did.
CHRISTOPHER’S POST-CAST BUCKET LIST
Buy a ticket to Philadelphia ✓
Learn to ice-skate
Ride a unicycle
Kick a real field goal
Go to a 76ers game
Dance with Tess
Go on a bike ride with Tess
Go swimming with Tess
Go hiking with Tess
Go skateboarding with Tess
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to my amazing editor, Wendy Loggia, for bringing me back into the Penguin Random House fold. I had so much fun working on this book, and I couldn’t be happier to reunite with one of my earliest working partners. Special thanks go out, as well, to my fellow author and loyal cheerleader, Jen Calonita, as well as to my family, who were kind enough to give me alone time here and there so I could bring Tess and Christopher to life. Finally, thank you to everyone at Underlined for all the hard work you’ve done on this novel. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all that you do!
Don’t miss another great romance from Underlined!
I should realize it’s a bad sign when I trip hard over the entry to Winslow’s Bookshop.
“Whaaaaa!” I yelp as I give the typically sticky front door my customary push…and unexpectedly go flying into the store, the shop’s brass bell announcing my unceremonious entrance.
“Carl finally put a little oil on that door so we don’t have to work so hard to get in here,” Victoria, the owner of Winslow’s, says, looking up at me with a bemused smile. Nothing ruffles her. She’s on her knees, putting a stack of books on a wooden shelf. “Hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
My eyes dart around. Luckily the only people to witness my epic fall are Victoria, who has the decency not to laugh in my face; a mom preoccupied on her phone while pushing a baby stroller; and Victoria’s basset hound, Fred. He gazes balefully at me, a pair of reindeer antlers perched on his large head.
“Nope, I’m fine.” I take in a deep breath. “Ahhh, my favorite smell: peppermint, pine cones, and new books.” I’d started working at Winslow’s last summer, and despite what my friends who lifeguarded, camp-counseled, and taught dance thought, bookselling was the best summer job ever. I’ve actually been lucky enough to stay on part-time during the school year. Victoria and her husband, Carl, own the bookshop and they are supercool. Everyone who works here loves to read and talk about books. Winslow’s is a popular place in our town for people to come and spend time. It is, as Victoria likes to say, a community.
Victoria is always encouraging us to take books home to read. “Read more, sell more,” she’ll say, handing me copies of the latest romances (my favorite). The store also runs a mystery book club and an award-winner book club, and it has tons of events for kids. There are strands of twinkly lights, comfy chairs filled with pillows, old wooden bookshelves worn smooth from years of use, and a café in the back that sells the most delicious panini and acai bowls and gives us a 20 percent employee discount.
If I could live here, I would.
Victoria stands up, a pair of pink tassel earrings swinging from her ears. “You’re not scheduled to work tonight, are you?” she asks, her brow puckering.
I shake my head. “Wrapping.” I’ve been averaging around ten hours a week at the store this fall, but tonight I am here strictly in a volunteer capacity. Each holiday season, Victoria and Carl invite students from my school, Bedford High, to staff the wrapping station and accept donations. All the money goes to support the arts at our school, and I’d signed up for a weekly shift.
“Ahhh, right.” Victoria clasps her hands together. “Okay, off to special-order The Atlas of Amazing Birds for a young naturalist before I forget. Coffee’s made in the back if you want a cup.” She walks off. “French hazelnut,” she calls over her shoulder before I can ask.
In the staff room in the back, I shrug out of my blue parka and pink scarf and pull out my light-up Christmas bulb necklace from my GOT BOOKS? tote bag.
“Ah, there she is, Miss Bailey Briggs, a cup of Christmas cheer.” My coworker Bill bustles past me, a pencil behind his ear and a coffee mug in his hand, his standard white cotton shirt rumpled as usual. Originally from Ireland, and about the same age as my grandpa, Bill is as much a fixture in the store as the comfy sofas in the Fiction section and Fred at the cash register. And with his heavy Irish brogue, he is one of the most popular readers at Saturday Storytime.
“Hi, Bill,” I greet him. “Did you finish that mystery you were reading last week? The one about a murder in Dublin?”
He chuckles. “I did, I did. Already on to the next in the series. I’m addicted, I am, Bailey. Tana French. You should give her a read.”
I pull on my plush Santa hat and arrange my hair. “Not my thing, Bill. Sorry.”
“I know, I know. You want what all the young girls want. A loooooove story.” He gives me a dismissive wave.
Even though I find his attitude slightly patronizing, I have to admit he’s right—at least when it comes to me. I do want a love story. Specifically, a Christmas one. A sweet one, filled with snuggles under blankets and hot chocolate and text messages filled with red and green hearts and Santa emojis. I’ve watched more than my fair share of Hallmark Christmas movies, and even though I’m not a big-city lawyer who has moved back to my hometown to save the family business or a world-weary writer who falls in love with a recently widowed baker, I still believe in the power of Christmas Magic.
A holiday romance is in my future.
At least a girl can dream.
And it isn’t like I don’t have something to back my dream up. I meet two of the main criteria for a cheesy Christmas romance:
I work in a bookshop.
I was dumped, although not that recently.
I dated Oliver Moreno for four months before I found out that he wanted to just “be friends” because he had kissed Kate Collins, a sophomore in the marching band. The kiss took place after the winter concert, and apparently it was life-changing.
Whatever. Oliver isn’t that great a kisser, if I’m being honest. Kate can have him.
But see, that isn’t the point. I don’t just want someone to kiss. I want someone to experience Christmas Magic with me. Christmas Magic begins the moment Santa appears at the end of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. T
hat’s when the holiday season always starts—the season of cookie baking and tree trimming, sledding and snowfalls, Secret Santas and eggnog and Christmas songs on every radio station. It really is the most wonderful time of the year.
And what I really want for Christmas is something I probably would never admit to anyone. Not to my friends, and definitely not to my sister. It’s honestly hard to even swallow my pride and admit it to myself.
But here it is: I want to be kissed underneath the mistletoe by someone who really thinks I’m amazing.
That’s it. That’s my Christmas wish.
I don’t think it’s too much to ask for.
But will it ever come true?
* * *
• • •
“Snowmen or snowflakes?” I smile up at the college-aged guy standing in front of my gift-wrap station.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he drops a heap of books on the table with a loud thunk. I pick up the top one. It’s a cookie cookbook. “OMG, this looks delicious,” I say, flipping to a recipe for salted chocolate chunk cookies. “Or should I say…doughlicious?”
My wrapping partner, Sam Gorley, laugh-snorts beside me. “It must be time to go home, because I’m actually starting to find your jokes funny.” She yawns. “Or maybe I’m just tired.” Sam is in my grade at school. We aren’t really in the same friend group—she hangs out mostly with the band kids—but since we started volunteering at the gift-wrap station, we’ve become kind of friendly. She spends a lot of time posting on social media and showing me pictures of her cat, Meow.
We’ve been wrapping for three hours now, and we’re starting to get a little silly.