by J. L. Berg
Because the truth was, he was so much more.
“Are you going to answer the door or leave the poor boy freezing outside?” Addy asked, peeking up from her spot in the kitchen.
“Right,” I answered, propelling forward toward the door. The moment my hand touched the knob, I felt a rush of anxiety as I pulled it toward me.
Should have worn a different shirt. Why did I wear my hair like this? Oh, crap, what if he really is firing me? Did I brush my teeth?
“Hey, Mittens.” Sam smiled, his warm voice cutting through the brisk chill of the outdoors.
“Hey,” I answered back, feeling awkward and happy at the same time, as I leaned against the door, staring at his familiar frame across from mine.
“You going to let me in, or do I have to beg?” he asked, that jaw-dropping smile of his widening even further.
“Oh! Yes! Sorry,” I said, stumbling a bit as I stepped backward to let him pass.
This is going to be a complete nightmare.
“Sam, good to see you,” Addy said, greeting him with open arms.
They hugged like old friends, and I suddenly felt oddly out of place, like I was witnessing something private and precious. I turned my head for a moment to give them a second to catch up.
“I made your favorite — cinnamon rolls,” she said, still giving him a tight squeeze around the shoulders. “It’s Willow’s favorite, too.”
“It’s everyone’s favorite,” he corrected. “If your salon fails, you can make a living off your cooking for sure. Do you still make those cookies? The ones with the—”
“Cherries?”
“Yes,” he replied. He turned toward me. “They were always my favorite. When she first offered them to me, the little kid in me turned his nose at the idea of fruit in my cookies, but then she hooked me, saying there was chocolate and little bits of candy.”
Addy shrugged. “Toffee is a candy.”
“Not to a five-year-old. When she handed me this cookie that mostly resembled a chocolate chip cookie with fruit thrown in, I was not impressed. But she insisted, saying I could have a treat afterward.”
They smiled simultaneously.
“And you loved it, right?”
He nodded. “I did. And I never doubted you again.”
Even though I knew he was talking about cookies, I felt there was a deeper meaning behind his words. I watched something pass between them as we all headed toward the kitchen, grabbing the last few items for the table, and I wondered what piece of the puzzle I was missing.
“I DON’T THINK I’ve been this full in years,” Sam admitted as we stepped out of the house.
After watching him somehow manage to stuff three cinnamon rolls, several helpings of egg casserole, and a handful of bacon into his stomach, Addy had suggested we take a walk while she cleaned the kitchen.
I’d protested, offering to help, but the look she had given me suggested it was more of a demand than a subtle recommendation.
December had hit Virginia like a battering ram this year, bringing early snowfall and plenty of ice. I was sure it was a normal occurrence in places farther north, but here, where we actually looked forward to snow days, it was a total game changer. School had already been canceled twice before Christmas break, something that had only happened a handful of times in the school’s history, and today, as we stepped outside for our brisk morning walk, a few snow flurries were already falling from the sky.
“I guess we’ll be getting a white Christmas after all,” Sam said, lifting his head toward the heavens with his hands casually in his pockets. Several snowflakes fell on his face, melting instantly as they touched his skin. The water dripped down his cheeks as he tried to shake off the cold.
“Why are you here?” I blurted out, hating myself instantly. “I mean, not that I don’t want you to be… because I do — if you want to be. It’s just, I can’t figure out why. You were nostalgic with Addy about cookies and scarfed down our food and sat in our house… and I just—”
He stopped in the middle of the street, the snow falling all around us. Kids were outside, riding new bikes and chasing each other on the powder-covered lawns. Yet all I could focus on was him. The brilliant green of his irises and the way he never ceased to smile, even when I was being slightly rude and erratic.
“I came to see you. I thought that was obvious,” he answered, never missing a beat.
My hands dug further into my jacket pockets. “But why? Why me?”
His head shook back and forth. “Why not you, Willow?”
I bit my lip, searching for the right words. “There are plenty of girls at school, Sam, most of them willing to give you their undivided attention.”
“Most of them?” he joked as the corner of his lip twitched.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, yet I’m still here. Do you know why?”
“My aunt’s cinnamon rolls?” I joked.
He gave me a brief smile. “I’ve dated a few of those girls you mentioned, and it was okay for a while. Like that girl you keep sending death stares to in History? Valerie?”
My mouth dropped open. “I do not send her death stares.”
“Let’s agree to disagree on that one. Anyway, Valerie and I went out a few times — movies, football games — and I even asked her to the homecoming dance.”
“I didn’t see you with her at the homecoming dance,” I blurted out. “Not that I was looking.”
“You really need to stop doing that,” he said.
“Stop doing what?”
“Pretending that you don’t like me. It must be exhausting,” he replied, a cocky grin on his stupid mouth.
Breathing loudly, I muttered, “Jerk,” which only made him laugh.
“I’m not pretending anymore and see how much happier I am?”
