by Lauren Runow
Hunter and I fall a few times on the way up, drunk with laughter. It makes it hard to get up again and walk straight, so sometimes, we just stop and lie in the snow and joke around.
It gets dark fast, and the hill starts to clear up pretty quickly. There are a few people still sledding when we grab our sleds and walk toward the park’s exit.
Fifth Avenue isn’t far, so I start to walk toward it and hail a taxi. Hunter pulls me back.
“Not so fast. I did promise you dinner,” he says.
I’m confused by why he’s halting me until he opens his arm and showcases the hot-dog cart on the corner.
“You know, for a guy who hates touristy things, a dirty-water dog is about as touristy as you can get.”
“I know,” he admits. “But they’re really fucking good, and I only allow myself to eat a hot dog if I’m at a baseball game or sledding in Central Park.”
I lift my eyes to the sky and smile as I walk with him toward the cart. “Do you sled in the park often?”
“Not really. Only when my niece is in town.”
It surprises me that he’s the kind of guy who would take his niece sledding. Yes, I know that’s rude of me, but … well, he’s only given me so much of himself to actually see all these years.
We order hot dogs and sodas and then walk them to a nearby bench inside the park. With the trees blanketed in snow and the streetlamps overhead, there’s an ethereal glow to the evening. It’s peaceful despite the sounds of cars driving down Fifth Avenue.
We sit and eat in silence. It’s relaxing, just being here, looking at the stars and having a simple meal. Hunter and I have an easy way of talking, but it’s just as nice to be like this.
“I like sitting here with you. Usually, I’m wound up so tightly, hoping not to say the wrong thing. Hanging out with you these past few days has been a breath of fresh air.”
I look to Hunter with happiness gleaming in my eyes. His smolder is intense as he stares back at me.
“My best friend, Sofia, is the only person I’ve ever really been able to just be me around. And now, you.”
The corner of his mouth rises as he looks down at the snow and chuckles to himself. “Glad I can be a good friend.” His chest rises with a deep inhale. As he exhales, his smile falls, and then he gazes back at me. This time, there’s no smolder, just a neutral expression. “I’m happy I was able to help you with Branson. I am the master at courting.”
“That you are,” I state, unsteady. “Our two weeks aren’t up though.”
“Of course not. We have to get to New Year’s at least.”
“Right,” I state with a firm nod.
I’m done with my hot dog and drinking my soda when the wind sweeps in. My snow pants were great, but my ankles and waistband are soaked. The cold breeze makes me shriek as a shiver runs through my body.
“You okay there, kid?” Hunter asks.
I run my hands up and down my arms. “Yeah, just really cold.”
“Then, let’s get you home.”
We head over to the street, and Hunter walks to the edge, whistling loudly. An available taxi pulls up to the curb, and he opens the door for me.
“Text me when you get home,” he says as I slide in.
I look back at him, surprised he’s not riding back with me. “You got a hot date or something? Remember, you’re not supposed to be seeing anyone while we’re faux dating.”
His gorgeous grin widens as he says, “Don’t worry, kid. I’m not thinking about anyone but you.”
He closes the door and hits the top of the cab. I tell the driver my address, and we head down Fifth, toward my apartment. As I look out the back window, I see Hunter standing there—tall, strong, and so very confusing to my brain and heart.
Chapter Eight
“It’s not too late to come home with me for the holidays,” Sofia says as she attempts to zip up her suitcase. By zipping, I really mean, she has me sitting on top of it to smoosh it down while she walks around it and zips it up.
“I already told you, I’m fine. What do you have in this thing, by the way? You do know there’s a weight limit to these, right?”
“It’s all part of the airline’s scheme to rip people off. If it’s over, then I’m just gonna stand in the airport and dress myself in every layer of clothing until it’s below the limit. I don’t care if I look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. My clothes are getting on that plane, come hell or high water!”
“Remind me to count my blessings that I’m not the airport agent who has to deal with you today.” My sarcasm is met with a smile.
“Come on. Florida sunshine, beaches, my mom’s horrible gingerbread pudding. The airfare to West Palm Beach isn’t that bad.”
I rise off the now-secured suitcase and help her lift it off the ground. “It’s okay, I’m happy to be here. I have the soup kitchen, and after, I’m going to Christmas Eve with Branson and his friends.”
Together, we’re shifting the very heavy suitcase down our hallway.
“I can’t believe that fake relationship thing with Hunter worked. Branson is all over you now.”
“I wouldn’t say all over me, but it’s progress.”
She drops the suitcase, and it nearly lands on my foot.
“Careful with that.”
“You don’t sound excited.” Her hands are on her hips as she eyes me up and down. “You should be giddy. You’re not. What’s the deal?”
“I am giddy. I’m so giddy that I am holly, jolly Christmas giddy,” I state.
She gives me a dumbfounded expression.
I carry on, “In fact, I have plans to groom underneath the Christmas tree, if you know what I mean. It will be a winter wonderland.”
Her chin rises and falls slowly. “What are you going to wear?”
“I haven’t thought of that yet.”
“I knew it! You’re not excited!”
