Chapter 14
Sunday, December 9
When I got up late the next morning, I found both Anita and Hazel had sent me separate bursts of text messages after seeing my rooftop exploits on socials and wanted to know I was safe. Once I’d reassured them I was fine and had endured a couple of good-natured jokes about my Excel T-shirt, I headed for the kitchen.
As I fed Dazey and made myself some breakfast, my thoughts kept returning to Marco and our conversation at the Odd Duck last night, how he’d said he enjoyed spending time with me.
Although my brain insisted we should remain firmly in the friend zone, I couldn’t stop feeling more and more attracted to him. Over the past week, I got the distinct impression that he felt the same, yet the logical part of me remained adamant it was far better—for him, me, and our friendship—if everything stayed platonic.
Unwilling to continue debating the situation with myself any longer, I went to the living room, where I quickly located the ninth parcel of my Advent calendar. This one was a tiny box about the size of a deck of cards and barely made a noise when I shook it. In keeping with my lazy Sunday vibe, I took my time as I opened the snowman motif wrapping paper.
It was funny how, at the start of the month, I’d been completely apprehensive about the calendar, dead-set on not participating. I wouldn’t confess this to my sister, but each morning I was getting a little more eager to find out what she’d left for me on the treat days and a little more curious to work out how it would tie into the next task.
I tore into the paper and opened the box, finding only a note from Anita with a Spotify link and the words:
Banish your bah-humbugs with my favorite Christmas beats!
My sister was a sucker for all kinds of festive music, old and new, and while I didn’t share her enthusiasm as much, I decided to give her gift a try. Bringing up her playlist on Spotify, I connected my cell to the Bluetooth speaker on the shelf behind me.
As the classic “Jingle Bell Rock” played, I couldn’t help tapping my feet before reaching underneath the sofa for the old box of family ornaments, deciding it was time to hang a few more on the tree. I pulled out a star we’d crafted from multicolored wooden beads threaded onto wire spokes, and looped the string at the top around one of the branches.
Next came blue-and-white marbled spheres, which Dad had helped us dip into various pots of glossy paint. I found salt-dough snowmen and clay discs stamped with our names and sprayed in gold. Beneath those were cinnamon sticks, to which we’d tied scraps of green fabric, turning them into tiny Christmas trees.
The box was a veritable treasure trove of childhood memories, and as I hung another ornament on my now vastly bedazzled tree, the music switched to Harry Styles’ cover of “Wonderful Christmastime.”
I stood for a moment, thinking Harry was right—Christmas could be, and used to be, a wonderful time for me. Perhaps I could allow myself a moment to enjoy the season, if only for the length of the song. Forget the world and my issues for a second, and just be .
My feet weren’t the only things moving to the music now. Dazey watched—more than a little puzzled—as I danced around the living room, shimmying my hips despite my bruise. When Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton’s “You Make It Feel Like Christmas” came on, there was no stopping me as I twirled around.
Dazey sat on the sofa, and as I danced past her and she let out a loud meow, I turned around, astonished, when she looked at me with those huge green eyes and purred. An actual, proper purr .
“Are you messing with me?” I asked, hands at my waist. “Is this your way of leveling up our meet-and-don’t-greet routine, or are you apologizing for yesterday?”
She blinked twice so I walked over slowly. Kneeling in front of her, I waited for a few seconds before stretching out an arm. I expected her to jump up and scamper off, but when my fingers touched the soft, silky fur behind her ears, she leaned in and purred a little louder, closing her eyes as she tilted her head.
“How about we call a truce?” I said. “No more funny business until Anita gets home.”
I grinned when Dazey opened one eye, got up, shook out her fur, and trotted off. Mom once told me making progress was better than expecting perfection, which seemed particularly pertinent when it came to Dazey and me. Maybe Anita’s playlist had helped her mood, too.
I turned the music down a little and headed to my bedroom to work on finishing the Titanic . My phone rang after five pieces, and when I saw Marco’s number, my smile grew so wide it almost hurt my face. As my fingers began to tremble in anticipation of speaking with him, I almost dropped my cell.
“Hey,” I said, intensely aware of how winded I sounded and knowing it wasn’t from all the dancing. “How are you?”
“I’m great, thanks. What about you? Fully recovered from your rooftop adventure?”
I laughed. “Thankfully, yes. I’m glad it’s Sunday and I don’t have to go to the office.”
“Speaking of work,” Marco said, “I’m happy to report I’ve got the finance stuff ready for you. I’d love to drop off what I have so far. Any chance I can stop by your place this morning? Unless you’d like the day to yourself…I know we’ve been spending a bunch of time together these past few days.”
I jumped up, raced to the mirror, and took in my bed head and Anita’s baggy sweatpants. “No, I’m happy for you to come over. Please do. Can you give me about an hour though?”
“Perfect. See you soon.”
Thirty minutes later I’d tidied the apartment, showered, tamed my hair, and was putting the finishing touches on my makeup when Anita sent a text.
Did you open today’s calendar treat? I bet it helped…
I smiled to myself, unwilling to confess I’d danced around the apartment to Christmas tunes, and decided it was time to have another bit of defiant sisterly fun.
Grinning, I headed to my closet, where I dug out my bikini with the yellow crossover top and navy-blue flowery bottoms that admittedly fit a little better five pounds ago. After locating my sheer white sarong and the large straw summer hat, I changed into my new outfit.
We had some maraschino cherries and mini cocktail umbrellas in the kitchen, so I got to work making a smoothie, pulling ice and frozen mango from the freezer and adding it to the blender with milk, a blob of yogurt, and a dash of honey.
