Chapter 9 Gage
Gage
… the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day.
~ Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
It’s been a long day.
And a long night. I actually ended up having fun at Noelle and Liam’s. But it’s still a relief to be home. I’m snuggled in bed with Toothpick, looking over my courier jobs and flight lessons for the coming week.
Toothpick actually seems to be checking out the schedule with me. It’s kind of hard to tell, the way his lazy eye drifts this way and that.
A noise out front startles both of us. Toothpick jumps up so he’s standing on the bed. He barks twice and stops to look at me.
I stand, setting my computer on my side table, and Toothpick and I walk to the front window. My motion-sensing floodlights already kicked on.
From my spot at the window, I see a car speeding away. The only thing I can make out are the taillights. It’s too dark to see who it is or even what kind of car they’re driving.
I open the door. When I look down, there’s a basket on the mat.
“Not a burglar,” I tell Toothpick, though he seems to have already figured that out.
The basket is heavy. I set it on the coffee table and rifle through the contents: jerky, hot sauce, kettle chips, cheese, salami, and a knit cap.
There’s a jar of cocoa that looks homemade with a little recipe card tied around the neck of the jar in twine.
Nestled next to the cocoa is a cellophane bag full of four christmas cookies.
And then there’s a note. It’s printed on paper so no handwriting analysis can be done. Smart.
Gage,
I hope you enjoy these treats. I made the cocoa mix and I baked the cookies. I didn’t make anything else in the basket since I don’t know how to make chips or jerky.
Happy Holidays,
Your Secret Santa
That note makes me smile. Whoever my secret Santa is, they’re kind and they have a good sense of humor. It sounds like a woman’s voice. I can’t picture a guy saying he didn’t make chips and jerky. Maybe Mitch. But he’s not my Santa. I just know it.
I know who I hope my Santa is. But what’s the likelihood that I got Tori and she also got me? Even in a town as small as Waterford, those are slim odds.
Tori may not be the one who drew my name, but I drew hers.
So, the next morning, I wake early and after I’ve fed Toothpick and he’s done his business, I take my coffee with me into the workshop on the back of my property.
I’ve got a double deep back yard that backs up to some woods.
I built this workshop out here a few years ago just so I had a place to make a mess when I’m doing home repairs.
I love working with wood, so I also hoped one day I’d use it for small hobby projects. I haven’t done many of those.
Seeing Tori’s reaction to that ornament at the Makers Co-op inspired me. I’m carving a plaque with a likeness of the town square on it. At the bottom of the carving, I’m embossing the words A Waterford Christmas.
It’s either the cheesiest thing I’ve ever done, or the best. Only time, and her reaction, will tell.
I think about Tori while I carve—her laughter, her easy smiles, her thoughtful words, how she usually gives in to whatever the group wants, but then on a rare occasion she makes her own opinions known.
I think about how she came here to see Toothpick.
She’s so easy to be with. And she’s beautiful in an unexpected way.
She’s not glamorous or high-maintenance.
A man could easily overlook her. I did. But then, once you’ve awakened to her beauty, you’ll always see it.
Her sweetness and the goodness of her heart shines through into her appearance.
Eventually, I move from inside the shop out onto the little deck-like porch I attached to the side. I’ve got two rockers out here. The air is crisp, but there’s still no sign of snow and no prediction of it either.
I finish the carving mid-morning, lacquer it, and leave it in my shop to dry while I head out to the secret Santa exchange in town square.
I grab today’s gift on my way out. It’s nothing special, just a teacup with holly and berries on it and a tin of Christmas tea I picked up from the tea shop.
I remember Tori’s bucket list said, Have Christmas Tea.
I unintentionally memorized her list. Doing everything on it for her isn’t possible—not without giving away my identity as her secret Santa.
And there’s that one item … the mistletoe. I can’t imagine being the man she fulfills that with. Well, I can imagine it, and I do. But how I’d ever end up there? That would be a real Christmas miracle.
At least I can give her tea and fulfill a few other wishes from her list.
She won’t know it’s me. Anyone could pick tea as a gift. They wouldn’t have had to have seen her bucket list.
Everyone brings their gifts to a drop-off spot behind the local grocery wrapped in a paper bag so the gift wrap doesn’t show.
Volunteers transport our gifts to the town square where we’ll all unwrap in front of one another.