I push her accusatory finger to the side.
“I am, but I’m volunteering at a soup kitchen first. I can’t go there in a sexy red dress. I was thinking of maybe tight black pants and a shimmery top, but I’ll wear a cardigan or blazer over it for the volunteering part.”
“You should come home and slide on the red dress before going to Branson. Woman, when I come back, I plan on finding out exactly how that man rocked it and rocked it good.”
I pull on her suitcase and smile. “It will be a fairy tale in New York.”
We get her bag down the stairs and on the sidewalk. Her Uber pulls up, and we hug for a crazy long time, wishing each other a merry Christmas, including a have fun for me, and a safe flight for her. As she drives away, I wave until I can’t see her car anymore.
Upstairs, I close the door, and Mittens walks his fine feline self out of my room. I lift him up and take a seat on the sofa. I pet him and hold his face up to mine.
“I think Sofia’s right. You are a snob. You waited until she left to come out. You really need to be a gentleman.”
Mitten meows and then points his butt in my face. He hops over to the floor, and I take in the evening that is upon me. Tonight, Branson Ford might make a move on me. Sofia’s right; I should be over the moon. This is what I’ve been waiting for, yet something doesn’t feel like I expected it would.
In Bowery is a shelter that advertised their need for servers on Christmas Eve. It’s a men’s shelter, which doesn’t rank as high as the women’s and children’s shelters do for those looking to help.
I’m standing in a large room with paned windows overlooking the busy street outside. There are rows and rows of tables decorated for the holiday. I came here this morning to help with the setup. Each table is lined with a red plastic tablecloth, and small centerpieces made of plastic poinsettias are in the center. There’s a Christmas tree and a menorah at the opposite end of the room. Along the side wall are the tables where I and the other volunteers will be prepared to serve.
By the afternoon, the room is festive with “Jingle Bells” playing on a speaker.
I’m walking around the room, taping paper snowflakes to the wall, when I hear a man walk up behind me.
“You need a hand with that?” he asks.
I turn around, and am flabbergasted as I take in the sight before me.
Wearing a pair of camel corduroys and a navy-blue sweater with hair that’s as disheveled as it is so perfectly in place is Hunter.
His mouth rises into a smile that makes my knees wobble slightly, which I’m sure is really just from the shock of seeing him here, at a men’s homeless shelter, on Christmas Eve.
“What are you doing here?” I ask when I finally find my voice.
With his hands buried deep in his pockets, he leans back on his heels. “I thought you’d like some company.”
“What about the Johnstone family Christmas?”
He glances up at the analog clock on the wall, which reads five o’clock. “Christmas Eve is pretty low-key. Just my parents and my sister’s family. If I’m in the car by eight, I’ll make it in time for dessert.”
“Your mother must be upset that you’re not there.”
He rubs his jaw and looks back at me from under those thick lashes. “She was okay when I told her what I needed to do tonight.”
“You felt the need to volunteer?” I ask with my eyebrows pinched in question.
His eyes crinkle as he stares at me for a beat. His lips part, as if he’s about to speak, and then close. “Something like that.” Taking his hands out of his pockets, he clasps them together and searches around the room. “Okay, so what still has to be done?”
I hold out the tape for him. “We have about ten minutes until the doors open. Help me hang these up.”
Without pause, he takes it from me and follows me around the room as I put up the last of the decorations.
“You know, when you mentioned you were volunteering, you didn’t mention it was a men’s-only shelter,” he says as he hands me a strip of tape.
“So?” I ask, confused by what he might be insinuating.
“This isn’t going to be all tinsel and snowflakes,” he says, eyeing the cutesy decoration in my hand. “There’s gonna be some real down-and-out men in here. Some with mental health and substance abuse issues, violent offenders—”
“Not everyone who’s homeless is a nutcase.”
He nods. “You’re one hundred percent correct. I just wanted to make sure my Katie McGee was okay.”
I halt my steps and turn to him. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can.”
“Are you being condescending?”
I place a hand on my hip and scowl at him. He grins at the action.
With his fingers gripping my arms, he steps forward and explains, “All I’m saying is, I feel better, being here for your first time volunteering, just in case anything happens.” He puts an emphasis on just in case, which makes me roll my eyes. His thumbs run circles on my arms as he stares into my eyes. “Besides, I kind of wanted to spend the evening with you.”
His admission makes my breath catch.
“Why?” I ask quietly.
His eyes dazzle me as he looks at me and skims his teeth along his lower lip. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
Instead, he smiles and says, “Maybe I have a thing for girls in light-up reindeer sweaters.”
I glance down at my red-and-green sweater, which was in the ugly Christmas sweater section at Target. I thought it was absolutely adorable. Inside is a battery pack that turns on the reindeer’s nose and lights up his antlers.
“You like it?” I ask jokingly as I model it.
He laughs lightly and tilts his head up at my reindeer headband, which is secure above my high ponytail. “The antlers are the best part.”
I ball my fists to my chest rolling them as if I were a prancing reindeer. “So much for loosening buttons and letting my hair down. If I’d known this was my sexiest look, I would have been prancing around Branson’s office all year!” I giggle at my own humor.
