Christmas in the City II

by Samantha Chase

  “Hi,” I say questioningly, feeling as though the wind has been sucked out of my lungs. Being this close to him, I can’t help but notice a certain darkness in his eyes that doesn’t match the friendly grin stretching across his stubbly cheeks.

  “I don’t really have a packed schedule today,” he corrects himself as the smile across his lips stretches wider. The vibe between us is causing the heart in my body to pound, reminding me it’s there and pumping at full capacity. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

  “At eight-fifty-five in the morning?” I hardly get out.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he says, taking one of the two inches away from the space between us. “You’ve seen the way I look at you.” I didn’t think I was being obvious when I tried not to look at him, or when I’ve tried my hardest to avoid staring long enough to determine if his eyes are a caramel or a cappuccino color. I’ve done my best not to look at his full lips when he asks me how my day is going every morning at nine-thirty on the dot. Or when he grabs my arm each day and tells me to smile. I’ve also done my best never to ask him anything more than his name. More questions lead to more answers, and more answers lead to more questions, and more questions lead to a friendship, and friendship with a man is never platonic, and the opposite of platonic is the definition of a commitment, and since my heart can never fully commit to me, I can never fully commit to it. Which brings us back to this exact moment where the potential man of my dreams with dark, wavy hair and a smile that makes women sigh when they walk by, is standing less than one inch in front of me, waiting to ask me a question.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take the free inch I just realized was behind me, pressing my back up against the cold counter. But it doesn’t take long for him to steal my free inch.

  “Can I take you out?” he asks, his breath fogging over my lips.

  “You don’t even know me,” I croak back.

  He snickers under his breath. “Sure I do, Ari. You own a floral shop. You like to read. You aren’t married. You have a friend named Piper. And Piper told me a lot about you. Piper is your one and only employee and in exactly one week, she’s leaving the country for the man of her dreams.” His grin grows wider. “So, can I take you out?”

  “I don’t date,” I say sternly, looking down between us. I hate saying it, but to be fair, I have to say it. This heart isn’t mine for the offering. It was given to a man who is heartbreakingly living without the love inside. This heart belongs to Ellie and Hunter, not me.

  “Whoa, whoa. Who said anything about a date? Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself here? I just—wow. You like to make things awkward, huh?”

  I shove the heels of my palms into his chest and push him away, taking the space I’ve needed for the past two minutes.

  “Dax, what do you want?”

  “Will you be my plus one at a wedding this weekend? Please?”

  “Isn’t that a date?”

  “No, I’m trying to piss off my ex and you’re hot.”

  I narrow my eyes at him and tilt my head to the side. “So you’d just be using me?” Actually, that works for me. I never swore off fake dates, so this could work.

  “Well, I guess since I’m not paying you to be an escort, technically we can label it as me using you. Although, if that’s a complete turn-off, then, no, I would never dream of using you.” I can’t tell where the accent of his seriousness lies.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “But this is for show. Only. Got it?”

  “If that’s what you would like.” He leans in, moving his lips close to my ear, causing a chill to slowly trickle down my spine. “I apologize in advance.”

  I pull away, slipping away from his invisible hold. “For what?” I ask, opening the box of flowers I had placed on the counter, using it as an excuse to move as far away from him as possible. If I don’t let feelings in, they can’t embed themselves inside of this heart.

  “I look damn good in a suit and you might regret that our date is only fake.” The cocky smirk he’s giving me forces warmth through my cheeks—I’ve always known him to be cocky.

  While I know almost nothing about Dax, he’s been making deliveries to my shop every morning for the past three years. We’ve shared many exchanges, and though all of them were friendly and mostly humorous, it has always stopped with that. It’s not to say he hasn’t tried his hand at twenty-questions, I’ve just become infamous for avoiding all things personal. This is why I have turned him down the twenty-two times he has asked to take me out. Each time, I wanted to say yes. Each time, I wanted to say yes more than the time before that. However, the heart in my body has said no, and I listen to this heart.

  Dax disappears into the back room and returns a moment later with the larger of the two boxes. “Hey, Ari?”

  I look up at him as I pull the first bunch of flowers from their wraps. “Mmhm?”

  “What made you say yes this time?” A smile teases my lips and I try to stop it from happening as I refocus my attention on the roses I need to prune. “Is it the new cologne I’m wearing? Because I got it last night and the lady at the counter said it would definitely attract women. I guess she wasn’t lying.” I always notice his cologne, mostly because it lingers in the shop for more than a half hour after he leaves every day. Today, though, he has me so wound up, I might have forgotten to breathe during the entire ninety-seconds he more or less had me pinned against the counter. The scent of his cologne may not hit me until after he leaves and I realize what I agreed to.

  “I said yes because this isn’t a real date. Remember?”

  “What’s not real to you may be real to someone else; it’s like the difference in the way people say tomato.” I shouldn’t be surprised at what comes out of this man’s mouth at this point, but as always, I’m left without a witty response.

  “Fake is fake, Dax.”

