“Not in those ears you don’t,” Heath shot back, his grin deepening.
“Wha—?” Maxine touched the sides of her head to confirm, and sure enough, her pointy friends were still in place. Trying not to blush, Maxine yanked them off and crammed them into her messenger bag. She could well imagine the sight she would have made.
Citywide police alert! There’s a fugitive elf running up Fifth Avenue!
“Listen, Maxine,” Heath said, and he moved in close to her, so close that she could feel the warmth coming off him and smell his smoke-and-cider scent. Maxine’s pulse had already been going nuts from her mad dash through Barton’s; now it shot up to an emergency-room rate. “I talked to Mr. Perry today, so we’re on for lunch tomorrow,” Heath continued, his voice deep and private. “I’ll come pick you up around noon?”
Finally! Maxine felt a swell of anticipation as she met Heath’s gaze. What a glorious way to celebrate her last day at Barton’s. She hoped they’d go someplace cozy and low-lit, maybe with a fireplace and waiters serving something gross-but-fancy, like caviar on toast. It would be, quite simply, the best lunch of Maxine Silver’s life. “Sounds good,” she told Heath, trying to keep her tone neutral.
Heath nodded, and a look of gratitude passed over his handsome face. “Terrific,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time, and, well—” He smiled and pushed a hand through his black hair. “You’ll see tomorrow.”
Oh … my … God. Maybe it was because The Dress was mere heartbeats away, but suddenly Maxine knew what Heath wanted to ask her. “Is it about New Year’s?” she whispered. It all made sense, didn’t it? Heath hadn’t brought up Tara’s party before, so he was clearly waiting for the two of them to be alone … so he could ask Maxine to be his date. Maxine felt dizzy with luck and surprise. Everything she had worked toward this week was coming together in one moment of pure joy.
Heath’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “I guess, in part,” he replied mysteriously. “Hey, look,” he added before Maxine could press him further, and he glanced up at the doorframe under which they stood. “Mistletoe.”
Maxine followed his gaze and, sure enough, there it was, a slender green sprig tied with a red bow, hanging innocently over the Barton’s entrance. On all her trips in and out of the store, Maxine had never noticed it, but then again, the boy she was dying to kiss had never been standing directly underneath it. “Oh,” Maxine managed, feeling her cheeks color. Suddenly, making it to The Dress in time was the last thing on her mind.
“We must obey the mistletoe, right?” Heath asked teasingly. Putting one hand on Maxine’s waist, he drew her close, angled his face down toward hers, and kissed her on the lips. His mouth tasted like apples and coffee. Then Heath pulled back, grinning at her. “Sorry—you were rushing off somewhere?” he asked, and then stepped out of the way.
Face burning, heart thudding, Maxine staggered outside. The sharp night wind, carrying the scent of roasted chestnuts, whipped at her, pedestrians pushed past her, and a street musician made his saxophone wail, but Maxine noticed none of it. All she could feel was the tingling of her own lips and the heat of her skin. God, it was almost torturous to have gotten such a small taste of Heath’s kisses. Maybe at lunch tomorrow, after telling her how he felt about her and asking her to Tara’s party, he’d lean over the caviar on toast and kiss her again. And then there’d be New Year’s Eve: champagne corks popping, white and gold balloons, Heath in a suit, his hand on her lower back, his lips against hers …
Now all she needed was the outfit that would make that night complete.
Maxine floated over to the nearest bank branch, deposited her check in the ATM, and then flew up Columbus Avenue to the boutique, where the dress waited, glowing, in the window. Maxine grabbed eagerly for the door handle, but a frosty blonde young woman—my sister in sales, Maxine thought with a flash of sympathy—began locking the door from the inside, firmly shaking her head.
“Oh, come on!” Maxine cried, hopping up and down. “Two seconds!” Once one had sung Christmas carols while wearing elf tights, she realized, shame wasn’t really such an issue in life anymore.
Rolling her eyes, the salesgirl cracked open the door for Maxine, who rushed in and made straight for the corner rack, where—whew—her size was still available. She paid for the dress with her debit card, relishing the knowledge that she now had more than enough in her account to cover it. Hell, she finally had enough to buy holiday gifts for everyone. Tomorrow, she’d put her Barton’s discount to good use and get perfume for her mom, cuff links for Scott, and something extra-special-fancy for Tara.