But I barely noticed. I was still stuck on his words.
“You like me?” I found myself saying softly.
“I thought we’d already figured that out, Mittens. Why else would I be here, on Christmas Day, in the freezing cold? Yesterday, I thought we’d finally gotten somewhere when you opened up to me. I thought I’d found my chance to tell you and then—”
“I ran off,” I said, finishing his sentence.
“Exactly. I thought about giving you some time to figure it out, but I’ve had some time of my own — about four months or so — to learn how this works. And, if I know you well enough, I know you would have returned to work tomorrow, as if nothing had happened.”
He was so right.
“So, I made the call. And here I am.”
“Here you are,” I repeated, still in shock.
“My dad isn’t much for Christmas morning anymore. Ever since my mom left, he hasn’t been much on holidays in general, but Sophie tries. Breakfast was probably the only unburned food I’ll eat today.”
“I’m sure Addy will send you home with leftovers.”
Silence fell around us as the snow flurries picked up.
“Are you going to say anything? Or did I completely blow this by showing up this morning?”
“Why?” I asked again. “I just don’t understand. Why me?”
“And that’s part of the reason I’m here.” He paused for a moment, searching down the street, as if the words would suddenly appear. “When you look at me, what do you see?”
I instantly blushed.
“Not physically.” He laughed. “Although I like the way you’re thinking. What I meant was, when you see me, what kind of person do you see?”
A chill ran down my spine — not because of the cold, but because of the immediate fear that rushed through my veins. Part of me wanted to turn and run, the overwhelming feeling of being vulnerable in front of another person making my fight-or-flight response go haywire.
But this is Sam, I reminded myself once again.
Sam is safe.
“You’re kind,” I finally stated. “And kind of arrogant.”
He smiled. “Isn’t that an ox
ymoron?”
“And you like to interrupt people with bad humor,” I added, feeling the fear abate slightly. “You never take no for an answer, and you always see the good in everyone, even when they don’t deserve it.”
“You deserve it,” he argued. “Well, mostly.”
“You’re fiercely loyal, and despite my first impression… you’re a hard worker.”
He laughed. “You really did think I was the laziest person in the world, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “I really did.”
“You know what I see when I look at you?”
I shook my head, unable to answer.
“So much of the same, Willow, but I doubt you’d agree. I don’t just like you because we share a similar background or because you see me as more than the boy whose mom left. I like you because you see all of me.”
“And do you see all of me?” I asked with trepidation in my tone.
“I’d like to,” he answered, “if you’d let me.”
“But what if you don’t like what you hear?”
He took a deep breath as I watched him pull his hands out of his pockets. Reaching out halfway, he held out one hand and waited. It took me only a second to realize what he was doing because that handful of seconds in the bookstore hadn’t ever left my mind.
Taking a deep breath of my own, I stretched out my hand and met him the rest of the way, touching the tip of my pinkie to his.
“Impossible,” he finally answered.
And, in that moment, I chose to believe him. I believed in the possibility of love and everything that went with it. Because he’d done the impossible for me.
He’d given me hope.
“WHAT DOES THIS mean?” Allison asked as we sat together at the lonely café the day after Christmas.
She’d made good on her promise and called me first thing this morning, wanting to know if I was still alive since I hadn’t bothered to check in.
So, I’d suggested a late lunch. Late to avoid the crowd. Lunch because… well, we both liked food.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
“Are you dating?”
My shoulders lifted in doubt. “No idea.”
“You didn’t ask him?” she pressed.
“Not really. I mean… I’ve never really done this. Is that what you’re supposed to do? That seems kind of formal. And lame.”
“Well, usually, you know, Willow. You don’t walk away, scratching your head, leaving your best friend to ask all the important questions.”
I had to laugh at how flustered she was over my lack of information. She wasn’t upset. Not by any means. When I’d broken the news to her, I was fairly certain birds fell from the sky from the shrill sound of her screams alone.
She was happy for me.
Definitely happy.
Well, except for the whole clarification part.
“I’ll try harder,” I said, creating tiny hearts on the wood table from the water droplets that had fallen from my glass of soda.
“You’d better,” she replied, smiling. “Otherwise, I’ll just have to get my information from him.”
My eyes widened as she took another bite of her BLT.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she explained. “Not that I think Sam would ever do such a thing. But you are both special to me, so you can see why I have an invested interest in this relationship.”
Relationship.
My stomach did a flip-flop, making me regret how quickly I’d eaten my lunch.
“What if he decides he doesn’t like me? What if it was just a brief moment of insanity? Too many Christmas cookies or something?” I asked in a panic.
She smiled, the type of smile she gave me when she knew I was being ridiculous.
I knew it, too.
“Sam doesn’t do anything without ample consideration. When we were ten and his parents told him he could pick out a new bike for his birthday… it took him six months. Six months, Willow! He was half a year older by the time he’d weighed all the pros and cons of each type and model. So, no, I don’t think he’s going to change his mind. He seems pretty determined.”