  “And a tomato is a tomato, so I don’t get your point?” He walks over to me and snatches the empty box off the counter and folds up it up under his arm. “So, I need your address, and your phone number would be helpful too.” With patience in his eyes, he looks at me and waits. “You just need to get a piece of paper and grab one of those pens over there in that rose-colored glass, then write it all down.”

  Since I don’t make an effort to lunge for a piece of paper or a pen, Dax does it for me. He places a piece of receipt paper down on the counter in front of me and hands me a pen he retrieves from his pocket. With reluctance, I place the flowers down and reach across the counter for a business card. “Here’s my number and address.”

  “This isn’t your real address or phone number. It’s your place of business.”

  “And our date isn’t a real date, so it seems appropriate.” He takes the card from my hand and drops it into his back pocket. “Why would anyone want to make an ex jealous on their wedding day?” Not sure why the thought didn’t cross my mind originally, but now I’m kind of curious about what I’m getting myself into.

  “Well, if the love of your life cheated on you and left you for your brother, you’d want to come fully armed to his wedding too.” Ouch. Now I guess I know something about him. “Oh, this happened on our wedding day. I figured I should add that in there.”

  “Well, I’ll dress the part then. For the sake of revenge, I think I can put some effort in.”

  “Guess I should have just started with my sob story,” he says. He leans over and wraps an arm around my neck, pulling me in against him. Don’t do that. You smell too good. “I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow night. Here, at your fake place of residence.”

  “I’ll be here with my fake dress on.”

  “Does that mean—?”

  “Go!” I laugh.

  Dax makes his grand exit, slapping the exit sign with the palm of his hand on the way out. What did I just agree to?

  “Sorry I’m late, Ari!” Piper flies in through the front doors, tossing h
er purse onto the side counter. “I know we have three weddings tomorrow. I’ll get it all done. I swear.”

  “Were you just at the hair salon?” Her dark hair is loosely hung in barrel curls and her face is made up as if she were heading out for the night, rather than a full eight-hour day here.

  “Yes, I told my hairdresser I had to be here at nine, but...yeah. I’m having dinner with André tonight,” she grins, biting down on her bottom lip.

  “André, as in the man you are fleeing to France with next week?” I groan and slap her arm.

  “Well, he’s leaving tomorrow and then I’m meeting him in Bordeaux next week Wednesday. I’m going to miss him something fierce,” she croons.

  As ridiculous as her relationship with André has been, and as short as it’s gone on, I’m still happy for her. Four weeks ago, who would have thought the man of Piper’s dreams would end up here in our flower shop to buy flowers for the date he was going on that night, only to end up falling in love with Piper and asking her to move to France with him two weeks later? It’s insane and wild, and something I could only dream of doing.

  Changing the subject before I try to talk her out of moving again, I bring out the list of to-dos. “The bouquets for the Kyle wedding are first. The bride is coming to pick them up at three today.” I grab the heavy box Dax left on the back counter and bring them up to the front so we can unpack it. “Then there’s this assortment for the Laurie retirement party tonight.”

  “Dax was already here?” she asks.

  “Yeah, uh, he came by early today. He wanted to ask me something.” Again, the smile I can’t seem to hide threatens to unfurl over my lips.

  Piper drops the ribbon she had been unraveling and grabs me by the arms. “Tell me you said yes this time. Ari, you can’t remain a hermit forever.”

  “Forever isn’t as long as it is for you,” I say, holding my hand over my chest, “This loaner is only going to last another ten years, at best, and I don’t want to put it through any unnecessary aches or pains while playing relationship musical chairs. There is no future worth planning, and it’s like planting a seed, knowing you’ll never get to see it fully bloom. What’s the purpose?”

  She grumbles with an exhausted sigh. “Yeah, I’ve heard the same lines over and over from you, and as always, you’re still wrong. No one said you were dying in ten years. No one! So why do you feel the need to live like you’re freaking dying, Ari? Cut the shit.” Her hand squeezes around my arm a little tighter. “I don’t want to hear this anymore. Do you understand?”

  “I told him I’d go to a stupid wedding with him, okay?” I expel quietly.

  Her arms loop around my neck as she squeezes me tightly. “Really?” she whispers into my ear. “You’re going to take a night off from writing to Hunter to leave your house and act like a normal human being?”

  Am I that transparent? “Yes, I’m going.” I’m doing exactly what I’ve refused to do for so long. Live as if this heart is actually pumping blood through my veins and allowing me to inhale oxygen while also existing as a person I’m pretty sure I was never meant to be.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Years ago, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the feeling of privacy or know what it would be like to feel free and alone, and now that I have it, I don’t always want it. Mom and Dad sold our house shortly after my surgery and downsized to a one-bedroom condo. The money they spent on my medical bills took everything away from them. Dad worked fifteen-hour days at two different jobs, seven days a week just to keep up. He couldn’t even make it to my surgery until it was half over.

  Once I was back on my feet and thinking about a future none of us thought I would have, the first thing on my newly formed bucket list was to get my own place and be on my own. I yearned for the freedom.

  This will be my fifth year in this apartment and while it feels like home, it also feels empty. I do my best to pretend like this is the life I want to live, alone, without the intention of hurting another person the way I saw Ellie’s husband hurting, but there's part of me that just wants to experience some form of ordinary, even if it's for a short amount of time.