My joke falls flat because Hunter isn’t laughing. His head points down, and he smiles to himself, lowering his hands from my arms.
With the clearing of his throat, he rubs his hands together and claps them as he says, “It’s almost dinnertime.”
“Right. I’m on serving duty. Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I’m at the door. So, I’d better get to it.” He points toward the entrance.
I nod and straighten my sweater. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
Hunter walks to his post, and I take my place behind the tables. The Sternos are lit, and I grab a tong while talking to the other volunteers about how much we’re to serve each person and who to alert when the trays are running low. When the doors open and the men walk in to grab their plates, my stomach tightens at their state.
Some men seem like they’ve been living on the streets for years without a shower, and others, I’d never know they were down-and-out. They’re all quick to get their plates and make their way down the rows for food. There are smells that even the scent of the chicken parmigiana I’m serving can’t mask, and there are some who just smell like the cold air.
In the first half hour, I’m cursed at and told I’m horrible for not offering more than the allotted amount, and I receive lewd comments. But more than that, people also say thank you, God bless you, and Merry Christmas.
I didn’t know what to expect when I signed up for this. It wasn’t to make myself feel good or to have boasting rights at the office—look at what I did this Christmas! I genuinely wanted to do something positive. And while it’s not all tinsel and snowflakes, as Hunter said, I find I’m okay with the profanity and vicious comments. This is life. This is real.
“First timer?” the woman next to me asks.
I turn to her with a nod. “Can you tell?”
She offers a warm smile. “Your eyes went wild when that man kicked your table.”
“It startled me, but I’m okay.”
“It’s nice to see someone who’s still excited to volunteer, especially here. You can get jaded after a while. I’m Sheryl, by the way,” she says as she picks up a tray and moves it over.
“Katie.” I give her a small wave. “How long have you been volunteering?” I ask her as I place a piece of chicken onto a man’s plate.
He bows his head in thanks.
“Twenty-three years. I’ve been called every name in the book and had my heart broken at seeing good men on the way to reformation turn around and throw it away after one night on a bender. It can make you feel like all this effort is for nothing.”
I didn’t think of how the volunteers might become attached to the men.
“If it brings sadness, why do you keep doing it?”
She says hello to a gentleman who comes for some string beans. They exchange pleasantries as he walks along. “It’s the human experience. For every man who falls off the wagon, there are so many more who are redeemed. While I’ve seen some men fall, I’ve seen many more rise.”
I smile in understanding. “Will all of them sleep here tonight?”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have the capacity for everyone. Some will get turned out to the street.” She motions her tongs toward the door. “Do you see that man in the blue sweater?”
I look over to where she’s pointing at Hunter. He’s standing at the door with another man, shaking hands as he enters. The man is wearing a parka and snow hat yet looks frozen to the bone. Hunter rubs his back and helps him find a place in line.
“That’s Hunter. I work with him,” I tell her.
“He’s a good guy. He called yesterday and said he was donating a hundred coats and blankets to the shelter. He even brought some hand and foot warming inserts to give out.”
Her words baffle me.
“Hunter did that?”
“Yes. That kind of generosity is astounding. It’ll help a few of the men stay alive.”
I glance over at him. He’s currently trying to calm another man who seems to be h
aving a fit, probably about the long line for food. As he gets the gentleman to settle down, eliciting a smile from him even, I find my heart beating rapidly.
“He’s full of surprises.”
The woman beside me nudges my arm. “Are you two an item?”
I look over at her and shake my head, going back to serving the people in front of me. “No. He’s not …” I’m about to say my type, but that’s not entirely the truth.
He’s handsome, charming, funny, and as I’ve learned today, giving. He’s attentive—that’s for sure—and the man can kiss.
It all seems so foolish—to be yearning for someone who, just days ago, I saw as the opposite of what I wanted. Afraid and shy, I looked at the world through rose-colored glasses, imagining Branson as my prince. But the real hero of my story is Hunter.
Even as I think this in my head, I know it’s crazy. Crazy to go from wanting one man to the next so quickly. Crazy to abandon my feelings so hastily.
And yet maybe there is a chance Hunter and I can be something more.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking is probably wrong,” she says.
I look at her with a tilt of my head.
“From the way he’s staring at you right now, I’d say he’s more than just a friend.”
When my eyes meet his from across the room, it’s with a fiery power and a deep conviction. As his caramel ones stare at mine, I see confirmation. There is most definitely something brewing between us.
I lift a hand and wave to him. He runs his fingers over his jaw and smiles back. A man shoving his plate toward me, waiting for his dinner, interrupts our moment.
I get right back to work, serving and smiling, all while chancing casual glances at Hunter. And every time I search for him, he’s staring at me with a grin.
As the hours pass, I continue to serve food and prep the table for desserts. It’s been nonstop, and it makes the time pass fast. Since everyone is now inside, Hunter isn’t needed by the door. He’s been going around the room, clearing trash and making small talk, and I catch him a few times, telling dirty Christmas jokes with a table of men. Currently, he’s playing cards with another group.