“Okay, start over!” Tara exclaimed on the phone that night. Maxine had called her, giddy and babbling, as soon as she’d left the boutique, but Tara had been hanging holly and had had to call back. Now, she’d caught Maxine just as she was modeling The Dress in front of her mirror.
“What do you want to hear about first—Heath or The Dress?” Maxine teased, peeking at herself over one shoulder. Her clothes from the day were strewn across her bed, and her Spotify playlist was on at full volume, drowning out her mom’s and Scott’s cello playing in the living room. They were rehearsing for their upcoming concert again.
“Duh.” Tara laughed. “So he kissed you, and then he said—”
“No, first he said he had something to ask me, possibly related to New Year’s, and then …” Maxine trailed off, beaming.
“Max.” Tara’s voice was quivery with excitement. “You know what this means, don’t you? Heath likes you. This is huge. You’re going to date Heath Barton!”
“I’m going to date Heath Barton,” Maxine repeated softly, smiling at herself in the mirror as a thrill raced through her. “Tar, I know—can you believe it?”
“Well, I’ll get to see it at my party.” Tara laughed, and Maxine pictured her friend sitting on her grandparents’ window seat, her chin on her knees as she watched the snow fall. Though it had been blizzarding in Oregon, it hadn’t snowed in New York even once this winter. “And now you have The Dress,” Tara went on. “So is your life complete?”
Is it? Maxine felt a sudden tug in the pit of her stomach. Her smile faded slightly as she studied her reflection. Was she the kind of girl who needed a dress, or shoes, or any store-bought treat to know true bliss? Since when had her winter break—her life—boiled down to the pursuit of material things? Maxine thought of the customers at Barton’s, all hunting for what they hoped would make their Christmas complete, and an unexpected sadness washed over her. Maybe Heath had been right; everything was about bills, bills, bills in the end. But Maxine was no longer sure if she wanted to be a part of all that.
Then Maxine glanced down at her dress, admiring how its pale gold sheen caught the light, and she shrugged off her moment of brooding. She’d have plenty of time for deep thoughts after Heath saw her in The Dress on New Year’s Eve. For now, she could simply revel in the glory.
“Max? You there?” Tara was asking. “Did Heath just sweep into your room and, like, propose to you?”
“Ask me that tomorrow.” Maxine laughed, flopping back on her bed. “But wait—you won’t be able to talk tomorrow night, right? It’ll be Christmas Eve.”
“Yup,” Tara said. “For the next forty-eight hours, I’ll be knee-deep in family duties like pretending to eat my grandmother’s turkey, keeping my cousins from opening their gifts early, making sure my uncle doesn’t drink too much eggnog …”
“Sounds better than my non-Christmas.” Maxine sighed. “Mom and Scott are having some of their Philharmonic friends over tomorrow night to play chamber music. Then on Christmas Day, no one is going to be around.”
Tara chuckled. “Oh, please. You’ll be so happy after your lunch with Heath that you won’t want to do anything but lie on your bed and stare dreamily into space—which I’m sure is what you’re doing right now.”
“Merry Christmas, Tar,” Maxine said, and blew a kiss into the phone.
Grinning, she str
etched across the bed in her gold dress. It was almost midnight, and excitement shot through her. She was in no rush for it to be Christmas, but tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
After managing a few hours of sleep, Maxine headed to Barton’s with more energy than she’d ever had on an early work morning. But she needed every ounce of it, because that day, everyone in New York City seemed to be on a mission to buy out the Christmas Corner before nightfall. In between managing the madness and slinking away to buy her holiday gifts, Maxine was caught off guard by noon’s arrival. She had just enough time to change out of her elf gear and into her denim skirt, a mocha-colored sweater, and platform boots.
“Wow, you look great,” Heath said when they met by the chocolate snowmen. Holding his ubiquitous Starbucks cup in one hand, he put the other on Maxine’s arm and gave her a kiss on the cheek, stirring up delicious memories from last night. Maxine wished Sandy had hung some mistletoe in the Corner—it seemed to be the only Christmas decoration not present.
