Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Brax
“So, this is the Kris Kringle market?” I looked around at the quaint row of Main Street buildings outlined with glowing lights, the shoppers buzzing with holiday cheer, the lampposts covered with garlands. It seemed as if the entire town was out doing their last-minute shopping. I felt a strange sense of anticipation watching the little kids tugging their parents toward Santa, who apparently was stationed in the middle of the bookstore.
Mia wore a bright yellow knit cap. Her cheeks were flushed in the cold, her eyes bright. Before I could think too much about it, I reached over and took her hand. A person had to start somewhere, right?
She glanced over in surprise. “You’re holding my hand,” she said. “And my family’s nowhere in sight.”
“It feels good,” I said.
She gave a lukewarm smile. Which made me worry a little, until I saw that she was focused on two women in the distance, walking down the street, their arms laden with shopping bags.
“Let’s try here,” she said quickly, pulling me into a Christmas store filled with decorated trees—as far as the eye could see—all different colors, shapes, and sizes, every bough laden with handmade ornaments. The tree nearest to us sat atop a table and was lit with white and blue lights and covered with sports-themed ornaments. More ornaments filled baskets underneath the trees.
“Who were those women you were looking at?” I asked.
“What women?” she said in response. Then she sighed. “Okay, fine. Old friends from high school.”
Hmm, seemed like her brothers were right. “So you’re avoiding people you know?” I asked. “Or are you worried that what’s-his-name is going to show up?”
I could tell by her worried look that I’d hit a nerve. “No, I just—I don’t want people asking me if I’m going tonight.” She set down a soccer ball ornament and tugged off her cap, probably because it felt like a hundred degrees in the crowded store. “And please don’t ask me either. Because I’m not.”
She looked on edge, scanning the shop. “Okay,” I said, “but you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. The cheating wasn’t your fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t!”
Put foot in mouth, stop talking . I guess I didn’t listen to that wise inner voice, because I kept trying to help. “You’re human like all of us, you know. Cheating aside, I mean, most everyone gets dumped.”
“Even you, Mr. Eight Weeks?” She gave a weak half smile. But I could tell the issue was weighing on her mind.
“Yep. Sophomore year. Meribel Klinger.”
She shot me an incredulous look as we moved on to a table full of beach-themed ornaments.
I was desperate to make her smile. “Is it so hard to imagine that I had my heart broken?”
“I was just thinking that she has a unique name.” She examined a glittery orange starfish. “So, did she break the eight-week rule?”
I picked up a sparkling sand dollar. “She was an exception to it. She wouldn’t go out with me, but I was hopelessly in love with her for an entire school year.”
Mia looked up. “And then what happened?”
“I had to move on. Too many other girls were sad that I was unavailable.” That got me an eye roll. “Okay, the truth is that I switched foster families and schools.” I paused, not wanting this to be about me. “Mia, no one else in the world is perfect—no breakups, no losses. You shouldn’t hold yourself to that standard. I’m sure no one else does.”
She clapped her chest, a gesture of indignation. “I do not hold myself to a standard of perfection.”
“Says the daughter who brought home a fake boyfriend because she didn’t want to disappoint her mom.”
She gave me a good glare but couldn’t tell me off because an elderly woman with white hair began waving furiously as she approached.
“Mia! How wonderful to see you,” the woman said, giving Mia an exuberant hug.
“Mrs. Bradbury, how are you?” Mia hugged her back, clearly excited to see her too.
“Wonderful. Who’s the hunk?” she asked in a lively tone, checking me out over the tops of her spectacles.
“Mrs. B, this is Brax.” I noticed Mia avoided labeling our relationship. But maybe it was high time to.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking the woman’s hand.
She didn’t let go, rather added her other hand on top. “Nice to meet you, Brax. Mia,” she said, glancing over at her, “I hope you’ve told this handsome young man that you won the state essay competition your senior year.” She turned back to me. “I was hoping she might become a writer one day, but I understand that medicine claimed her.”
I knew Mia sometimes brought books with her to read on call that barely got cracked open with how busy we were, but writing? Interesting.
Mia grinned. “I credit you for giving me the confidence to write, Mrs. B.”
