I mainly used that sign for my lunch break, but I could tell Char and Aria would have a big pout if I declined, so I sighed and went in the back to grab my coat, scarf, and gloves.
“Goodness, Hollis. We’re just going down the street. Not to the arctic.”
“I run cold,” I said testily. “Always have. And this cold snap is no joke right, Aria?” I reached out and tweaked her furry hat so that it protected her little ears better.
“Brrr, Unca Holly!” She laughed as we headed out.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Char said when we were outside, indicating my window, which did look very nice, if one asked me. The lights gave off just a hint of twinkle, accenting the bare wood of the tree branch with the single red ornament. The electronic candle wasn’t as nice as a real one would be, but it still created a suitable effect.
We headed down the street, admiring windows with frost and snowy murals and windows full of wrapped presents or good things to eat. For Aria’s sake I tried to be upbeat and not too sarcastic in my commentary. We came back up the block, and at last we reached Sawyer’s store, which if I hadn’t been so absorbed in my window, I would have noticed earlier. His place practically glowed. In fact, on closer inspection, it did glow, lights dripping from the awning, lights even around the metal table and chairs in front of his place. And in the window…
Well, I’d never seen such clutter.
“Oh, it’s magic.” Char’s breath was visible in the chilly air.
“Magic,” Aria echoed.
Mess, Uncle Hollis added, but in my own head, of course. But really, it was much too much. Christmas tree hung with all manner of ornaments—and some things not ornaments, like comic books and bobbleheads and other novelties Sawyer sold. Around the base of the tree was a train track, meandering through a snowy village, but this wasn’t just any village—no, it was populated with the sort of commercialized stuff I associated most closely with Sawyer’s family’s stores. Disney characters caroling, Star Wars figurines in the town square, anime-looking dolls skating. Boxes of cards made smaller “trees” on the sides of the display, a reminder that this was ostensibly a “card” store.
If Cards & More had started out as a card store, it had quickly been taken over by gifts and licensed merchandise to the point that one was hard-pressed to find the paper goods. Sawyer and his father did love their collectibles, and apparently they sold well. They might as well just call it More and be done with it.
“Hollis! Char! What do you think?” Sawyer came bustling out wearing a holiday sweatshirt emblazoned with the store logo. “And check out our new shirts! I’ve got one in your size, half-pint.” He knelt to give Aria a high five.
“It’s magnificent,” Char said.
“And you, Hollis? What do you think?”
“It’s…I’m speechless. Really,” I said truthfully.
“Thanks.” Sawyer grinned. “I peeked at your window a few minutes ago. It’s gorgeous in its simplicity.”
I was surprised Sawyer knew the concept of simplicity, but I charitably bit my tongue and nodded.
“I heard about your little bet,” Char said, because of course she had. Nothing stayed a secret around the Murphy family. “May the best man win.”
“Hey, we were both the best men,” Sawyer joked. “No, seriously, Hols is giving me a run for my money. Can’t wait to see what Ron and the committee think.”
“Be prepared to be covered in Proper Gray next weekend,” I said. Char snickered, and only too late, I realized how that sounded. “It’s paint color.”
“Bring it on.” Sawyer’s eyes sparkled, not a hint of nervousness in them, which didn’t explain why I was suddenly feeling a bit unsteady.
* * * *
Both Black Friday and Small Business Saturday were steadily busy—not crazy crowds, but then, I attracted a more discerning level of patron, which was something I aspired to. The masses were never going to clamor for fountain pens and handmade paper, and that was okay. These things made me happy, and it seemed increasingly important to offer simple, beautiful alternatives to the crowded, digital age of quick convenience and zero aesthetic appeal.
The sidewalks were crowded, though, and the buzz among the other business owners was that it was a good year. After Cyber Monday, though—and lord, did I hate these names for otherwise perfectly respectable business days—things were back to usual for early December.
I was straightening a display of handmade papers when the door chimed. I turned to find Sawyer there, holding a sign.