“But you didn’t need to change,” Heath added, pulling back. “We’re only going upstairs.”
“We are?” Maxine asked, disappointment pricking her like a needle. Upstairs was the third floor, which Sandy referred to as the “Cruise Wear” department—the section for those lucky few who traveled to warm climes in the winter. Curious, Maxine followed Heath up the winding staircase to the third level—and felt like she had landed on another planet. Maxine gazed around in wonder at sherbet-colored bikinis, sparkly flip-flops, and flowery sarongs. Unlike the level below them, this floor was hushed and empty, with nary a customer or salesperson in sight. Maxine’s breath quickened. Had Heath brought her up here so they could be utterly alone? Maybe any second he’d turn to her, wrap an arm around her waist, and whisper that ever since high school, he’d been kind of in love with—
“Ever since high school,” Heath spoke, and Maxine gave a start, “I’ve noticed that you have a great sense of style.” Before a blushing Maxine could modestly wave him off, Heath gestured to a stack of bikinis on a table and added, “So I figured you’d be the best girl to give me advice on these.”
Maxine frowned, confusion muddying her glee.
Heath lifted up a pink-and-black bikini, studying it closely. “This would look really hot on Julianne because she’s all tan and whatnot, but do you think it’s too trendy?” He shot a worried glance at Maxine. “Julianne already has a lot of designer stuff, so I wanted to get her something more unique for Christmas, you know?”
Maxine felt a coldness seep into her limbs. Who’s Julianne? she almost whispered, but she already knew. She knew, with a certainty that made her chest seize up, that Heath Barton had asked her here to help him pick out a bikini for his girlfriend. So that was what he’d been wanting to ask her for a long time. Maxine had thought she’d done away with shame but now she felt it flooding her face, consuming her completely.
“Why—um—why a bikini?” Maxine asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky to Heath as it did to her ears. She felt she had to ask something in order to beat down the other questions rising inside her. As in: Why did you act like you were into me, you jerk?
“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” Heath asked, now rifling through the bikinis and picking out a lemon-yellow one. “My parents and I always fly down to our place in Anguilla on Christmas Eve, and this year Julianne’s meeting us there. She’s flying in from Aspen, so I’m sure she won’t have bought a new bikini there.” He looked up at Maxine. “Do you like the yellow more?”
“You spend Christmas in Anguilla?” Maxine felt that as long as she kept talking, she’d manage to avoid bursting into tears of humiliation. Had she really believed—all this time—
“Family tradition,” Heath replied as he examined a zebra-print two-piece. “We stay through New Year’s too, so”—he gave her a sheepish smile—“that was the other thing I wanted to ask you. I know your friend’s having a party, and obviously I won’t be able to make it. Can you let her know? I got her invite but I think I deleted it by accident.”
A great wave of hurt crested over Maxine. She thought of The Dress, waiting in her closet, and feared that sobbing might be around the corner. “But—but Anguilla isn’t all that Christmasy,” she managed in a choked voice, when what she really wanted to say was Thanks for ruining my winter break. “I thought you guys would go to, like, London since your dad’s British and all.” She swallowed hard, willing her eyes not to tear.
Heath snorted, momentarily forgetting the bikinis. “British? He was born in Staten Island. His real name’s Charlie Barstein—oh, but don’t tell anyone, ’kay?” He turned to Maxine and held up the zebra bikini. “Too much?” he asked.
Maxine shook her head, speechless. What was too much was her realization that everything about Barton’s—from its name to its owner to its hot young heir—was fake. Maxine took a step back, looking Heath up and down as if she were noticing him for the first time. In truth, the suave, sexy Heath Barton was nothing more than a spoiled rich boy with only one true love: himself. He hadn’t had a thing for her, Maxine understood. She’d been just another quick flirtation—another girl who would inflate his ego while his girlfriend was away. That was all. What a fool Maxine had been. A silly, lovestruck, elf fool.
“You kissed me,” Maxine spoke up, finding her voice and her courage at the same time. Steadier now, she met Heath’s bewildered gaze. “You kissed me, but you have a girlfriend. How is that cool?”
Heath blinked at her. “Uh, hello, Maxine—mistletoe?” He said this as if she were overlooking the world’s most obvious fact.