“Well, lots of doctors become writers, so you never know,” the former teacher said in a singsong voice. “Actually, I suppose more lawyers do, but maybe someday, you will write a book.” She finally dropped my hands. “Are you two going to the big party tonight?” Her eyes twinkling with mischief, she looked me up and down. “If I had this hottie on my arm, I’d walk in there in a red dress and heels and tell old Charlie to go stick it.”
“Oh my goodness.” Mia covered her mouth to hide a smile. “I don’t have hard feelings but thank you for that.”
“I’m so thrilled to see you successful and happy, dear,” the older woman said.
Mia hugged her one last time. “Great to see you too.”
Hmmm. As we walked out of the shop and back onto the street, I couldn’t let that go. “She was nice. You want to write a book one day? I mean, you’re multitalented, so it doesn’t surprise me.”
She smiled. “She was an amazing teacher. I double majored in English in college. Did you know that?”
“That’s fascinating. But what kind of book would you write?”
“A romance. They’re full of hope, and I love that.” She gave me a tentative look. “Have you ever read one?”
“Does Sarah J. Maas’s ACOTAR count?”
She stopped walking. “You’ve read Sarah J. Maas? I love her.”
I gave a chuckle. “Would you be into me more if I said yes?”
She burst out in laughter, shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to be any more into you than I already am.”
Her answer made my heart slam into my chest. I took her hand. It was soft and small compared to my big paws and a little cool to the touch. I kissed it lightly and looked up at her. My throat felt tight, and I had to clear my throat to get my words out. “I’m really into you too.” Her smile told me everything I needed to know. That I was in big trouble. The best kind. “Tell you what,” I said as we moved on. “You write your book, and I’ll read it.”
She grinned. “Deal.”
We came to a shop called Ye Olde Trading Post. In the window, I saw a mix of gifts of all kinds—candles, beautiful wooden cutting boards stained like checkerboards, small oil paintings by local artists. “Can we go in here? I’d like to get a gift for your parents.” And for her, but I had no idea what.
Her brows creased into a frown. “You know that’s not necessary. Just giving your time to come here with me?—”
“Was something I really wanted to do.” Then I opened the door, and we walked inside.
The shop smelled like wood and was filled with fun handmade items like serving spoons, wine racks, and nativity sets. I could’ve stayed and admired the artistry there all day. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a display of snow globes. Hmm. Duly noted.
Mia inhaled deeply. With a twinkle in her eye, she said, “I love this smell. What do you think?”
At that moment, her hair was lit up with golden highlights under the overhead bulbs, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and despite all the stress of the past weeks, she looked happy.
And that happiness just might’ve been infectious. So I inhaled deeply too. “Nice. Fresh wood. Lemon oil. Shavings.”
“Exactly.” She looked at me sideways. “Are you okay? You don’t have to pretend to like shopping, you know.”
I smiled, because while I didn’t care much for shopping, I loved being here with her. “Just wondering if you would help me pick out some gifts for your family.”
“You don’t need to do that.” She noticed a display of beautiful handmade cutting boards. “But now that I’m looking, I know my dad really, really wants one of these.”
I looked where she was pointing. “A charcuterie board?”
Mia nodded. “My mom monitors the amount of cholesterol he consumes. But ever since he tasted prosciutto, she can’t keep him away from it.”
We started sorting through the various sizes. “Which size do you think we should get? Like, how much prosciutto does he eat?”
“More than he should, good point. How about a smaller one?” She chose one while I spotted a set of hand-carved wooden measuring spoons and snagged them.
“For my mom?”
I nodded. “For your mom.”
For the boys—I meant the oak trees—Mia helped me choose hand-forged chef knives, since she said they enjoyed cooking, even though I had reservations about purchasing any sharp implements that could be used against me. For Dina, I bought a soft, hand-knitted wool scarf that Mia assured me was fashion-forward.
We moved on to a mug display. Mia picked up a cheesy one that said Best Mom Ever with reindeer antlers.
“Can I ask you something personal?” I asked.
She held up another one that had chickens standing together, all dressed in Christmas hats. “Sure.”
“How was it with Charlie?”
She stopped browsing and frowned. “How was what, exactly?”
“Just—everything. The relationship, how you got along.” I knew that the last thing she wanted to talk about was Charlie. But maybe she needed to, you know? Besides, she got me to open up. I figured some payback was in order.
