Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Alex
I catch up to Finley, the coil loosening when I see she’s smiling at her phone. There’s an elderly woman on the screen, and it makes me curious about her neighbors. I walk up behind Finley, lean over her shoulder and smile at the woman.
“Is that him?” she screeches, her eyes wide.
Finley glances over her shoulder at me and gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry. I’ll wrap this up.”
If her friend is the one who made her happy, then she can stay on the call all afternoon, as far as I’m concerned. “No. I want to meet your friend.”
Finley’s mouth parts in surprise.
Ignoring her bewilderment, I give my attention to the woman on the screen. “Hi, I’m Alex. I hope you’ve been assured I’m not a pirate.”
Finley giggles, and the sound feels like warm butter on fresh-baked bread. “I think you mean a member of the Russian mafia gang,” she says.
“Oh,” I say with a huge grin. “That’s right. Can’t promise I’m not one of those.”
The woman on the screen laughs. “Oh, Fin, I like him.”
Finley glances back at me with a soft smile. “Eh. He’s okay.”
Her comment goes straight to my heart, making it swell.
Jesus, it was a nothing statement, yet it feels like she actually means it. Like maybe I’m not just okay, but worth keeping around.
Where did that come from?
Focus.
“You know who I am,” I say to Finley’s friend, “but I don’t know which grandmother you are. You’re either Barb or Mirna.” I hold up a hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.”
The woman giggles.
From what little I knew about her friends, I take a guess based on her laugh, “You’re Barb.”
“Bingo!” she says exuberantly.
“You should know I’m trying to make sure Finley’s having all the Christmas experiences,” I tell her. “Last night we went caroling. She baked with my mom and sister this morning. We just had boozy Christmas coffee, and now we’re Christmas shopping for my family.”
Barb is beaming. “She told me.”
“I hope she told you she’s having a good time,” I say, and turn slightly serious, “but if she tells you she’s not, I need you to let me know so I can step up my game.”
Barb laughs. “She’s having a wonderful time.”
“In case that changes, make sure Finley gives you my number so you can let me know.”
She gives me a sly look. “She’s already given it to me.” Her eyes narrow. “You think I’d let her go over a thousand miles away with a man I’ve never met with no way to contact you?”
I feel lightly chastised, but I say, “That honestly makes me feel better. I’m glad she has you looking out for her.”
She clasps her hand to her chest. “Aren’t you a darling boy?”
I’m not sure I’ve ever been called a darling boy before, and for some reason I like it, even if I know I’m not. “Thank you.”
“We need to go, Barb,” Finley says.
“Alright, but be sure to check in later,” Barb says. “You know Mirna wants to talk to you when she gets back.” She glances over at me. “And maybe Alex can meet her too.”
“We’ll see,” Finley says. “He might be busy. Love you, Barb. Bye!” She gives a little wave to her phone and Barb blows a kiss just before Finley hangs up.
“She seems sweet,” I say.
“She’s ornery,” Finley says with a laugh as she drops her phone into her coat pocket, then glances around. “Where’s Mallory?”
“She said she found a friend and wanted to catch up. She’ll find us when she’s done.” I glance around. “But it seems we lost Tyler.”
“He also found a friend,” she says, “He said he’s had enough shopping and was going to get a beer with a guy from high school at St. Nick’s bar.” She grins. “Barb called dibs on him if he’s not taken.”
“He met her too, huh?” I ask, confused by the unsettled feeling in my gut.
Is that jealousy? Over my brother? I don’t see how. Maybe the coffee isn’t sitting well.
“When he came over to let me know he was taking off, he apologized for interrupting. But Barb insisted on meeting him before he left for the bar.”
The reminder of St. Nick’s fills me with shame over my behavior last night and what Finley overheard this morning. Maybe that’s what’s causing my unsettled feeling.
We stare at each other for several seconds and a realization hits me. “So, we’re alone.” The words coming out huskier than I intended.
There’s a tiny hint of a smile on her lips, and my gaze lingers there until it lifts to her warm brown eyes, and I lose myself in them.
When I’m with her, I feel calmer. Like she siphons off my stress and replaces it with something I can’t name. Like I’m settled, but that’s not it either. It’s something deeper, something I don’t understand, but I do know that I like how it feels.
I like being with her. I like that there aren’t any expectations from either of us. We’re just together, having fun. I’ve never felt that with any of my other girlfriends, but I have to admit, I wasn’t friends with any of them.