Mistletoe. Now it was anger that rushed through Maxine, quelling the threat of tears. She was sick of mistletoe and tinsel and all the trappings of the season. She was done with Barton’s, and with the Christmas Corner. But she’d never have even been here in the first place if it weren’t for Heath. At this realization, Maxine felt a fresh surge of fury.
“You know what?” she began, glaring at Heath. “It doesn’t matter what bikini you get Julianne, does it? Because within a year she’ll probably figure out how self-absorbed and arrogant you are, or you’ll cheat on her or something, and she’ll wind up returning all your meaningless gifts anyway.” She took a deep breath, backing up toward the staircase as Heath watched her, slack-jawed. “So now, if you’ll excuse me, I, unlike you, have a job to do.”
Fuming, Maxine whirled around and started down the staircase. Heath remained silent and immobile behind her, but just as she reached the second level, she heard him call out to her.
“Hang on,” Heath said, leaning over the banister with the bikinis still in hand. Maxine was pleased to see that he looked ruffled and out of sorts, and hoped some of what she’d said had sunk in. Then Heath spoke again. “You never told me which one you liked better.”
Maxine stared up at him in disbelief. “The zebra,” she finally replied. “It’s kind of expensive-tacky—like you.” With that, she stormed into the Christmas Corner, promptly bumping into Avery, who was carrying a stack of Santa suits to the cash register.
“Whoa, is everything all right?” Avery asked, raising his eyebrows at her.
Ugh. The last thing she needed now was Avery’s sympathy—which was probably all an act anyway. “Oh, like you care,” Maxine snapped, brushing past him without a second thought.
For the first time in her Barton’s career, Maxine was grateful to change into her elf costume. She was shaking with anger, replaying the ugly scene with Heath in her head. So it was a relief to throw herself back into work, even if that work involved tearing apart two grown women who were wrestling over a chocolate snowman, and then fumbling through a performance of “The Little Drummer Boy.”
The Corner grew more crowded as the afternoon progressed. It didn’t help that Claudette danced off early to catch her plane to Houston, hugging everyone and promising to stay in touch but clearly thrilled to be getting out of there. By the time seven o’clock—the normal closing hour—rolled around, Maxine was st
arving (she’d never eaten), sweaty, and ready to settle down for a long winter’s nap. When Sandy rounded up her, Daniel, and Avery for an impromptu meeting, Maxine hoped that it was to tell them they were free to leave, despite the fact that the place was still a mob scene.
But Sandy delivered the opposite news. “The word’s come down from Mr. Perry: We’re staying open until nine,” she announced grimly, peering at her employees over her clipboard. “I expect each of you to remain here and help close up.”
“Dude, no can do—I’m catching a nine-o’clock flight at JFK,” Daniel spoke up, looking more alert than Maxine had ever seen him. “I assumed we’d get off early on our last day, and—”
Before Sandy could bark at Daniel, Avery spoke up. “I can stay, but just until eight,” he offered, removing his boxy Nutcracker hat and running a hand through his blond hair. “There’s something I need to—”
“I get it, I get it,” Sandy snapped, putting one hand on her hip. “What can I expect on Christmas Eve?” She shot a glance at Maxine. “And you, Elf?”
Maxine opened her mouth, ready to invent some fib about catching a plane, train, or automobile—but then realized she didn’t want to. The truth was, she had no place to be on Christmas Eve and, in a twisted way, closing up the Corner would be preferable to enduring a lame night at home: live chamber music emanating from the living room, her mom and Scott snuggling, Maxine locked in her bedroom, seething over Heath Barton …
“I’ll stay,” Maxine said, squaring her shoulders.
“Well, it’s the least you can do considering you took a long lunch today,” Sandy replied, by way of thanking her.
“Maxine, righteous of you to stay the course,” Daniel said, giving her a good-bye kiss on the cheek and knocking fists with Avery. “We’ll be forever grateful.”
Maxine shrugged. “I’m a Hanukkah kind of girl anyway, so it’s not like I’ve got big Christmas plans,” she said. Then she waved to Daniel and headed for the gift wrap counter, where Sandy was beckoning to her and Avery.
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