Once done, I turned up Anita’s playlist, grabbed my sunglasses, and took my drink to the living room, where I shot a quick video of myself lying on the sofa. I sent it to my sister with the message, Loving these early summer vibes. Anita immediately wrote back with an array of laughing emojis, and as I was about to engage in a round of text sparring, the doorbell rang.
Excitement built as I rushed to the door and pulled it open, my eyes widening when Marco stood in front of me with two banker’s boxes clutched in his hands and a plastic bag dangling from one arm. He was as handsome as ever, dressed in an emerald green shirt he’d paired with blue jeans. Meanwhile, I realized a little too late that I still looked as if I was heading to the beach.
“Let me guess,” he said, raising an eyebrow while his eyes fluttered over my outfit. “Either you’re running away from the holiday season entirely and catching a flight south, or this has something to do with your Advent calendar.”
“I, uh, the latter,” I blurted, hoping my sunglasses did a good enough job of hiding most of the heat shooting to my face. “Anita gave me her holiday playlist, so I was trying to mess with her by sending a video of me listening to it dressed like this.”
“Your methods are ingenious,” Marco said as I ushered him inside, and Dazey, who’d wandered over, weaved between his ankles. “Or maybe you’re an evil genius. I haven’t decided.”
“In that case, why don’t you join me on the dark side? Maybe I can interest you in a mango smoothie.” I held my breath, wondering what he’d make of my invitation. I’d meant for us to hang out as friends, but my words had come out a bit flirty.
“I don’t have my swim shorts, but a smoothie sounds delicious. I brought chestnut cheesecake.” Marco paused to look at me again, his voice becoming softer. “You look amazing today, by the way. I mean, you always look amazing. Obviously.”
“Thanks,” I said, noticing a hint of pink creeping across his neck and glad I wasn’t the only one getting flustered. “Help yourself to the smoothie in the kitchen. I’ll get changed, and we can look at the documents you brought.”
Anita’s bedroom was closer than mine, and, conscious of the fact that I was walking ahead of Marco with only a tiny bikini and a sheer white sarong covering my backside, I darted through her door and over to her closet, grabbing the first pair of pants and shirt I could lay my hands on.
When I arrived in the living room, Marco had set the banker’s boxes next to the coffee table and stood in front of my Advent calendar. As he turned toward me, he asked, “Is Anita’s plan working? Seems she may be getting you into the Christmas spirit after all.”
“More than I’ll admit to her,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll have to repay her after the holidays for cheering me up. It’s the least I can do.”
“Got anything in mind?”
“She keeps asking me to go ice climbing,” I replied with a shudder. “Hard pass. She’s talked about repainting her bedroom for ages and has all the supplies, so maybe I’ll do it later today.”
“Want some help?” Marco asked.
“Really? That would be amazing, but”—I pointed at the banker’s boxes—“what about Dessert Dudes’ finances?”
Marco waved a hand. “I’ll fight off the IRS another day, and I don’t have to be at the kitchen until early tomorrow morning. Plus, I had a painting gig in high school.”
“Sounds like this was meant to be then. Anita bought paint that’s supposed to be a one-and-done coat. Maybe it’ll be quicker than we think. Here, I’ll show you.”
Preparations to redecorate didn’t take long. The Christmas music continued playing in the background as we moved Anita’s dresser and chair into the hall. After covering her bed and the floors with a set of old sheets, we unscrewed the electrical outlet covers, removed the curtain rod, and filled and sanded a few cracks and rough spots on the walls before opening the first can of paint.
My sister had chosen a color called Alpine Blue, which made Marco and me grin, and we got to work, using smaller, thinner brushes to cut in along the ceiling and baseboards before applying paint to the walls with rollers.
With the two of us working in tandem, it didn’t take much time to finish, leaving me disappointed that our project would end so soon. At one point I even wished I hadn’t found a stepladder in the hallway closet because—while it might not have made for a practical alternative—I could’ve asked him to lift me up so I could reach the top section of the walls.
Standing back to admire our handiwork, I took a moment to survey the room. As far as I could tell, there wasn’t a hint of the tired old beige color remaining and the new paint seemed perfect. Still, I shook my head.
“I’m not sure ‘one-and-done’ is quite accurate,” I said. “Pretty sure it needs another coat.”
Marco looked at me, and as I held my breath, he smiled and nodded. “At least one. Oh, you have paint on your face.” He reached out and softly wiped my cheek. “Uh-oh. I made it worse.”
“That’s okay,” I replied. “There’s some on yours, too. Here, let me show you…” With a giggle, I touched his nose with my brush. “See? Right there, and there.” I dabbed his right cheek, then his left, and all the while he held perfectly still, his eyes twinkling.
“My turn.” He took the brush from me and stepped forward. “Let’s see how you look with Alpine Blue freckles.”
I squealed and tried to dart away, but he caught me and held on tight. While I giggled and squirmed, he turned me around and dabbed the paintbrush all over my face, the bristles tickling my cheeks. Stretching to reach for the roller, I managed to grab it with my fingertips, and before Marco knew what was happening, I’d rolled it across his bare left forearm, all the way from his fingers to his elbow.
“Argh, I surrender,” he guffawed, letting me go all too soon and taking a step back, the warmth of his touch lingering on my skin as he tilted his head. “You look like you have an acute case of blue measles. Actually, it’s kind of adorable.”
I couldn’t let the day with Marco end so soon. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. Glancing at my phone, I said, “It’s coming up on two o’clock. Are you hungry?”
Marco put a hand to his stomach. “Starving.”
“Excellent,” I replied, smile wide. “Time for a break. Let’s see what I can make for lunch.”