  Like I do many nights, I take out my stationary, weave it into my old printer, and type to him. I tell him everything I did during the day and everything Ellie's heart experienced. While I write to Hunter daily, I only send the letters that have significance—something within them that will give him a little more peace in his life. I don’t know if he even reads them.

  My letters have remained anonymous for five years, needing to keep Ellie's secret safe. She never wanted Hunter to know of her impending death. Her medical issues were invisible, unlike mine. She was able to keep the secret, whereas I wore my fate like a body suit. Everyone I passed on the street knew I was sick. Without enough blood and oxygen pumping through my veins, I looked like a zombie. The long glances I would get made it all worse. Old ladies would place their hands over their hearts and tell me they'd say a prayer for me. Mothers would pull their children away as if I was carrying a life-threatening disease, which I was, but it wasn't contagious to anyone but myself. Men would look at me and sometimes snarl; whether unintentionally or not, it made me feel like some beast who should never leave the house.

  I became numb to it after a while but it may be because I began to avoid people, going out, and having any form of a life—one a dying woman could have. I was always envious of Ellie because of this. I wanted to be able to hide it all within my body, keep it hidden from the people I love, just to spare them the pain and fear, but instead I ripped every piece of my parents’ hearts out every day as they watched me decay.

  However, when family and loved ones don’t have the time to process an untimely death and they’re forced to face the brutality of it in the moment it happens, left without goodbyes and I love you’s, it has the potential to destroy everything and everyone left behind in the shadow of their loved one’s existence. In my case, Mom and Dad would have gotten relief after the grief passed. They would have closure and final words. Hunter received none of that, and while I don’t disagree with Ellie’s decisions, I saw the aftermath, and I can’t help but wonder about him every day, how he’s survived without closure, goodbyes, and I love you’s. I stole his wife’s heart, and I feel responsible in many ways.

  I debate if it would be better or worse for him to know who I am, and since I haven’t been able to make a proper decision about it all, I’ve remained hidden.

  I think about the words I want to write and the stories I want to share.

  Dear Mr. Cole,

  Four weeks have passed since my last note to you. In that time, the weather has grown cold and I have spent a great deal of time indoors, reading, cleaning, and writing a bit. I’m afraid her heart feels a bit empty these days and I feel guilty for not doing more to fill it.

  I met a man, a man who doesn’t know of my weakness, losses or gains. I think he saw me for who I am and wanted to learn more about me, but I fear what he would think or do if he were to learn of my fragile state.

  Anyway, I hope you and your daughter are doing well. Ellie once told me she dreamed of having a daughter. I know this isn’t the way she wanted it to happen, though. I’m sorry I have let Ellie’s heart down this past month, I will do what I can to bring back some of the warmth that has slipped away. Maybe this man I met will be different. Maybe he will be the first to love a bird with a broken wing. We can always hope, right? Take care and I hope the holiday season brings you everything you wanted this year.

  Sincerely,

  Her Heart

  With a finished letter typed out on my screen, I close my laptop and move on to the next part of my night involving mindless TV, tea, then bed. Same thing every night. I’m supposed to be living and yet, I feel as though I’m skating through each day with caution until I hear the next bad piece of news.

  ***

  It’s turning cold early this year and soon I will need to go harvest the blue jasmines I plant in th
e gardens every spring. I let them blossom and grow throughout the summer and then take them, with their roots, back to the floral shop for the winter season so they don’t die. Since Mom and Dad own the gardens, I’m allowed to plant what I’d like here. Dad actually wanted me to take up some of the groundskeeper roles at the garden, but I felt I could do more with the flower shop. Funny enough, flowers were never my dream job, not like Mom and Dad. I grew up in the gardens as Dad took care of the eight acres of land on a daily basis, on top of his office job. He and Mom enforced a life of everything flowers. I knew more about botany than any child should know. I loved it for a long time but as I got older and before I got sick, I had plans to become a teacher, and I got so close to achieving that goal. I continued reaching for it even after I was diagnosed but by the last year of college, classes, standing, and talking became too hard, and I was forced to give it all up.

  I was invited back to finish my degree after the transplant but I had a change of heart, in more ways than one. The new heart in my body wanted to fulfill Ellie’s lifelong endeavors, which, ironically enough, was not only teaching but also running a flower shop. We talked about this for years, how if she got the chance after she saved up enough money, she would run her own flower boutique in the middle of town, right on Main Street. I urged her to follow her dream, but Hunter was already following his dream and running his dad’s family business, so she felt it was safer to stick with a definitive paycheck and benefits every week, especially since they were trying so hard for a baby.

  Ellie never got her dream while she was alive, and I felt it was my responsibility to unravel her dream through the goodness left within this heart I carry of hers.

  I pull into the empty lot of the gardens and make my way down the cobblestone steps that have been here for over a hundred years, up-kept by my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and their parents. These are our family’s gardens and I feel it all around me when I’m here. It’s like an ethereal stomping ground for the love between floating souls. That’s how I feel when I’m here, anyway.