Chapter 1 #2
“The man-watcher membership.”
I laugh. “That’s just one day a year. And it’s for research!”
The whole car erupts in laughter, even Steph, who we woke with our discussion of men and abs.
We drive back into Waterford. The familiar buildings welcome me like a hug.
The trees, now turned orange and burgundy over the past month, only add to my nostalgia.
I love this town. In less than a week everything will transform from fall to Christmas.
The nylon banners on the old street lamps will bear words like Joy and Merry Christmas with images of holly and ornaments.
The shops will all boast Christmas window displays.
And the tree will go up in the town square.
We drive through town into the old neighborhood where most of us live, and I drop everyone off at Stephanie’s.
“See you for dinner,” Noelle says, leaning down and peeking at me with her arm propped on the car door.
“Ugh. Yes. Who’s going?” I ask, slightly regretting my RSVP.
She smirks. “Everyone. Even Gage.”
I’m quiet for a beat too long. “Sorry. I’m not complaining. I’m just tired. But don’t worry. I’ll get a catnap and freshen up and then I’ll be ready for the pre-wedding festivities.”
Carson and Alyssa are getting married next month. They invited everyone in the wedding party to dinner tonight to hang out. It’s not like we need to get to know one another. We’ve already been locked in a cabin together during a ski trip last winter. I know Carson and his friends well enough.
I don’t want to rock the boat. If getting us together is important to Alyssa and Carson, I’m there. No questions asked.
“Okay. We’ll see you at our place at six,” Noelle says.
There’s a hesitancy in her expression. I’m not sure why, so I just wave when she shuts the car door and then I drive back to my place.
A nap and a quick shower was all it took to make me feel like myself again.
I’m not sporting my Black Friday shopping outfit anymore.
I’ve changed into boots, a corduroy skirt and a cardigan.
I walk up to Noelle and Liam’s house with a pan of twice-baked potatoes in hand.
The door pops open before I even knock, and standing on the other side of the screen door is Gage.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even say anything.
He just stares at me like I’ve got something in my hair or one of my false eyelashes fell off and is crawling down my cheek like a rogue caterpillar.
Why did I wear those anyway? I get a twinge of imposter syndrome when I put them on. I feel prettier, but also like a kid trying on her mom’s high heels.
“I … uh … is there an eyelash on my cheek … or something?” I sputter out by way of greeting.
He squints. “No. I don’t see anything.”
Then he opens the screen door. I step back while it swings in my direction.
Gage stands there with a not-quite-scowl on his otherwise handsome face.
He’s nice looking. The best looking man in the friend group, if you ask me.
But beauty is not skin deep, and Gage is aloof as all get out.
He’s always been more of what I’d call a man’s man.
He prefers spending Sunday afternoons with the guys watching football or basketball.
He’d rather go fly a helicopter than engage in a conversation.
And he smiles about four times a year. Not that I’m counting.
I only observe men closely on that one special day in January.
But when you’re friends with a group of people—whether that friendship is forced due to several of them coupling up or not—you notice things. And I notice Gage.
He’s got sandy brown hair that’s darker in the winter and lighter in the summer when he basically lives outdoors.
He’s avid in his quest for adventure. His eyes are a dark brown with light flecks of green and orange in the irises.
And when he looks at you, you feel exposed.
At least I do. I feel like he’s picking me apart, or trying to make sense of me.
It’s not exactly a put-you-at-ease experience when Gage fixes his attention on you.
His broodiness should make him less appealing.
And, ostensibly, it does. But in this weird way, it also makes him more of an enigma—a puzzle I’d like to solve—not in a romantic way, of course.
When I finally find a man and settle down, he’ll be happy-go-lucky and easy-going like me—warm, welcoming, full of smiles, not doling them out like they’re the last few chocolate bars in a bowl of candy on Halloween.
“Happy Black Friday,” Gage says in this droll tone that makes me feel like the word happy means anything but. Black. He’s definitely carrying that vibe into the greeting.
“Happy Black Friday,” I nearly chirp back.
“You don’t,” he says, his face never cracking from that statue-like stony non-expression.
“I don’t what?”
“Have an eyelash on your face.”
“Oh. Uh. Thanks.” I walk past him. Then I feel like that might have been a bit abrupt. “Sorry. I mean that. Thanks.”
“Sure.” He turns away from me and shuts the door.
I walk down the hallway, past the staircase into the kitchen at the back of the house.
“Hey!” I shout when I walk into the room. “The potatoes are here!”
“Awesome!” Mitch shouts. He’s wearing a shirt. For now.