After a few seconds, she looks away, and says cheerfully, “It would be a good opportunity for us to buy our Christmas presents.”
“But we haven’t seen everything yet.”
She laughs. “There’s no way you want to keep checking out homemade oven mitts and candles.”
She’s right. If someone had told me last week that I’d not only spend several hours at the Christmas market, but do so willingly, I would have laughed in their face. Yet, here I am, and I’m not hating it. “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “I’m having fun.”
Finley gives me the side eye, obviously not believing me.
“I am. Now let’s start shopping.”
We continue to the next booth, but Finley seems less interested in browsing and has now moved into shopping mode.
She says that while they were baking this morning, my mom said she wanted to learn how to bake bread, so she gets her a bread cookbook.
I ask what I can get to go with her baking theme, and I get a small jar of wet dough that looks like an underachieving Play-Doh that’s apparently sourdough starter, along with instructions on how to “feed” it and a very expensive pot with a lid for her to bake the bread in.
The vendor says I can leave the pot there until we finish shopping since it’s so heavy.
As we leave the stall, I realize Mallory hasn’t sent me a Venmo request for the ornament.
Finley moves to the next stall, so I pull out my phone and see I missed a text.
Alex, I’m so sorry! It’s gone!
My heart skips a beat, and I call out to Finley, “I have to make a call. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” she says as she disappears into a booth selling knitwear.
Freaking out, I call Mallory and she answers right away. “Oh, my God, Alex. I’m so sorry!”
“No. They have to have it,” I insist. “They just had it!”
“I showed them the photo, Alex,” she says in a tearful rush, “and the lady said she was pretty sure she’d sold it right before I showed up.”
“Did she tell you who bought it?”
“Why?” she asks in disbelief. “Do you plan to track them down and take it from them?”
“Not take it. I’d pay for it.”
“Oh, Alex,” she sighs, and I can’t tell if she thinks I’m stupid or romantic.
“It’s important to her, Mal.”
“Wow,” she says in amazement. “You really love her.”
I balk at her suggestion. I definitely don’t love her. I barely know her. Still, I can see why she’d think so. This isn’t my typical behavior.
“I’m not sure it’s love,” I say, deciding to use this to my advantage.
“But I really like her.” Not a lie. “Coming to Hollybrook meant a lot to her because it’s the kind of Christmas she and her mother always dreamed of.
I thought if I could give her that ornament, not only would it be like her mother was with her in spirit, but she’d have something special to help her remember Hollybrook. ”
“I love that you’re trying to give her something to tie her mom to her experience here, but as far as remembering Hollybrook, you can bring her back next year, right?” When I don’t answer, she adds, “I mean, you’d be crazy to break up with her.”
I pause, unsure what to say. “Maybe she’ll break up with me.”
“That seems far more likely,” she teases.
If this were real, I suspect Finley wouldn’t date me at all, so on the off chance we were dating, there’s no question she’d be the one to leave me. But this isn’t about me. This is about Finley and that Santa ornament.
I feel sick. It’s not like she’s going to be disappointed I didn’t get it for her.
She had no idea I was trying. But I’ve already imagined how happy she’ll be when she opens it.
The look of pure joy on her face. Even so, it’s not like she can be any more disappointed than she already was after losing the first one.
Then why does my failure to get it make me feel like I’m responsible for her pain?
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not a man ruled by emotion, yet I feel like emotion has ruled me all day.
“I’m really sorry, Alex,” Mallory says again.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, running a hand over my head in defeat while I watch Finley look at a mitten display. “I should have bought it while I was there, then had you hide the package.”
“Or I should have gone back there sooner.”
“Mal, you did exactly what I asked you to do. I’ll just find her something else.” But what else could compare? It feels hopeless to even try.
She gasps. “Wait. You haven’t gotten her anything yet?”
I cringe, grateful she’s not here to see my reaction.
“We agreed not to get each other presents,” I say, thinking fast, because I know Finley won’t be giving me a gift. But wait—she’s getting everyone else in my family gifts. It stands to reason she’ll find a way to get me something too.
“Do you need help?” she asks.
I want to say yes, but nothing else can measure up to that stupid ornament. It was my idea, and I want whatever replaces it to be my idea too.
Which is confirmation I’ve officially lost my mind.