Chapter 20 #2
We all say bye to Dad, Kara, and Kyle—they’re staying home, watching A Christmas Story, and eating cookies—then everyone heads outside.
Earlier, Isaac and Bianca, along with their families, decked out the tractors with Christmas lights and tinsel.
White string lights and green garland perfectly accent the fancy new Case IH Magnum’s shiny red paint, and Granddad’s old green and yellow John Deere is decorated with multicolored lights, with a set of “reindeer” antlers and a red rubber nose on the front.
Isaac takes charge, directing everyone to their designated locations.
He’ll drive the Magnum with Annabel and baby Nellie in the cab, and Jake and Emma will sit with Mom and Bianca’s family in the small trailer hitched up to it.
Everyone climbs into their places, and Sampson and Delilah jump in the trailer, tails wagging, matching red plaid bandanas around their necks.
“You want to take the Deere?” my brother asks me.
I blink, surprised. That’s usually Dad’s job. “Uh, sure.”
Bianca hands me a Santa hat to put on, then Shira and I climb into the small cab of the old tractor together, her in the buddy seat next to me. She’s bundled up in that navy blue coat she looks so good in, plus the pink hat and gloves I gave her for our meteor shower night.
“Ready?” I say to her, turning the key and pressing the clutch down. The engine coughs once, then catches with a low, familiar rumble.
“So ready!” The colored lights dance across her face, making her look like she belongs in some fairy tale, and I have to tear my eyes away to focus on what I’m doing.
It's been years since I’ve driven a tractor, but it comes back fast: clutch under my foot, hand easing the throttle forward, the steering wheel vibrating under my palms. The old Deere feels solid, familiar.
I can almost hear Granddad’s voice beside me, patient and gruff, teaching me when I was thirteen or fourteen: Easy now, let her feel the road.
I follow Isaac down the gravel drive, and then we’re rolling down the shoulder of the highway, slow and steady, headed into town. In front, Maggie, Jake, and Emma are waving at us from the trailer, the dogs sitting dutifully beside them.
“So damn cute,” I murmur, smiling.
“I’ll say.”
I glance over at Shira, expecting her to be smiling at the kids. But she’s looking at me, her gaze dragging down my body with unmistakable interest.
“Like what you see?” I say, eyebrows dancing.
Her lips quirk. “Never thought I’d be turned on by a guy wearing a Santa hat, driving an ancient tractor.”
“There’s a first for everything, I guess.” I wink.
And a last.
Dammit, I’m maudlin tonight. It’s embarrassing. And ridiculous. I should be soaking this all in, not dwelling on how it’s ending.
Soon we’re passing the high school, the diner, all the familiar spots.
It’s strange—a month ago, I felt sure that things would never change here.
But these past few weeks have shown me that just because things have been the same for a long time, it doesn’t mean they have to stay the same.
Even small changes make a difference. Even one person.
We’ve made it to the end of Main Street, and I ease off the throttle, press in the clutch, and let the old Deere roll to a stop behind Isaac and the line of decorated tractors.
I turn to Shira. “Got the candy ready?”
“Ready!” She lifts the big bag of saltwater taffy onto her lap.
“Can you turn the radio to FM 89.1?” This tractor’s old enough that it didn’t even have a radio when I was growing up, but Dad installed one a few years back for this very purpose. “Everyone tunes to the same station—it’ll also be playing along Main Street.”
Shira does, and we start rumbling forward again. The sidewalks are packed, kids sitting on the curb, families and couples and single folks, old and young, and everything in between. It’s magical: the Christmas music enveloping us, twinkling lights all around, the street crowded with people.
My people, I realize. My town. I’m not sure I ever felt that way before.
“Shira!” someone calls from the street. It’s a group of teenagers I’ve seen at the bookstore, waving at her.
She throws a handful of taffy, laughing as the kids try to catch it. Up ahead, Jake and Maggie are throwing their own candy from the trailer.
“I love this!” Shira shouts over the music at me. Her eyes are lit up, her smile huge, and that damn lump rises in my throat again.
“Me, too,” I say, trying not to think about how good this all feels.
So good it hurts.
Later, after it’s all over, we walk down the driveway to Shira’s little cottage, hand in hand. At the door, she turns and wraps her arms around me.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice muffled against my chest. “This was perfect. Just what I wanted my last night to be.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Thank you. I loved having you be a part of everything today. You really didn’t need to do that, but I—I appreciated it.”
I don’t know how to put it all into words—how much this has meant to me, not just today but throughout this entire holiday season. She’s changed the way I think about my family, this town, and, most of all, myself.
“You probably need to head home soon, right?” she asks, pulling back to look up at me. “Isn’t everyone staying at your parents’ house tonight?”