She set down a mug she was holding. “None of your—no, wait.” She closed her eyes. “I see what you’re doing. I’m not going tonight. She paused. “But to answer your question, we grew up together. He was…familiar.”
Whew. “I love that word.”
She shot me a puzzled look. “Why?”
“Because it’s not hot , sexy , or fabulous in bed .”
“I’m not even a little in love with him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Thank God. “It sounds like he wasn’t The One.”
“He wasn’t The One,” she quietly agreed.
She pressed her lips together as we assessed each other across all the red-ribboned, copper cookie-cutter gifts. She worried at her bottom lip. “So you think I should go?”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s for you to decide,” I said carefully. “I mean, you’re not really angry anymore, are you?”
“I’m more embarrassed.” She fiddled with the red ribbons, smoothing them, straightening them out.
I could tell from her stoic expression that maybe it was time for some humor. I held out my arms. “If you decide to go, you’d have a hunk by your side. All you’d need is that red dress your teacher mentioned.”
“I’m an accomplished woman who doesn’t need anyone on my arm.” She hesitated. “But maybe it can’t hurt. The dress, I mean. Seriously, I’ll think about it.”
She was wavering, so I made my case. “If you go, I’d be happy to stay next to you the entire time and even flex my muscles if you want me to. I mean, might as well use a not-so-fake boyfriend when you’ve got one.”
“Not so fake?” Her eyes told me everything. That she wanted the truth.
All right, then. Here I went. “Not fake.” I met her gaze with what I hoped was a dead-serious one of my own. “Not fake at all.”
“So, you’re taking the leap?”
“Yeah.” Once I’d finally said it out loud, I felt strangely okay. “Yeah, I am.”
“Hmmm. Okay, then, not-fake boyfriend, if you can take the leap, maybe I can too.” She blew out a deep breath. “But what would it take to have you do that muscle flexing in private? You know, as a reward. If I survive this.”
I grinned. “Not much.”
She burst out laughing, which was cute. I was glad I could lighten up her decision. Then I let settle what I’d just said. Boyfriend. It was a big step for me, but it felt right.
She pointed to the cashier desk. “I’m going to see if they can embroider my mom’s name on this apron.” She held up a pretty Christmas-red one. “She really needs to get rid of that elfed-up one.”
“I kind of liked it.” I tipped my head toward the ornament section to throw her off. “I’m going to look around a little,” I said as casually as possible.
As soon as she was out of sight, I bolted in the opposite direction to the snow globe display I’d seen on the way in. I quickly scanned all the shelves. And suddenly, I spotted one containing a tiny house, all lit up for Christmas. It looked similar to Mia’s house, all charm, wreaths on every window, a turret. There was a dog, a retriever, not a wiener dog, and with the dog were two little girls, holding hands, playing in the snow. It was exactly like Beth’s description. Except, standing behind the two girls was a third girl, her hands on each of their shoulders. It was hard to say if she was an older sister or a mother. But I knew exactly what she was. A guardian. The symbolism struck me as perfect.
An older woman wearing an elf hat and a green apron walked up to me. “My son hand-makes those,” she said. “In case you’re wondering if they’re imported, they’re not. All local. The wood base is cherry or oak. Each one takes him about a week to make.”
“Cool.” All right, then. “This is for my girlfriend, who’s over there.” I hiked a thumb toward the front of the store. Just then, Mia turned around in line and waved. I stepped away from the display and gave a quick wave back. “I don’t want her to see it. Can you help?”
“Of course. Hand your gifts to me—plus your credit card. Would you like these wrapped?”
As I surrendered the globe, the spoons, and the wooden board, I happened to spot a pair of fleece reindeer slippers with red noses that lit up that I thought would be perfect for Mia. I eyeballed her size and impulsively added them to the pile as the woman whisked everything off.
That was kind of…fun, knowing I’d surprise Mia with these little, unexpected things.
Ten minutes later, she was waiting for me by the door, her bag in hand. “Next stop, the bookstore.”
“For Emma?”
She nodded. As we made our way across the street, I asked, “What’s the story behind the beat-up Christmas book that Emma wants to read fifty times a day?”
“Grace and I loved it,” she said. “We used to beg our dad to read it over and over. Except I used to listen, while Grace pantomimed and performed it. She was such an actress.”
