Chapter 1 #2
And, against all odds, once she got into the rhythm of it, the day didn’t seem quite so bad.
She found herself lulled into a strange kind of hypnotic routine, handing out leaflets, dodging stampeding children, nodding politely at harassed parents and selfie-stick-wielding tourists.
The hours slipped past faster than she would have believed after the catastrophic start to her morning.
“Welcome to Christmas at Carroll’s! It’s the happiest time of year!”
Merry Sinclair charged up her warmest smile, offering it to the young couple who had just walked through the door. She could see their relief as they caught the blast of hot air that blew down from the vent above, their cheeks glowing beneath their matching red pom-pommed reindeer hats.
She realised the young couple were standing there waiting for her to say something else, and she tried to make her smile even wider.
It must have been too wide, though, because they started to edge away.
Merry thrust a leaflet at them with one hand, using the other to nudge the itchy, oversized Christmas hat away from her eyes.
“Don’t forget, if you spend over ten dollars you can get a free gingerbread cookie and hot drink in the restaurant,” she said. “And enter the charity raffle for your chance to come to the legendary Carroll’s Christmas Ball! Only four days left to go.”
“Um . . . thanks,” said the young woman, taking the leaflet between her thumb and forefinger like she’d been offered a mouldy banana. They hurried away, and Merry sighed.
It didn’t matter how many lights they strung up, how many carols they blasted through the speakers, how many charity raffles and free cookies they handed out, Christmas to Merry still meant waiting for something that wasn’t coming.
Three years ago, she’d believed Adrian, her ex, when he’d left for his new job on the West Coast, swearing he’d be back for Christmas. She’d roasted a turkey, decorated the apartment, even bought mistletoe like an absolute idiot. And she’d waited. And waited. And he never came.
The turkey burned because she was too distracted, then she couldn’t bring herself to eat it alone.
She’d sat at the wobbly kitchen table in her stupid sparkly dress, staring at the silent phone, while her roommate had loud, enthusiastic sex just one wall away.
And somewhere across the country, Adrian had already moved on with someone new and better and had simply forgotten to tell Merry about it.
Since then, Merry had learned her lesson. Christmas magic was for other people or children or couples who had a future and absolutely not for people like her.
“Absolute knob!” she muttered under her breath. “I hate you.”
“Whoa,” said a voice from her side. “I’m sorry, I’ll ask somebody else.”
Merry swung around, her mouth open to apologise.
The words didn’t make it up her throat, though, because the man who was standing there literally took her breath away.
He looked a little older than her, but there was a playful shine to his features that made him look younger.
His eyes were the colour of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and just looking at them made her feel like she was melting.
The sharp angles of his jaw were covered in dark stubble, and his brown hair was still perfectly styled despite the fact he’d just walked in from the wind and the sleet.
He smiled at her politely and started to walk away.
“Wait!” she blurted out. “I’m sorry!”
He turned back, and she wasn’t sure if he smiled again or not because her hat slipped down over her eyes. She pushed it back up, managing to lose her grip on the leaflets she was holding. They fluttered down to the floor like snowflakes.
“Shit,” she said. “Hang on.”
She crouched down to retrieve the leaflets, noticing too late that the man was doing exactly the same thing. There was an audible crack as their foreheads knocked together.
“Ow!” she said, her hat slipping over her eyes again. This time she pulled it off, her copper-coloured hair delighted to be free and flying everywhere. “I’m really sorry,” she said, blinking the tears from her eyes as she massaged her forehead.
The man was standing up again too, rubbing a red patch between his eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
Fortunately, he smiled, wincing a little. “Christmas shopping is a lot more dangerous than I remember it being,” he said, his voice as rich and melodious as a Christmas crooner. “I’m sure this place used to be friendlier. First you say you hate me, then you try to knock me out!”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was thinking about . . . It doesn’t matter. Somebody else. I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“That’s some headbutt you have there,” he said. “They should have you working security.”
She laughed, grateful that the man was being so kind. She was on thin ice in the store as it was, and knocking a customer unconscious wouldn’t exactly help her case with the management.
“I’m going in again,” the man said, holding his hands up in warning. “I’m giving you plenty of notice this time.”
He crouched down and scooped up the leaflets, handing them back to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate it. Can I start over?”
She peeled a leaflet loose and handed it back to him.
“Free gingerbread cookie if you spend over ten bucks. A hot drink too. And if you buy a charity ticket you might even win the chance to come to the famous Carroll’s Christmas Ball.”
“They’re still doing that?” he asked, glancing at the leaflet.
“Every year,” she said. “This will be my first, but I hear they’re amazing. One of the best parties in the city. It’s in four days, so you’d better hurry!”
The man laughed, tucking the leaflet into the inside pocket of his faded lumberjack jacket, the soft flannel looking like it had seen better days.
A woolly scarf, a little frayed at the ends, was looped loosely around his neck, and his dark jeans were well-worn, the kind that had moulded perfectly to his long, muscular legs.
Not exactly the image Carroll’s usually catered to, he looked like he should be chopping wood on a Christmas card, not browsing the luxury counters of Fifth Avenue. Still, there was something about him — an easy confidence, a kind of rugged warmth — that made Merry’s cheeks heat up all over again.
She looked up at his face to find that he was already watching her, his brown eyes crinkling with amusement and, unless she was imagining it, the faintest hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks too.
“Oh, um, sorry,” she said. This was by far the most awkward encounter she’d ever had at work, and part of her wished the man would walk away so that she could stop making a fool of herself.
But part of her didn’t want him to leave because she was enjoying his company.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked, just to keep him talking.
“No,” he said. “Not as such. This isn’t really a shopping trip.”