Gage meanders in behind me and leans against the wall as if he couldn’t be more put out to be hanging out with his best guy friends and their girlfriends and extended friend circle.
“Here,” Mitch says. “I’ll take that for you.”
“Aww. That’s sweet of you,” I say, handing the pan over.
“It’s not sweet,” Stephanie quips from across the room where she’s mixing sherbet into a punch bowl. “He just wants first dibs.”
“Not gonna pretend I don’t,” Mitch says with a smile.
“Let’s bring everything in to the table,” Noelle suggests.
Once we’ve brought all the food from the kitchen and taken our seats around the table, Liam makes an announcement.
“We’ve done something and you can all forgive us later.”
“Seriously?” Carson asks. “Forgiveness will be needed?”
My fork hovers over my plate. Last time Liam and Noelle did something, we all ended up snowed in. That worked out great for Alyssa and Carson. They might never have started dating if it weren’t for the forced proximity of that trip. And, I had fun, so I can’t complain.
“We’ve signed everyone up for the town-wide Secret Santa,” Liam says.
Gage groans. Then in a stoic voice, he asks, “Couldn’t we all just donate?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Alyssa asks.
Noelle shoots Gage this look only an elementary teacher could carry off with such finesse. It’s half scolding, half loving, and it comes off so effortlessly commanding while still seeming gentle.
She says, “Most of you know the Secret Santa involves a fundraiser that pairs people anonymously for festive meetups and gift exchanges. All the sign-up fees go to Project Mistletoe to help children in lower income families have a better Christmas.”
“I love Secret Santa!” I say, maybe too quickly and with a bit too much enthusiasm.
My sister and I participated in Project Mistletoe growing up.
Mom always made sure we did something for others over the holidays.
Some of my best memories are from those years—making handmade gifts for my Secret Santa, and putting together baskets for families who needed a little extra.
A few times, we even had the privilege of delivering them in person.
I’ll never forget the look on those kids’ faces when they opened their presents.
The only part of Secret Santa I’ve never loved? Someone picking my name. I’ve always been better at giving than receiving.
Liam smiles at me. “We hoped you’d all be on board.”
“I’m on board,” Mitch says. “Pass the potatoes, please.”
Everyone laughs. Not Gage. I guess it’s one of the three hundred and sixty-one days a year he doesn’t smile. Our group smiles at one another while Gage sits in his chair, stone-faced and detached.
Mitch looks around the table. “What’s so funny?”
“You are,” Stephanie says with a warmth in her voice.
Mitch smiles at her and leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his neck so his arm muscles flex.
“Don’t start with me, Mitchell. I’m not interested,” Stephanie chides.
“Start what? And who wouldn’t be interested in this?” he starts to lift his shirt from the hem.
“Okaaay,” Liam says. “I think someone needs to pass Mitch the potatoes, and make it quick.”
The rest of the meal, we break into side conversations, Alyssa and Carson talk about the wedding plans and how things are coming along. Gage sits quietly off at the end of the table, intentionally removing himself from any interactions. I find myself studying him.
After dinner, Noelle and I are doing dishes in the kitchen while everyone else hangs out in the living room around the fire.
“I don’t remember him being that bad,” I say, handing Noelle a plate to rinse and picking up another plate to scrub.
“Who?”
I lower my voice. “Gage. He seems grumpier than usual. He was always a bit standoffish to us girls, but he’s extra grinchy this year. Am I wrong?”
Noelle steps closer to me. “There’s a story behind his grinchiness.” She glances over her shoulder and whispers even more softly. “Don’t tell Gage I told you.”
“I won’t. Why would I?”
“Right. Well, he met a woman online and their romance progressed pretty quickly. He was head over heels. They started dating right before the ski trip. It was all new then, and not exclusive until after Christmas. He would fly out to see her. Took her on trips. They dated long-distance for seven months. He was about to propose, according to Liam. He bought a ring and everything. Out of the blue, the weekend before he went to see her to pop the question, she broke up with him for another guy. Her ex-boyfriend, or something. It’s been a rough four months for him.
He’s totally opposed to pretty much everything now, not just dating. ”
“Oh my goodness,” I say, glancing toward the living room. “I can’t imagine.”
“Yeah.”
Gage is on the far corner of a couch, watching while the others laugh and talk over one another. Silent. Still.
Maybe there’s more to him than I thought.
I glance back at Noelle. She’s studying me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
I lower my voice. “Do you think it’s worse to have loved and lost, or to have never loved at all?”
Noelle is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “I think it’s worse to be stuck in your own head … so busy protecting your heart, you miss what might be possible right in front of you.”