I thought about the photo in Mia’s room with the birthday cake. “Sounds like Grace was an extrovert?”
“Definitely.” Mia talked animatedly, using her hands. “She was bold and funny and…and she lived in Technicolor. Nothing frightened her. I try to remember that. It helps me sometimes.”
I loved hearing her talk about her sister. “I think you live in Technicolor too. I mean, you became a doctor because of her, right?”
She minimized that by shrugging it off. “I guess you feel helpless when something like that happens, so you want to do anything you can to make it have meaning. Like, if I help other kids, somehow that makes Grace’s death easier to handle.”
“I think you’re amazing.” It felt good to finally be able to tell her.
She shook her head. “I’m not a martyr. And you did the same thing—you saw how Dr. Pendergast helped people, and you wanted to do that too.”
“He was a huge influence,” I said. “If it weren’t for him, I never would’ve gone to med school. He believed in me until I learned I could believe in myself.”
“How did you meet him, anyway?” She linked her arm through my mine as we walked. It felt nice.
“He gave a lecture to the premed organization at UW, and I happened to ask him a question afterward—I don’t even remember what I asked, but it turned out to be the best question of my life. He saw my curiosity, struck up a conversation, and we’d hit it off. He ended up taking me under his wing, helped me get into med school, and totally changed the course of my life.”
She regarded me carefully. “That’s very powerful.”
I nodded. “And lucky. A kid like me could’ve ended up a whole lot worse.”
“I’m not sure I buy that,” she disagreed. “You got yourself a full scholarship to college. I think you would’ve been successful even without meeting him.”
“Thanks for believing that,” I said. “All I know is I hope to someday help kids like I was helped.”
That was about enough about me. We were getting close to the bookstore, and I was running out of time to bring up something that had been on my mind for a while. “Can I ask something personal? Have you thought about applying for the heme-onc fellowship? I mean, you gravitate toward those kids. I get how you feel about Rylee and Reagan now.”
“I see a lot of me and my sister in them,” she said carefully, “but I couldn’t handle all that emotion full-time. I know my limits.”
I felt in my gut that she wasn’t telling me the whole story. “There are a lot of success stories too.”
“I can’t relive my own tragedy whenever I lose a patient. I just can’t.”
She was adamant, more than adamant, and she was drawing a line in the sand. I had to respect it. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She touched my arm, meeting my gaze. “We promised not to talk about work, remember?”
“Yeah. Right. Here we are.” I opened the door to a quaint but crowded bookstore, with a line snaking around full of parents and kiddos waiting to see Santa, who was on his throne in the back. “So what kind of book do you want for Emma?”
“One that’s cool and fun and makes her discover wonderful things. And gives her a love of reading. And one that she remembers that I gave it to her and that I’m the best aunt ever.”
I lifted a brow. “That’s a tall order for one book.”
She laughed. “I know. But I just want to find her the perfect one.”
I shook my head in good-humored resignation as we headed to the children’s section. The Santa line was noisy and a baby was crying loudly. On a more pleasant note, the store was filled with the scent of books, something that always made me happy. “You love giving gifts, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said unabashedly.
“Like, how much?” I tried not to look mystified. I wondered, with a childhood where no one baked cookies or even expected presents, if I could pretend that all of this wasn’t a mystery to me.
She checked out a Christmas display of kids’ books. “Because it means you’re thinking of someone. You understand what they like, and it’s just a little thoughtful way of being nice to someone. And when you open a gift, it’s just plain fun.”
I must’ve gone quiet, because I found her studying me in a peculiar way. “Brax, did your family ever celebrate Christmas?”
“I don’t think I could answer that question and maintain our happy mood.”
She grabbed my hand. “Tell me. I know you don’t like to talk about your past, but I really want to hear about it. I mean, it’s part of who you are.”
She’d told me about Charlie and Grace, so I couldn’t argue about that. “There were promises of gifts. Like a red bike I wanted badly. A pair of Rollerblades. A baseball bat. But nothing ever materialized. Eventually, I learned to scrape and make sure to get something for my sister every year. Of course, the foster parents were always nice, but by then, I guess I just cared about surviving Christmas.”