“See what Ron and the committee just brought for my front window?” He beamed. Sawyer did happy the same way a Labrador did—all smiles and wags and bouncy energy that had no idea what to do with itself.
“‘Winner of this year’s window display contest,’” I read. The sign was adorned with cheery little snowmen. I hated it. “Congratulations.”
“I’m sorry your bathroom will go unpainted,” he said with an impish smile, not sorry one bit.
“I think you hypnotized the committee. Your window was so…busy.”
“Oh, come on, Hollis. You know you loved it. I put some hobbits in there just for you. Representing your favorite fandom and all.”
“I’m not fifteen anymore. I don’t have a fandom,” I lied.
Sawyer snorted. Fine. Let him not believe me. “So, are you free Friday night?”
“This Friday?” I walked to the register area and pulled out my paper planner even though I knew perfectly well I was free.
“Whoa. You still use one of those? You know you can get Google to—”
“Yes, but I don’t sell Google. And I happen to like paper things.”
“I’ve noticed.” Sawyer made a show of looking around the store.
“All right. I’m free. So what hideous thing are you having me do?”
“So little trust, Hols, so little trust.” He grinned at me. Today was apparently one of his shaving days, and he had only the lightest dusting of stubble. He’d missed a spot on his left cheek, which I found both endearing and irritating. “And I’m not telling you yet. Dress warmly and be prepared to take transit. I’ll pick you up right as you close up, and don’t worry, I’ll be feeding you, too.”
“Meals are the least of my worries.”
Sawyer gave me the sort of once-over that made me profoundly uncomfortable, especially coming from him, when it was very clearly a joke. “If you ask me, you could use a few more meals.”
“I eat.” He was taller than my six feet by a good two inches and outweighed my lean build by a fair bit, but none of that stopped me from looking down my nose at him with a glare designed to shrink him down to the size of one of my pens.
“Good. You should enjoy Friday, then.” He started to head toward the door.
A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Sawyer, exactly how many people are involved in this little excursion?”
A strange look flitted across his face, one I hadn’t seen before. “Just us. I mean, I’m sure the city will be crowded as usual, but I’m not bringing the family, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“All right. See you a little after seven on Friday, then.”
“It’s a date,” he said with a little wave on his way out the door.
Oh no, it wasn’t. I simply refused to consider that this…obligation to Sawyer Murphy was a date. Dates meant trouble, and trouble was all Sawyer was.
Chapter 3
Friday night I turned the sign to closed, locked the till in the safe, then grabbed my warmest wool coat. The cold snap had continued, with it dipping down past thirty each evening. Not that cold elsewhere, but I was a native Oregonian by way of British parents—my blood objected to anything below fifty on principle. I’d purchased another new scarf from Ev at Iplik, this one a sample from one of his newest patterns. Long, with a soft, thick cashmere blend, it had a subtle texture to i
t. I loved it immensely and thought it brought out the gray in my eyes. Not that I was dressing up in the slightest for Sawyer. I’d worn a light blue button-down shirt with a pair of wool pants because that’s what I wore to work most winter days. If it happened it was my favorite oxford shirt, well, that was because tomorrow was the day to take everything to the dry cleaners. It was one of my rare days off. I had a very occasional clerk—a mother friend of Char’s who worked two Saturdays a month and the odd evening so I wasn’t working seven days a week continuously.
And so I had a chance to do things like get a haircut. My hair was getting altogether too long again, the curl obvious despite a healthy application of hair product and combing. I checked my planner while I waited for Sawyer, verifying that yes, I had the haircut prior to Aria’s birthday party at three. That I’d rather forget, but Char had promised me a small gathering. Aria had had her big kidcentric thing today, so tomorrow was just for the family.
Which wasn’t exactly reassuring, but I’d missed Thanksgiving. No way could I miss this, too.
Rap. Rap. A noise came from the door, and a bundled-up Sawyer stuck his head in. “Ready to lock up?”