This part of the secret Santa program feels so extra and unnecessary.
Isn’t it enough that we’re running around buying gifts for people we wouldn’t usually even have on our holiday list?
Knowing I’ll get to see Tori unwrap the teacup and tea makes the event a little less unbearable. And watching her doesn’t disappoint. She jumps up and down and then walks around to each of her friends, showing off the pattern and the tin of tea.
“You look extremely interested in Tori’s gift,” Mitch says, sidling up to me and nudging my shoulder with his. “Or is it just Tori?”
“Just watching the women unwrap their presents,” I deflect.
“Someone’s her Santa.”
“Someone’s your Santa.”
Mitch cackles. “I want a shirt that says that.”
“Just so you could take it off in front of everyone?” I tease.
“Exactly,” he says without missing a beat. Then he looks down at the gift bag in my hand and asks, “What’d you get?”
“Socks.”
“Socks?” He laughs. “Man. You lose. Guess what I got.”
“No.”
“Come on. Guess.”
“Why? You’re going to tell me anyway.”
“Fine.” He huffs. “Ground coffee and a card with a link to a rad Christmas playlist. And this.” He pulls a knit cap out of his bag. It’s got our team’s logo on it.
“That’s pretty cool,” I admit.
“It is. And you just got socks. That’s like a lump of coal.”
“Well, if the lump fits …”
“I don’t know. You’ve been crawling off that naughty list lately.”
“Hmph.”
I don’t tell Mitch my socks weren’t ordinary socks.
They’re green with the face of the Grinch on them.
Along with the socks, there’s a mug that says, His Heart Grew Three Sizes That Day.
And there’s a small set of felt stuffed antlers.
I’m assuming those are for Toothpick. And there was another note. Typewritten again. It simply said:
I saw these socks and had to get them for you even though you may never wear them. And the antlers are for your new dog, though he may never wear them either.
Happy Holidays from your secret Santa in Whoville
Grinch socks? That’s someone with a sense of humor. Someone who feels comfortable enough laughing at my grumpy demeanor. And the antlers? It’s someone who knows about Toothpick. I’m hopeful, but not certain.
Liam walks over to me. “Are you coming over to watch the game?”
“Do I have to? I’m kind of peopled out. All these holiday events are killing me one shred of tinsel at a time.”
“Actually, yes. You have to come,” Mitch says, seemingly showing up again out of nowhere.
“I need a new friend group,” I say. “Maybe I should ask Santa for that.”
“Okay, Scrooge,” Carson turns away from his conversation with one of his neighbors to chime in. “Maybe after the visit from the three ghosts you’ll feel differently.”
“It’s going to take more than three ghosts,” Mitch teases.
“Give him a break,” Liam says. “He’s working through things at his pace.”
Liam turns to me. “I’ve seen you trying. And you got a dog. You’re even doing secret Santa. All things considered, I’d say you’ve earned the night alone if you really don’t want to come hang out.”
I look around at each of my friends. “I’ll be there. Okay? You happy?”
“Yes!” Mitch says. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“I’ll even pick up pizza and hot wings,” Carson says. “My treat.”
I shake my head. I might not have luck when it comes to romance, but I make up for it in friendships.
Tori approaches us with Noelle. She’s beaming.
“I got the best gift!” she practically squeals.
She holds up the cup and tea and turns it toward each of us. Then she carefully places it back in the gift bag. The look on her face makes me want to do more for her. A teacup and tea is nothing—and she’s this happy?
Mitch stares at her, then he glances at me. He’s got this sheepish grin on his face that makes me exceedingly nervous.
“Didn’t your list say Christmas Tea?” he asks.
“Yes! You remembered?”
“I remember the whole list,” Mitch says, wagging his eyebrows, but he doesn’t maintain eye contact with Tori. Instead he looks over at me, his brows still raised and a mischievous grin taking over his face.
I’m about to … I don’t know what, but I’ll do something—anything—to shut Mitch down.
But then Noelle turns to Liam and says, “We’re going to meet Steph and Jenn and Alyssa for a late lunch. See you at home?”
Liam places a kiss on Noelle’s cheek, and she and Tori walk away. I try hard not to stare after Tori, especially while Mitch is studying me.
As soon as the women have left, Carson starts trash-talking about the football game to Mitch. Their rival teams are playing one another this afternoon.
