Chapter Three Juliana
Chapter Three
Juliana
When I get downstairs, Eric’s staring out the living room’s bay window, all bundled up and ready to go.
“It’s flurrying,” he says with his back still turned away from me.
“Perfect weather for tree shopping.”
Eric spins around and scans me from head to toe. It’s unnerving to be the subject of his inspection. Somehow it’s as intimate as lying in bed with him all night. “Are you going to eat something before we leave?” he asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m saving my appetite for hot chocolate and croissants. It’s a Silver Spring holiday market tradition.”
He furrows his brow. “We’re not just going to one of those pop-up tree lots?”
“Well, if you want me to immerse myself in the holidays, I’m going to go all out. So no, not just a lot. It’s a Christmas village!”
“Oh, joy to the world,” he says, grimacing.
I put on my coat and scarf and pull him along. “Think of it this way—the prying eyes in this house won’t be with us, so we’ll get a break from all this fake lovey-dovey stuff.”
“Personally, I’m a fan of all this fake lovey-dovey stuff, so you’re not selling this outing all that well.”
I playfully jostle his shoulder. “Something tells me we’re going to be even better as friends than we were as lovers.”
Easy, breezy, and unaffected—that’s the vibe I’m going for. My heart is tucked away in a box for the weekend.
Eric stumbles mid-step. “That’s . . . an odd thing to say.”
I pretend not to hear him and hum Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” as we walk toward the door.
I’m pulling said door open when my mother calls out to us.
“Hey, we’ll see you there!” she says.
I turn around and blink at her. “See us where?”
“At the market. Nicole and I need to pick up some candles as a gift to the new family that moved in to the Abbasis’ old place. But don’t worry. We’re not going to interfere with your tree shopping. We want you two to start making your own traditions.”
“That’s so nice of you, Sonia,” Eric gushes. Then he holds out his hand to me and grins so wide I can see the silver filling from that one cavity he got when he was a kid. “C’mon, Pumpky Wumky, let’s go make some memories and find the perfect tree.”
“I’m going to Pumpky Wumky you upside your head if you don’t stop calling me these ridiculous names.”
He chuckles. “Even better as friends, huh? Doubtful.”
Eric and I stroll through Veterans Plaza in downtown Silver Spring, both of us in awe of the way the space mimics a cozy Christmas village.
Festively decorated vendor tables draped in red cloth line the perimeter of the space, and a large temporary stage sits in front of the civic building.
Holiday music is pumping through speakers cleverly hidden behind small Christmas trees at several entry points.
We’re walking arm in arm since my mother and Nicole could pop up at any moment.
“Did you come here as a kid?” Eric asks.
“As a teenager, yes. I think it first opened when I was in high school. My friends and I used to hang out here during Christmas break and ice-skate in the tiniest rink known to man. They don’t operate the rink anymore, though.”
“That’s sweet. Now that I’m here, I can see the appeal.”
“I knew you would,” I say, squeezing his arm.
We pass a dozen vendors before we get to my favorite stand, Amelia’s Sips and Sweets. I immediately disengage from Eric and get in the unsurprisingly long line. “I know my order. Do you want anything? Hot chocolate? A croissant?”
“I’ll just take a sip of yours,” he says.
“Um, no you won’t. This is very much an experience, and I want it all to myself.”
“Well, damn, stingy,” he says, rubbing his jaw as he studies me. “Fine. I’ll have a hot chocolate too.”
“With whipped cream?”
“Sure, I love cream,” he says, his eyes going smoky.
“Ew, stop it. You’re giving me the ick.”
He barks out a laugh. “For once, I have to agree with you.”
“Juliana? Juliana Silva?” someone says behind me. “Is that you?”
I follow the voice until my gaze lands on a familiar face. “Will Gatling, is that you?”
“It sure is,” my high school boyfriend says.
“Oh wow, it’s been ages!” I say, pulling him in for a hug.