“Okay, but what if I can’t do this, Allison?” I asked, feeling helpless.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.
I held up my hands, the pain clearly written across my face. “I won’t even let anyone near me. How can I have a boyfriend if I’m always going to be wearing these? They’re like a giant Stop sign.”
“Sam said you held hands. Well, sort of. He tried to explain it, but he’s a guy, and it got all sorts of confusing.”
My eyes met hers. “You already talked to him? I should have known.”
She shrugged. “He called me before he went over to your house for breakfast. Wanted to make sure it was okay before he made his move.”
“His move?”
“My words, not his. He called, making sure everything was good between the two of us. I assured him it was and gave my blessing, as a best friend to both of you. That’s when he told me about the hand-holding.”
“It wasn’t holding so much as touching. Or barely touching,” I tried to explain.
“But it was something.”
I smiled. “Yeah, it was.”
“Look, I know I’ve never asked, and that’s because I figure you have your reasons for not sharing. But whatever happened to you, whatever caused the gloves to be put on in the first place, you’ll find a way to let go and move on. I’m sure of it.”
“I wish I shared your optimism,” I said, looking down at a stray piece of yarn hanging from my glove.
“No need. I have enough for both of us!”
“Let go and move on.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew one thing…I was ready to try.
ADDY HAD ARRIVED at Page Turners about fifteen minutes ago. She’d walked in and taken a look around while Sam and I’d nervously eyed each other. After asking her to meet with us and offer some business advice, she’d suggested a trip to the store might be in order.
“I need a feel for the place,” she’d explained. “It’s been a while.”
Seeing her walk through the stacks now though? It felt like an inspection we hadn’t been prepared for.
“I had some time to look over your notes, Sam,” she finally said, returning to the front where we stood. “And, although your penmanship still needs some work, you have some good ideas… great ideas actually.”
“Thank you,” he responded, sounding slightly relieved.
“But they’re lofty,” she continued. “A little too lofty for what you have to work with right now. If there is one thing I’ve learned about owning a business, it’s that you never take on more than you can handle.”
“But—” Sam tried to intervene.
“Let me finish,” she said, holding out her hand. “Like I said, I like your ideas. And I think, over time, you could probably do all the things you’ve dreamed about here, in these pages of notes. Like a top-of-the-line coffee bar with fresh pastries to sell. Branching out would guarantee the longevity of the bookstore, but without the capital to invest in the equipment, you are stuck back at square one.”
I watched as Sam deflated instantly.
This wasn’t the good news he had been waiting to hear.
“Don’t give up on me just yet,” Addy said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve run a successful business out of my home for nearly a decade. It’s been enough to not only support me, but support Willow now as well. That’s something I’m proud of. It’s something I’ve worked hard to achieve. But do you think I want to cut hair in my garage for the rest of my life?”
“It is a nice garage,” he replied with a hesitant smile.
She joined in as I watched the two of them.
“It is, but it wasn’t always that nice. Do you remember when it was nothing more than a chair and mirror?” she asked.
He nodded. “You used to wash our hair in the kitchen si
nk.”
She smiled, obviously glad he remembered. “My adult clients were thrilled when I finally had the cash to afford an actual washing station. The kids, not so much. They’d loved the trips to the kitchen. The point I’m trying to make is, don’t only hold on to all these dreams,” she said, pointing to the yellow notepad she’d brought back to return to him, “but also work for it. Otherwise, those dreams will never be anything more than random ideas scribbled on a piece of paper.”
Sam’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Where do we start?”
A warm smile spread across Addy’s face as we both watched her walk toward the front windows. “Here, I think.”
“There?” I asked, following close behind her.
“Yes.” She nodded. “You want a place where people can meet, have coffee… that sort of thing. In order to do that, you first need to establish a place for it. I think this is the perfect spot. It’s by the window, which allows for natural light and a bit of scenery. Plus, there’s the added bonus of free publicity.”
“How so?” Sam asked, one step behind me.
“Well, if you have a window full of people talking and engaging in some sort of activity, others passing by will notice and file it away as a possible place for their next social gathering.”
“That’s… actually kind of smart,” I said before adding, “But how will we arrange it? This area is stuffed full of shelves.”
“Sam’s already done it for you.”
I turned around, giving him a perplexed look.
“It’s something I’ve been doing for a while now — tracking sales to see what needs to go and what should stay.”
“So, you want to downsize the inventory?”
He shook his head. “No, more like streamline it — put books that will actually sell on the shelves. Like take this one,” he said, holding up a fictional novel that, based on the cover, had been written several decades before either of us had been born. “This book has been sitting on the shelf for well over three years. Why continue to stock it when we could replace it with something more appealing?”
“But what if someone comes in, wanting that book, down the road?” I argued, hating the idea of getting rid of any book.