“Yes. Did you know about Aria’s party tomorrow?” I asked. Please say you have plans.
“Are you kidding? Uncle Sawyer’s coming prepared. I have to knock you out of the uncle-of-the-year sweepstakes and I’ve got just the present to do it.”
“I ordered her gift from France,” I shared, keeping my tone conversational, even if I was every bit as competitive as Sawyer.
“France, huh? Mine has sounds, lights, and takes three kinds of batteries.”
“Clearly being on your brother’s best-uncle list isn’t as important.” I locked the door and led him to the rear of the store.
“What? He’ll love it, too.” Sawyer clapped me on the shoulder. “Besides, their house is about to get way louder than just one toy.”
I shuddered to think of the decibels the coming twins would add. “So, do I get to find out where we’re headed now?”
“We’re going downtown,” Sawyer said as we headed out into the frosty air. “Got a bus to catch, so step it up a notch.”
We caught the bus, which seemed to have an awful lot of passengers clad in black and red.
“Please tell me we’re not headed to a Blazers game.” We were squashed together because space was at a premium.
“Now, Hols, you know soccer is my game.” This I did know, as I had vivid memories of being dragged to games by Char and Tucker.
“And football.” I gestured, indicating his green-and-yellow Oregon Ducks scarf. Tucker joked that Sawyer had gone to U of O just for the chance to go to the football games at student prices.
“Yup. And I know better than to drag you to a sporting event.”
“Good.” I still expected he had something equally hideous lined up for us. We got off the bus at Pioneer Square, and Sawyer set off at a fast clip for the center of the large brick plaza rimmed by tall downtown buildings and many shops.
“There it is.” Apparently satisfied with his vantage point, Sawyer pulled up short to gaze up at the huge Christmas tree in the center of the square. And it truly was a giant, seventy feet tall at least, and lit up with a lavish amount of multicolored lights. All at once, a memory from elementary school hit me: my parents bringing Char and me to the tree-lighting ceremony the day after Thanksgiving, me cringing at the packed crowd, Char chattering excitedly, carols wafting over the air until…
“Magic,” I whispered, voice barely more than a breath.
“Exactly,” Sawyer said happily. “Isn’t it magnificent?”
“Look, Dad, it’s the biggest tree ever. It probably came from the North Pole.”
“Not the North Pole. Right here in Oregon. But isn’t it magic?”
Magic. I could still hear my father’s deep timbre in my ears, his British accent more pronounced with excitement. Regret and loss mingled with a sort of wistfulness that made my sternum ache and my voice feel like sandpaper scraping against my throat. “Is this what we came to see?”
“This is stop number one.” Sawyer nodded.
I groaned. “Stop one? Sawyer, are you really using your night to try to…infuse me with some sort of holiday spirit? Don’t you have something I could…I don’t know, alphabetize instead?”
“You’d enjoy that too much.” Sawyer bumped arms with me, still much too close despite the fact that we were no longer on the bus. “And so what if I am?”
“It’s not going to work,” I warned.
“It could. I remember in high school how you used to wrap presents with military precision. You haven’t always been a Scrooge.”
The truth of his statement hit me like a punch. I hadn’t been anti-Christmas prior to my parents’ death. True, I’d always been reserved, not heading out to the bevy of parties and events like Sawyer and Char, but I’d loved picking out beautiful things for the people important to me, and my love of unusual wrapping paper led me to my love of stationery. I’d loved my mother’s cooking and the quiet holiday evenings spent doing a puzzle with the two of them.
“I am not Scrooge. I already ordered Aria’s gift. Just because I don’t like any of the…trappings, does not mean I’m anti-holidays or whatever.”
Sawyer turned so he was looking into my eyes. Oh no. Not the scheming look again. “What if it worked?”
“Your plan to make me holly and jolly?”
He laughed at that. “Even the Grinch finds his heart. I have faith in you, Hols. What if I make you find your holiday spirit this month? Will you come to Christmas dinner?”