Will and I were kids when we dated, had no expectations that we’d be anything other than high school sweethearts, and ended our relationship on good terms. I’ve always wondered what became of him. Judging by Eric’s frozen expression, I must have mentioned this fact to him at some point.
“I’m so glad we bumped into each other!” Will says.
A woman in line gives us the evil eye for messing up the flow of traffic.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “Feel free to go ahead.”
Her eyes go round—kindness in a long line is hard to come by in the DMV—and she quickly jumps in front of us.
“What are you doing here?” Will asks. “Visiting the family?”
“Yeah, yeah. I live in New York now.”
“Wait—so do I,” he says excitedly. “We should definitely exchange numbers.”
Eric clears his throat, as if I need a reminder that he’s here. I don’t. I could probably count the number of times he’s poked the inside of his cheek since Will and I started chatting. (Four.)
“Oh, Will Gatling, this is my—” I bite my lip as I think about how to finish that sentence, but Eric fills the silence.
“I’m Eric, her fiancé,” he says, firmly shaking Will’s hand.
Will’s eyes widen, and then his gaze swings between Eric and me. “Oh, sorry we got carried away. Nice to meet you.”
“Same,” Eric says with about as much emotion as a robot powering down for the evening.
Will straightens. “Okay, well, I’ll let you two get back to it.”
I’m sure Will wants to escape the awkwardness, but I tug on the arm of his jacket before he can disappear. “Hang on a sec. Give me your number. I’ll call you when I’m back in town. It would be nice to catch up.”
Eric takes in a deep breath and grinds his jaw.
Will glances at Eric before he recites his number, then says, “Okay, I uh . . . need to . . . do something. Bye.”
After Will sprints away and gets swallowed by the crowd, Eric shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat and sniffs. “Was that necessary?”
“Was what necessary?” I ask.
“Flirting with the guy in front of my face.”
“Oh my God, you have got to be kidding me. Acknowledging someone I know—”
“An ex-boyfriend.”
“And also someone I know, is not flirting. Get it together, Mr. Phillips. This is not a good look on you.”
“You’re right,” he says, staring at the ground. “Forget I said anything.” He lifts his chin and gives me puppy dog eyes. “Forgive me?”
“No,” I grumble.
“C’mon, Juliana, this is going to take some getting used to. Give me some grace.”
“Where was your grace when I simply said hello to an old friend?”
“I slipped up. I’m human. But I apologized, didn’t I?”
Dammit, I can’t argue with that. I want to, though.
Suddenly someone puts their hands over my eyes. “Guess who!”
Shit. I’d like to stew in my bad mood, but I can’t possibly do that with my mother and Nicole around.
“Hey, you made it!” I say, forcing a smile. “Found your candles?”
M?e lifts a white paper bag in the air. “We sure did. And you two are getting some hot chocolate, I see.”
Eric throws an arm over my shoulder, pulls me close, and kisses my temple. “Only the best for my snookums.”
I’m going to chop him in the neck for his antics once they’re gone.
“No, Eric,” Nicole says. “Absolutely not. Keep working on it.”
He laughs. “I will. It needs to be perfect. Isn’t that right, babycakes?”
“Also no,” Nicole says, grinning. “You’re getting less attractive with each try.”
Eric pretends to stab a knife into his heart. “Wow, okay. I thought you were on my side.”
“You thought wrong,” Nicole says with a wink.
My mother shakes her head, although she’s plainly suppressing a smile. “Okay, it’s time for us to head back. I need to get the empad?o in the oven. See you at home.”
I kiss my mother on the forehead and squeeze Nicole’s hand. “Tchau.”
When they’re no longer in view, I flick his forehead.
“Ow, what was that for?” he asks, rubbing the spot.
“You know what that was for. Snookums? Babycakes? The kiss on the temple?”
He has the good sense to look sheepish. “Too much?”
“Yes. I—”
“Ma’am, what can I get for you?” the woman behind the counter asks me.