Her expression nearly brought me to my knees. It was half sadness, half horror. I should have minimized it. Lied. Anything to avoid that look, which was slicing straight through my chest. “Don’t be sad about it,” I said quickly. “I’m not.”
Before I could react, I suddenly found my arms full of Mia—the scent of her hair, the soft slide of her down jacket against mine. Right there in the crowded store, she’d somehow wrapped herself around me and was holding on tightly. Like, really tightly —as if she could squeeze all that pain right out of me. With all our shopping bags that ended up at our feet, we must’ve been quite a sight.
“Don’t,” I managed. “Don’t feel sorry for me, okay?”
She kissed my cheek. Then my other cheek. Then my mouth. Of course, I gladly accepted her attempts to ease my suffering.
Finally, I had to chuckle. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to make you laugh.” As she unwrapped herself, I saw a tear in her eye.
No one had ever done that for me—cried for what I’d gone through. I found myself getting choked up for the second time that day. Instinctively, I reached up and traced her tear with my finger. “At least when I wasn’t honest and open, I didn’t make you cry.”
She reached up and took my hand, pressing her cheek against my palm. That slayed me even more.
“I hurt for that boy,” she whispered, her eyes soft. “I want to do anything to help erase that pain.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Honesty came so easily to her, whereas I was always tongue-tied.
The crowds around us faded away, and I saw only her. “I’m fine,” I whispered. “Don’t waste your worry on me.”
I kissed her again. I mean, I was desperate, so full of emotion that this woman wanted to…well, to heal me. The most shocking thing was that I dared to believe it, that she could somehow replace my wounds with her sunshine and light.
She pressed her lips, her whole body to mine, demanding that I forget everything but her.
And it worked. I lost track of everything except for her mind-blowing kisses, her caring heart, her…
I was afraid to say love. A fierce need rose up within me. I had to get a grip. There was too much feeling. It was like submerging, going under, drowning in emotions I had no control over. They were amazing and totally terrifying at the same time.
Mia was a bright light. She was Christmas lights. When you were surrounded by them, everything wintery, dingy, and barren became glorious and bright. Transformed.
Fortunately, some teenage boys were walking down the next aisle and yelled, “Hey, get a room!” and we broke apart, laughing.
We got back to work, Mia picking out Emma’s present, and I doing a little more sneak shopping of my own before meeting up again in front of the store.
“You know what we need now?” Mia asked, mischief in her eyes.
I looked around at the crowds. Suddenly became aware of piped-in Christmas music playing over our heads. “I’m afraid to ask. How many more stores are there?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “I think we’ve earned a treat.” As we picked up our bags, she hooked her arm in mine and led me…somewhere. It could’ve been straight off a cliff, and I would’ve followed.
“What kind of treat?” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively as she led me out of the store. “The treat I want isn’t on Main Street.”
She smiled and shook her head. “This one is definitely on Main Street. Do you smell it?”
She took a huge sniff, so I did too.
It was the smell of something savory cooking. Warm and delicious and fried. I really couldn’t identify it any further than that, other than it made my stomach growl. “What is it?”
“Cheese curds. You like them?” she asked. I heard the hope in her voice.
Uh oh. “If I answer that, you have to promise not to shame me.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “Wait a minute. I figured out you were a sledding virgin. But a cheese curd virgin too?”
I guess I turned red because she pounced on that. “You are! Oh my god, you’ve never had one. Tell me that isn’t true!”
“I’m losing trust in you because I feel shamed,” I said in a deadpan voice.
“Brax! Please tell me how you’ve avoided cheese curds for all these years? I mean, they’re amazing!”
“The right opportunity to try one never came along, I guess,” I mumbled. “Truth is, I was very frugal as an undergrad—I just didn’t have money to go out much. And after a while, I just…never tried them.” I gave an apologetic shrug. “The pizza always looked better.”
She looked completely disbelieving. “Okay, well, there’s only one way to fix this. But once you try one, you’ll never go back to your pathetic cheese-curdless state.”
Oh, the drama. “Okay, fine. I want one,” I said without hesitation, mainly because she was never going to let this go until I caved.
“All right then, let’s go,” she said as she led us off.
Shopping, presents, cheese curds, and Mia. The perfect day. And she was irresistible.
For the first time in my life, I was in way over my head. And l was loving every minute of it.