“Oh.” She looked over her shoulder to the enormous tree that glittered in the middle of the atrium. “Just sightseeing? It’s well worth the trip. If you visit the restaurant on the eighth floor you can see all the Christmas lights of Fifth Avenue too.”
He nodded and his smile wavered, as if there was something heavy weighing on his mind, and he looked a little lost. She reached out automatically to touch his arm, but pulled back at the last second.
Management frowned on any kind of contact between staff and customers.
There was a sudden flurry of cold air and noise as the doors opened, and a family walked in from outside.
Three kids charged into the store, screaming, and Merry leaned past the man to hand a leaflet to their exasperated mother.
“Free gingerbread cookies,” she said. “And Santa’s grotto is on the tenth floor.”
The woman thanked her and ran off after her kids. When Merry turned her attention back to the man he seemed to have recovered.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not you. It’s just all this.”
“Yeah, it’s a little much, right?” she replied. “It’s been like this since the day after Halloween.”
“Seriously?” he said. “It gets earlier every year.”
“I know!” said Merry. “Soon it’s going to be Christmas all year round. Christmas Valentine’s, Christmas Easter eggs, Christmas Independence Day. There will be no escape!”
He laughed, and it was such a warm, genuine sound that she laughed too. He nodded at her name tag, and she felt a sudden rush of embarrassment.
“I thought you’d be a fan of Christmas,” he said. “Is your name really Merry?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Short for Meredith?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“Nope, it’s just Merry. Blame my parents, they called me that because they said I made them feel like every day was Christmas. You wouldn’t believe the stick I got for it at school.”
“I can guess,” he said. “Believe it or not I had the same problem.”
Before she could ask why, another large group of people walked through the door, forcing the man to take a step closer to her.
He was tall, over six foot, and there was the most incredible scent drifting from him — part nutmeg, park citrus.
Her body reacted before her brain did, with a stupid, instinctive flicker of heat that ran low and slow through her stomach.
She had to take a deliberate step back, pretending to adjust the stack of leaflets in her hands, because standing that close to him was starting to mess with her ability to form basic sentences.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I used to love Christmas. There’s just something about this time of year that’s so special, so much fun. But, you know, when you’re all on your own like I am, it’s . . .”
She put a hand to her mouth. Why did she always do this? No wonder men tended to give her a wide berth — she had a habit of throwing every little detail of her life at them within minutes of meeting.
“Sorry, way too much information.”
“It’s okay,” the man said. “I totally understand. If you’ve got family around you, it’s the happiest time of the year. But if you’re on your own, it can be the loneliest.”
“That’s it,” she said. “Exactly.”
The song overhead changed to ‘The Little Drummer Boy’, and Merry shivered as another blast of cold air blew in from outside. The man didn’t move. He was still standing there like he had all the time in the world, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his worn jacket.
Merry swallowed. Maybe he was just being polite or waiting for someone.
Or maybe he was just enjoying talking to her, and somehow that thought was even more terrifying.
Because the longer she spoke, the more likely she was to say something so cringeworthy she’d spend the next six months reliving it at 3 a.m.
“So, what about you?” she asked. “Have you got family here in the city?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. He looked like he was about to say more when somebody cleared their throat behind him. Merry’s heart sank as Mrs Cradley stepped into view.
“Miss Sinclair, may I have a word?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Cradley,” Merry said, flapping a leaflet in the handsome man’s face, even though he already had one. “I’m handing them out the best I can.”
“This is neither the place nor the time for small talk,” Mrs Cradley said, offering the man a dismissive smile that was almost rude. “I’ve been watching you for some time now. How many times do I have to tell you that we do not pay you to chat?”
“I was just . . .” Merry started, but she didn’t have anything to add. She was just chatting. “I won’t do it again.”
“Excuse me,” the man said, looking Mrs Cradley in the eye.
He seemed to have straightened up, because he was even taller now than he had been moments ago.
The force of his words made Mrs Cradley lean back, holding her clipboard up protectively.
“This young woman was just helping me decide on what to buy my fiancée.”
That hadn’t been what they were talking about at all, and even though she was grateful to him for defending her, Merry’s stomach turned unpleasantly when she heard that he was engaged.
“She was being extremely helpful, and I don’t think she deserves to be treated like this. She’s a credit to your store.”
Mrs Cradley’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. She opened her mouth, then paused. She looked at the man, a strange expression on her bird-like face. Then she muttered something and hurried off into the perfume hall, using her clipboard to flap people out of the way.
“Wow,” said Merry. “I’m so sorry that happened.”
“You really don’t have anything to be sorry about,” the man replied. “She was completely out of order.”
“Maybe.” Merry gave a leaflet to another customer.
Her hand was shaking, and she hoped that nobody would notice.
She hated confrontation so much. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball beneath the half-price saucepan sets across the aisle and hide there for the rest of her shift.
“Maybe not. I do talk too much. I just forget myself sometimes.”
“I like to talk,” he said, and she smiled gratefully.
“So, do you want some advice on what to buy your fiancée?” she asked, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. “There are some amazing pieces of jewellery on three, and we’ve got a new art department. If you like, I can show you around?”
“No, thank you.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then glanced at his watch instead. “I’d better get on, my dad’s expecting me.”
“So you do have family,” she said, smiling. “That’s nice.”
“Yes to family,” he replied, looking like he wanted to add something more, but he stopped himself and Merry noticed a flash of sadness in his eyes.
“It was nice to meet you, Merry.” He offered her his hand and she shook it eagerly.
“It was nice to meet you too—” She tilted her head expectantly.
“Christian,” he said, taking the hint. “Have a very merry Christmas, Merry.”
“You too,” she replied, but as she watched him walk away — the way all men seemed to — she couldn’t help but think that her own words of comfort were far from correct.
This holiday was going to be no better than the last.