“Another bet?”
“Another bet.” He nodded. “Your bathroom isn’t going to paint itself. I help you find some holiday joy, you come to Christmas dinner with the family. If my grand plan fails, I’ll paint your bathroom by New Year’s.”
“Deal.” I held out a gloved hand, telling myself that I really did want that bathroom painted.
“Great!” Sawyer’s grin rivaled the tree’s lights in front of us for sheer wattage. “Now on to stop number two.”
“Which is?” I followed him across the square and up a few blocks.
“We’ve got a reservation at the Palm Court in the Benson.”
“This is hardly torture for me.” We walked briskly toward the historic hotel. I liked nice hotel food, something I’d shared with my father, but unlike so many memories, this one didn’t make me melancholy. Just hungry and wishing I’d decided to travel this month. Then I could be spared everyone’s efforts to perk me up.
“But first we’re going to admire their gingerbread city.” Sawyer held the door open for me, and sure enough, there was a crowd around the huge display in the lobby. As we got closer, I couldn’t help my intake of breath. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want any of that holiday spirit infecting you already.”
“It’s stunning. I forgot…” I’d been here before. Many years ago, probably the same year we’d attended the tree lighting ceremony, my parents had brought us to see the huge gingerbread house village the Benson did each year. We’d probably eaten here, too. Suddenly I was less than hungry. “Did you talk to Char?” I demanded.
“What?” Sawyer’s eyes went wide. “No. I just wanted to see some of my favorite places. We always came here to see the gingerbread house when Tucker and I were little. And I always go see the tree a few times each year—mainly while doing my shopping in Pioneer Square, but I figured making you shop might be too cruel.”
“You figured right.” It was crazy for a store owner to hate shopping; I knew that. But the truth was that I hated crowds, especially holiday crowds. The Pioneer Square and Lloyd Center holiday crowds were the worst—a constant crush of other people all looking for the perfect gift. I tried to frequent smaller, online merchants as much as possible this time of year.
“Isn’t it spectacular, tho
ugh?” Sawyer gestured at the creation spread before us. It was like one of the seek-and-find puzzles I’d loved as a boy—little details piled on little details. Snow on the top of buildings, bicycle tracks in the snowy roads, clusters of people here and there. A thought occurred to me, and I couldn’t hold it back. “This is where you got the inspiration for your window, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely. I love all the tiny surprises.” He crouched to get a better view of the street level. I saw his display in a new light, then, an homage to the classic displays and an ode to the things he loved. I wouldn’t say I fell in love with it right then, but I certainly…softened.
And I softened a bit toward him, too, the awkwardness of the last few years fading away as I remembered how he’d been as a teen, hy-perinterested in whatever his latest obsession was, absolutely unafraid to show his passion for whatever the interest of the week was. I’d hung back, my usual default, content to watch him and Char emote.
The live jazz filtering in from the restaurant also went a fair way to relaxing me, and by the time my soup came, we were chatting aimlessly about Aria and the coming babies and other easy topics. After dinner, however, Sawyer had another of his stops in store.
“Get ready to catch the MAX,” he said after a little tussle over the check, with him insisting on paying because the bet was his idea.
“More ghost of Christmas present?” I asked as we walked to the Blue MAX stop. I had a feeling where we were headed.
“This is me wanting to see the ZooLights and Char insisting that Aria is too little and she’s too pregnant to enjoy it.”
I refrained from pointing out that he had dozens of other friends he could have called on. Literally. Oodles. Sawyer delighted in being the entire world’s gay best friend, not just Char’s. He shopped. He watched romantic movies. He gossiped incessantly. And he was simply so utterly charming; he knew how to deliver compliments that make both genders swoon, a talent I’ve never had. Besides, I refused to embrace that—or any other—stereotype. And I’d spent two decades refusing to be another member of his entourage, another person with a hopeless crush on him.
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