Liam tips his head toward a more private spot under one of the trees in the town square.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“Sure.” Anything to put space between me and Mitch right now.
Liam’s known for his heart-to-heart talks. By the way he put on a fatherly tone of voice and his steps are measured and purposeful, I’m guessing I’m about to be the recipient of some of Liam’s curated wisdom.
“It’s been nearly five months,” he starts in without prelude. “Do you think you’re ready to move on?”
“I was ready to move on five months ago. It’s not about her. She wasn’t the one.”
“I know. She wasn’t a bad person, just not right for you.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“You seemed so happy.”
“You’d think I’d be grieving her as a person.
But I don’t miss her. Not much. We had some fun times.
Some good talks. I’m honestly surprised how little I actually miss her.
I think I’ve just been licking my wounds.
I was bushwhacked. Never saw it coming. A thing like that makes a man wonder if he’s been blindsided or if he’s permanently blind.
What if the problem lies in me and I don’t see it coming again?
What if I throw myself all in and the next woman finds another guy right when I’m about to give her everything a man has to give? ”
Liam’s quiet. I appreciate that quality in him.
His lips go thin and he squints just the slightest. Then he says, “Those are all valid points to consider. After what you’ve been through, no matter how you slice it, opening up to another person will be a bigger risk. But sometimes the risk is worth it.”
I stare off toward a family getting into their SUV.
Mark, the husband and dad, was only a grade ahead of Liam and me in high school.
He settled down and has everything now. That’s the life I want.
A wife, kids, a house filled with laughter.
Good times and hard times, but all of them shared.
Late nights together with the one person I could never imagine living without.
Someone in my bed with breath that doesn’t smell as bad as Toothpick’s.
I chuckle.
“What’s funny?” Liam asks.
“Nothing. Just picturing the kind of woman I could end up with.”
“That’s the spirit. At least you’re open.” He pauses and then he adds, “I’ve been watching you around Tori. You two seem to hit it off pretty well.”
If only. He has no idea the feelings I have for Tori.
How would he? They came in like a rogue storm, seemingly out of nowhere.
I’m surprised I didn’t fall flat on my back in the middle of the Makers Co-op when that swell of awareness washed over me.
Ever since then, I can’t stop thinking about her, hoping I’ll see her, wondering what she’s up to when we’re apart.
Even now while she’s making her way to her car, my eyes are seeking her out in the crowd and I’m resisting the temptation to walk over to her—just to be near her.
I’ve done a lot of thinking since that awakening. Tori deserves the best.
Am I really the man for her?
That’s the question I keep rolling through my mind like a rock in a tumbler. I’m not ready to talk to Liam—or anyone—about the way I feel about Tori. Not yet.
“Tori’s too good to be true,” I tell Liam quietly. “Think about it. No one can be that happy all the time. She’s probably secretly a serial killer.”
Liam chuckles. “Yes. I’m sure she must be,” He shakes his head, but says, “You’re absolutely right. I don’t know how I didn’t pick up on her criminal tendencies before.”
We both laugh, and the moment passes. But Liam’s words don’t. You two seem to hit it off pretty well … We do. She’s one of a kind. I don’t need to go looking for a woman I’d take a risk on. I already found Tori. The question is what I’m going to do about it.
Liam and I say our goodbyes and I promise, again, to head over to his place for the game later. When I get home, I make a beeline to my dresser. Toothpick follows behind me and takes a seat at my feet, staring up at me with his head cocked.
“It’s just something I’ve been needing to do,” I tell him, pulling open my sock drawer.
I reach way into the back and pull out the small black box, turning it over in my hand.
I open the box and the ring stares back at me, a tangible reminder of how I almost gave my life and heart away to the wrong woman. I set the box on top of my dresser.
“Someone’s going to get that ring at a bargain,” I tell Toothpick.
I squat down and scratch under his chin. “Must be easy being a dog. You don’t have to mess with all this complicated stuff like dating and proposals and rings. If you like a girl … Well, I’m not saying I’m doing it your way … Anyway …”
He sticks his tongue out and licks my chin. I chuckle.
“You know that woman, Tori?” I ask Toothpick. “You like her, don’t you?”
He kisses me again. I back away and wipe my chin with my forearm.
“She might be coming around here more often. I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Toothpick’s tongue falls out of his mouth and he pants.
I’m taking that as a yes.