“Oh, yeah.” Usually, my parents spend Christmas morning visiting the grandkids to see what Santa brought them, but since my dad’s laid up, everyone’s staying at my parents’ house. Even Kara and Kyle are sleeping over.
“Don’t you want to be there, too?” Shira asks.
“I’ll go home in the morning. Unless you’re sick of me?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. I…”
“What?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again and swallows. “Come inside. I have something for you.”
“Is it you? Preferably naked?”
Shaking her head, she smiles. “Maybe later…if you can behave.”
I smirk. “Come on, baby—where’s the fun in that?”
Laughing, she leads me inside and into her bedroom, telling me to sit on the bed.
Her suitcase is open on the floor, neatly packed.
A glaring reminder that she’s heading out bright and early to catch her flight.
She retrieves a small box from the suitcase, then comes back over to me.
It’s about the size of an orange, wrapped in the same gold paper she used at the bookshop, tied with a green velvet ribbon.
I frown at her, trying to look stern. “You already got me a gift. The book—which I’m loving so far.”
“Yeah, but that was for Hanukkah. This is for Christmas.” She cocks an eyebrow. “You want it or not?”
“Gimme.” I snatch it from her, unwrapping it carefully to reveal a clear glass Christmas ornament with a red ribbon at the top. And inside…
“Oh wow—it’s full of little books,” I say, looking closer.
She sits next to me on the bed, grinning. “They’re all my bestsellers at the shop. I know it’s not as fancy as what you got me, but—”
“I love it.” I stare at it, dumbfounded, wondering where she possibly could’ve found miniature versions of all these books. “Wait—did you make these?”
She gives a little shrug. “Yeah. Printed out the covers at the printshop in town, then folded them up and glued them together. It’s not too difficult, just takes time.”
My entire body warms at the thought of her painstakingly cutting all of these out, gluing them together. It must’ve taken hours. “I really, really love it, Shira. Thank you. So much.”
After a kiss, I set the ornament down, and we lie back against her pillow, my arm around her, her head on my chest. Our legs twine together, and even though I wasn’t kidding about wanting to get her naked, this is just as good. Shira tucked against me, all cozy and sweet.
My mind drifts to the inevitable: she’s leaving in less than twelve hours.
But it doesn’t have to be the end, I tell myself.
She hasn’t said she wants to see me again, fine—I’ll make her want to.
We can talk on the phone, text, video call.
I’ll send flowers, have lunch delivered to her office, even send a damn singing telegram.
Once my family no longer needs me here, I’ll visit her in Chicago.
Maybe Shira’s not as into me as I am into her, but she’s into me enough.
I can work with that. I’ll keep showing up until she can’t help but fall the rest of the way.
I’m about to say something when she speaks.
“I’ve been thinking about when I was little,” she says, “how sad I’d get when my favorite holidays ended, and one time I burst into tears and asked my bubbe why it couldn’t be a holiday every day.”
I smile at the thought of little Shira and her beloved bubbe. “What’d she say?”
“She said the holidays are special because they don’t last forever. If every day were a holiday, none of them would stand out. Ordinary days blur together, but holidays…that’s when we make the memories that stick. The ones we carry with us long after.”
The words land like a stone in my chest. And then—fuck—my eyes start to sting. Thank God she can’t see my face.
Blinking hard, I clear my throat. “Your bubbe was a wise lady.”
“She really was.” Her voice goes soft. “But what she said, I think it relates to the bookshop too, how it couldn’t last forever, and maybe that’s exactly what made it so special. I’ll never forget it. I…I won’t forget any of this, Jonny.”
The air between us goes still. The meaning of her words settles in, without her having to say it.
We’re like the bookshop. We’re like the holiday season itself.
Brilliant for a while, unforgettable maybe—but temporary.
And in that instant, I feel something inside me tear, a quiet rip only I can hear, as if whatever hope I’d been holding onto finally lets go.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice rough. “I won’t forget this, either.”
Desperate for something else to focus on, I lift her chin with my fingers and kiss her, slow and gentle. “Mmm, how do you always taste so sweet?” I murmur against her lips.
She laughs softly. “That’s the hot cocoa we had after the parade.”
“Nope, it’s you. Unless you dripped hot cocoa here.” I shift position so I can kiss her cheek, then her jaw. “And here.” I kiss down her neck. “And here, too.”
She laughs again, pulling her sweater over her head as I reach behind her and unclasp her bra. We’re moving like we’ve done this a hundred times, like it’s muscle memory—or maybe that’s just me, trying to pretend that this is just another day, wishing this could be ordinary.
Soon we’re skin to skin, my heart beating wildly. But I’m still taking my time, running my hands over every inch of her as if mapping a country I’ll never visit again. Filing away each touch, each gasp, each flicker of her smile.
Trying to make it last. Keep it from fading.
Holding on tight, before it’s gone.