Chapter Five #2
My feet drag across the tiles as I walk over to her. How do I recover from this? Maybe if I play it off as just my passion for Christmas, maybe she’d buy that? No, we shouldn’t start out with lies. Well it’s not necessarily a lie, I am passionate about Christmas. Just not the human version of it.
She’s still standing frozen when I come to a stop in front of her. The other elves have moved on to whatever it is they do around here. Thankfully there weren't any customers around to witness my explosion.
My head drops to the floor, I can’t bear to look at her shocked face any longer. “I’m sorry, that was a bit much.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, it was. I didn’t think I’d find someone as into Christmas as me. But here you are, rivaling even my best day.”
A crease forms between my eyebrows as they scrunch together.
She can’t be serious? I slowly bring my eyes up to hers.
Those bright caramel irises are twinkling in the flashing lights from the display.
There’s humor deep within them as she watches me and I can feel my muscles slowly unclenching the longer I stare into them.
“I mean,” she keeps going as she swoops down, picking up a knocked over two foot tall candy cane.
“I think it’s charming that someone is passionate enough about anything to rant about it in the general public.
Although, seeing your face crumbled in anger as you stomped around, will forever be a highlight reel for me.
Can’t say in the six years I’ve worked holiday retail that I’ve ever seen it. ”
Now it’s my turn to stand rooted in one spot, the breath stolen from my lungs as I blink at this stunning, curvy creature who knocked me off my high horse. She didn’t panic or think I was weird.
She’s still moving around re-arranging the decor that was dislodged during the first herd of children. I don’t even know if she’s still talking to me or herself at this point.
“I should add that into my screen play for this year. It would be hilarious to see the grumpy mountain man throw a tantrum over a Christmas display.”
“A grumpy what?”
She waves her hand at me, dismissing my question as she continues to talk animatedly, I guess, to herself.
“Imagine if he stormed into the Christmas play and demanded they fix the reindeer to an anatomically correct version while the female protagonist is covered in a sheen of sweat and splotches of brown paint. That’s holiday romance gold.”
Okay, she’s talking but I’m either not aware of the topic or she’s talking in a different language because nothing she’s said makes sense.
“Holly…”
“I could have her screech about how he should just do it himself then as she…”
“Holly.”
“Storms off the stage and rage drives down the small town road to her farmhouse.”
“Berry,” I mumble as my hand clasps around her elbow.
“Hmm?” She turns towards me, her eyes glazed over. Clearly she’s fully invested into whatever she’s going on about because it’s as if only her physical form responded.
“What are you going on about?”
I don’t know if it’s my words or my hand gently squeezing her, but she seems to snap out of it.
“Oh…oooooh no. No, not in front of the super hot guy that’s oddly giving me loads of attention today.”
For the second time today, color floods her face. Her cheeks flame a rosey red, darkening the freckles lining the apples of her cheeks.
And me? I’m completely gone.
She tucks her chin, staring down at those awful green felt shoes as she rocks back and forth on her heels. Surely she can’t be embarrassed about what happened, especially after my outburst.
I move without thought, without a second thought. Stopping only when I’m firmly in front of her even though she still hasn’t looked up.
My finger hooks under her chin, tipping her head back until those beautiful eyes blink up at me. I can see the panic racing behind them as her eyes flick between my own. She’s clenching her poor lip so hard between her teeth I’m afraid she’ll draw blood if she keeps at it.
Watching her closely my fingers slowly move up, tracing tenderly over her face until my thumb presses against her lower lip.
“Berry,” I murmur as I pull that soft, plump lip from between her teeth.
Doing everything I can to keep my mind from thinking of sinking my own teeth into it until she whimpered.
“I don’t have the slightest clue what you just went on about, but don’t ever think you need to be lesser when you are around me.
Be you. Always and forever. Whatever that looks like, I’m here for the entire thing. ”
She sucks in a breath, her eyes rounding as they glisten. Oh, no. Did I do something wrong? Tears well up along her lower lashes as she takes a shuttering breath.
“So not only are you handsome, but you are thoughtful too?” There’s adoration in those words, but it’s almost tinged with disbelief. Who taught her those two things can’t exist together?
My chest tightens. Someone, somewhere showed this woman, this beautiful creature, that her worth ends where her appearance begins. She’s been told you can either be pretty and quiet or ugly and funny, but never pretty and funny.
I want to find the weak man that did this to her and make him eat tinsel while I parade her around like the future princess of Sugarplum Hollow that she is.
Her lips part, opening and closing as she seems to ponder her words. But only a soft sound comes out as if the words won’t come.
I don’t want to fill the silence with fluff and words.
I want her to feel the words, see how I feel, and know exactly what I’m feeling.
My pulse thrums in my ears, drowning the world of noise around us.
My boots bump against her booties. The air hums with something that feels like magic and star light.
Her head tilts back further, those rounded eyes widening more, but instead of fear of the unknown, I see Hope gleaming in them.
My thumb strokes back and forth across her cheek while my eyes move along every single detail.
From the freckles lining her cheeks to the dark, almost melted chocolate swirls within her caramel irises.
From behind my back I pull out the pearly white skates from earlier, twisting from side to side. Her gaze flicks down to them, then back up to me, confusion and something softer flickering in her expression.
“Let me take you on a date, Berry,” I say, voice low enough that only she can hear. “Give me a chance to show you what it’s like to be cherished.”
The faint hum of the people talking around us, the distant Christmas tunes, all fade into the background until, for a moment, it feels as though it’s only us. Her frosted cranberries warmed in brown sugar and vanilla scent fills my nostrils, bringing a sense of home into my heart and soul.
Her lips part, the smallest smile ghosting across them, and I swear I can see the disbelief blooming in her eyes. She wants to believe me, I can feel it. But she’s afraid to.
Leaving home has felt wrong from the very beginning—like I stepped out into the world chasing something I couldn’t name, some answer lodged too deep under my ribs to put into words.
I kept telling myself it was ambition, that becoming an architect would give me the piece of myself I’d been missing.
But city after city, sketch after sketch, nothing eased the restlessness. Nothing quieted that hollow ache.
But now… something shifts.
It’s not really clarity or destiny singing in my ear.
Just a small, unexpected ease in my chest, as if the constant pressure I’ve lived with has loosened for the first time since I left Sugarplum Hollow.
It’s not about understanding her—how could it be, when I barely know her name?
It’s about something in me recognizing that the emptiness isn’t permanent.
That maybe I’m not broken for wanting more than the life waiting back home.
I don’t know what this feeling means yet, and I’m not foolish enough to call it fate or purpose. But I do know this: for the first time in a long while, I don’t feel lost. And that alone makes me want to stay exactly where I am.