9. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Jimmy
The first sliver of morning light sneaks past the curtains, nudging me awake. I lie still, letting the warmth of the bed hold me a minute longer. My thoughts drift to yesterday's baking session with Eve—the way she handled the dough, the soft laugh that bubbled up when icing went awry. Those moments we shared felt natural—like the months apart had vanished.
"Shouldn't be thinking 'bout this," I mutter, running my fingers through my hair.
I push off the covers, get dressed, and trudge downstairs. Holly's in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with a flourish and humming a Christmas carol under her breath,.
"Mornin’, Jimmy," Hank says from his spot at the breakfast table, a cup of black coffee steaming beside him.
"Morning, Hank." I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a seat opposite him.
"Sleep well?" he asks, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Good enough," I reply, not quite ready to admit that sleep was more elusive than a snowflake in July.
Holly sets a plate of golden-brown pancakes before me, her green eyes twinkling. "Eat up, Jimmy. You'll need your strength for today."
"Thanks, Holly."
I watch as Hank reaches over to brush a stray curl from Holly's forehead, their fingers lingering in a moment of silent connection.
"Morning, everyone," Eve's voice calls out. I focus on my pancakes, cutting them into neat squares as if they hold the secret to navigating the mess of emotions inside me.
"Morning, Eve," Hank and Holly chorus.
"Hey." Her greeting to me is simple, tinged with the same awkwardness that's been shadowing us since I returned to Strawberry Falls.
"Hey," I echo.
"Big day ahead," Holly announces. "We're going to need all hands on deck."
"Count me in." I’m eager for anything to occupy my hands and divert my attention from Eve's proximity.
"Great! Hank needs help with the outside lights," Holly replies.
"Consider it done."
"Let's get to it, then," Hank says, standing up. He nods at me, a silent invitation to follow.
Snowflakes cling to my jacket as I balance on the ladder, stringing lights along the eaves.
"Looks good, Jimmy." Hank’s breath puffs out in the frosty air. "You've always had a knack for making things shine."
"Thanks." I secure the last clip and descend, dusting snow from my shoulders. "It's all about finding the right angle."
"Speaking of angles," he starts, a twinkle in his pale blue eyes tells me I will not like where this is going. "How are you and Eve holding up?"
I kick at a tuft of snow, sending it skittering across the porch. "We're... managing."
"Jimmy," Hank says gently as if coaxing a stray cat closer, "you know you can talk to me, right?"
"Sure, Hank." I look away, straightening wreath on the door. "It's just complicated, you know?"
"You've been carrying that weight for too long, son. Sometimes the hardest person to forgive is yourself."
"Maybe it's too late for forgiveness. Too much has happened. Too much has been lost."
"Never too late," Hank insists, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Don't wait until all you have are regrets."
Laughter peals through the walls, followed by the harmonious blend of the girls’ voices singing Christmas carols. My heart clenches. Eve sings with an unguarded joy that I haven't heard in months—since before the fire scorched our lives down to cinders.
"Jimmy, you okay?" Hank's concerned voice cuts through my reverie.
"Fine," I lie, swallowing hard. "Just... remembering the bakery. We used to play carols while we worked."
"Memories have a way of sneaking up on you." Hank claps a hand on my shoulder.
"Especially around Christmas."
"How about we head inside?" Hank nods toward the door. "You seem like you could do with a break and we both need to shake off this chill."
"Sounds good."
Inside, the warmth envelops us, chasing away the chill of the outdoors as we shuffle off our boots. Eve stands by the fireplace, laughter lighting her eyes as she chats with Holly. They share an easy camaraderie that twists my heart with longing.
"Here you go," Holly says, passing us steaming mugs. "This'll warm you boys from the inside out." The chocolaty aroma curls around me.
"Ah, nothing beats a good cup of cocoa after some hard work," Hank chimes in.
I watch Eve move around the room. Her chestnut hair catches the soft glow of Christmas lights, transporting me back to a time filled with promise.
"Shall we?" Hank's voice breaks through the nostalgia. He extends a hand to Eve.
"Come on, Jimmy," Holly urges, her fingers curling around mine. "Don't let an old man show you up."
I can't help but chuckle, allowing myself to be pulled onto the impromptu dance floor. My feet are clumsy, out of practice, but I follow Holly's lead while my gaze strays to Eve. She's laughing at something Hank said.
"Ease up there, Jimmy," Holly teases, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "We're dancing, not wrestling."
"Sorry," I mumble, trying to look anywhere but at Eve. It's like trying not to think of a pink elephant.
Hank, a master on his feet despite his years, twirls Eve effortlessly. Then, with a sly grin, he executes a maneuver that has Eve suddenly spinning into my arms while he sweeps Holly into his.
"Seems I'm needed elsewhere," Hank quips.
"Wait—" The protest dies on my lips as I'm suddenly face-to-face with Eve. Her scent, a subtle blend of cinnamon and vanilla, envelops me, and the world shrinks to the space between us.
"Hi," Eve whispers, her voice steadier than the tremor in her hands.
"Hey." My heart pounds frantically.
The opening chords of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" fill the room. Eve's hand finds mine, tentative yet warm. We step into the dance like countless times. The space is electric. Her shoulder brushes against me with every sway.
We move together awkwardly, memories swirling around us like snowflakes caught in a breeze. I close my eyes, letting the bittersweet lyrics wash over me—each word a reminder of everything I've missed, everything I've broken.
"Through the years, we all will be together, if the fates allow," the singer croons—a promise or a plea?
"May your days be merry and bright," I whisper, as the music swells.
"Jimmy?" Eve's voice wavers.
"Shh," I respond. "Just... let's just dance."
We dance as if our hearts weren't brimming with words we're too afraid to say. The song nears its end, and with each note, a sensation stirs inside me—some knot of fear, some tangle of regret unravels.
After the final chord fades, it's just us, breathless and close. Close enough to cross the chasm of hurt with just a lean, a whisper, a kiss...
The kitchen timer dings, sharp and intrusive, and Eve pulls away, her warmth retreating like the last note of the song. "I—I should check on that," she stammers, fleeing before I can find the courage to stop her.
I'm left with the ghosts of Christmas past and the whisper of a melody that speaks of second chances.
"Jimmy?" Hank's voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts. "You okay?"
"Fine," I lie, plastering on a half-smile.
"Good man," he claps my shoulder, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. "Let’s finish getting the lights up outside before we lose the light."
"I'm with you."
My mind spins, like a whirlwind, as I restlessly pace the confines of my room. Regret suffocates me like a fog. But there is a hint of hope.
The inn settles into silence, but next door, I hear the soft rustle of Eve's movements. My hand presses against the wall. She's there, just beyond the plaster and paint, so near yet miles away.
I debate knocking on her door—to bridge the gap with words or even just a shared silence. But fear roots me to the spot, leaving me trapped in indecision. I wonder whether the legend of Strawberry Falls holds any truth for us, whether love can truly heal when so much has been broken.
"Have yourself a merry little Christmas," I whisper into the stillness, a plea to the fates, to the town legend, to my own weary heart.