Whatever I was about to say is forgotten. The best hot chocolate in the world awaits me. Plus, I kind of liked having Eric’s mouth on me again, so I’ll let the shenanigans slide—just this one time.
“Told you it was delicious.”
Eric licks his lips. “I thought you were overhyping it, but I must admit, that was excellent.”
Eric looks so handsome I want to clobber him.
There’s an easiness in his gait, a quiet confidence in the way he assesses his surroundings.
The camel-brown coat and cashmere scarf he’s wearing only accentuate his distinguished demeanor.
The warmth in his whiskey-colored eyes draws you in.
Makes you wonder if you’re lucky enough to be the subject of his thoughts.
I wipe a bit of whipped cream off his lip, and we both freeze. Oh God, that’s the kind of thing a girlfriend or a fiancée does. I’m neither.
“Sorry about that,” I say, taking a step back and tossing my empty paper cup in the trash.
“Not a problem,” he drawls, his pupils flaring as he studies me.
No, no, no. I am not equipped to be this man’s occasional hookup.
My heart wouldn’t survive it. I need to remember that he doesn’t believe we have a future together.
I need to remember that we’re incompatible on a number of levels.
I need to keep us on track and on task. “Enough dawdling. Let’s get this tree. ”
I scramble ahead of him, desperately wanting to create some space between us, but his long legs are no match for my shorter ones. I resign myself to his company. After all, this is what I signed up for.
We pass several more stands before we reach the lot at the northern end of the plaza.
Rows and rows of fresh trees, a mix of Fraser firs and Scotch pines, await their eventual owners.
It’s still flurrying, and the air is crisp and surprisingly invigorating.
It couldn’t be a more perfect day to choose a tree.
Eric and I wander around a bit and eventually gravitate to the firs.
Their fragrant branches tend to fill a space with a Christmassy feel and can handle heavy ornaments.
Buying fresh trees is a relatively new thing for Eric, who says his family swore by a plastic tree that was made of three parts and lived in a box eleven months out of the year.
“What are you thinking, size-wise?” he asks.
“It doesn’t need to be huge. Just full enough to make an impact.”
“That’s what she said.”
I tilt my head and give him a flat stare. “No one, and I mean no one, said that.”
“You thought it, though. As soon as the words came out of your mouth.”
I hide my face behind my hands. “It’s true. I did.”
My attention snags on a young couple with daughters who look to be around seven or eight years old. They’re wearing pajamas under their winter coats, and their adorable noses are rosy from the cold.
“How about this one, Daddy?” the smaller of the two asks.
“Or this one?” the other suggests.
“Well, we can’t get both, so how do we choose?” the mother asks.
The dad pretends to mount the tree. “Maybe we should see which one is better for climbing.”
The girls giggle; then the smaller one says, “Silly Daddy. We can’t climb it. The tree is for presents!”
They run off to the next row, their parents trailing after them.
My mouth goes slack as I think about what I just witnessed. I peer at Eric with suspicion. “Tell me the truth. Those were paid actors, right? There’s no way that wasn’t planned.”
Eric grins and holds up his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Jesus, that was weird,” I whisper.
“And sweet, too, right?” he says, inspecting the branches on a nearby tree.
“Definitely,” I say absently. Because I’m still thinking about that family and how perfect the moment seemed. Honestly, it’s the kind of scenario tailor-made to tug at my heartstrings. That could be Eric and me. If we were blessed with kids someday. “Is that what you want?”
Eric whips around. “What?”
“When you say you want a family, is that what you’re envisioning?”
He approaches carefully, as if he’s wondering why I’m pondering the issue. “I want to share my life with someone, and yes, I want to share my life with children too. They don’t have to be mine by birth. But yeah, that’s the kind of family I’m picturing—if I’m blessed to have one.”
Why is this man in my head? And why am I suddenly realizing we have so much potential? So much to fight for?
“I think you’re going to make a great dad someday,” I say softly. Because I mean it. Then I point to the tree he was just inspecting. “This is the one.”