Chapter 16
Monday, December 10
I hadn’t gone to bed until late last night, my mind running in circles about Marco and our almost-kiss. Thinking about the next potential Advent calendar task had also stressed me out, leading to a few bad dreams of me singing Christmas songs in front of an audience of thousands. The boos were so loud, a trapdoor had opened beneath my feet, sending me tumbling toward the fiery center of the earth.
Waking up with these anxiety-inducing premonitions, I was more than hesitant to open box number ten. I ignored the package wrapped in sparkly silver star paper, and because I was working from home today, took my time in the shower before having a second coffee that my nervous energy didn’t need.
All of it served to delay the inevitable task discovery, and as I silently cursed myself for agreeing to participate in Anita’s Christmas countdown, I also knew I was too stubborn to let her win by bailing on an assignment, especially without knowing what it was. Finally, I tore into the paper and found an empty box with another note.
Today’s mission:
Don’t have a silent night.
We’re caroling with the Raucous Rudolphs—7 p.m. at Trinity Square.
Okay, so it wasn’t karaoke, which was a relief, but clearly Anita really had decided to force me even farther out of what she might call Callie’s Cushy Comfort Corner. I sent her a text.
Caroling? Bah!
She swiftly replied with You used to love it. Don’t forget to send a video.
My mood started to lift as I messaged Marco to confirm he was free tonight. As the three bouncing dots appeared on my phone, I crossed my fingers, hoping the new order Dessert Dudes had picked up yesterday wouldn’t mean he’d have to cancel.
Marco: Got our schedule figured out and I’m free. Is it the dreaded karaoke?
Me: Thankfully no, but it’s caroling
Marco: Where and when?
Me: Trinity Square at 7
Marco: Pick you up at 6:30?
Me: It’s a date
I hit Send before my brain could stop me, and I let out a yelp, my fingers darting across the screen at high speed, trying to salvage the situation.
Me: Not a DATE date, ha, ha
The three dots appeared and disappeared a few times. Marco finally replied with a smiling emoji, and I exhaled. Now all I had to do was convince myself I didn’t want tonight to be a date after all.
—
I was an acute bundle of nerves by the time Marco picked me up. As we walked down the street toward Trinity Square, I caught the scent of his aftershave again. Today’s fragrance was a combination of green tea and fresh citrus, and I wanted to bury my face in his neck. I pulled my new hat low over my ears, wondering if I should hold it over my nose to stop myself from becoming completely intoxicated.
“I already know you detest karaoke,” Marco said. “How do you feel about caroling?”
“Well, I don’t completely hate it. Anita and I used to go with my parents every year until I was in seventh grade. It was a fun thing we did as a family.”
Marco nodded. “I sense a but coming.”
“A humongous one. The final year, some of the girls from class saw me. You know the type. Snarky, opinionated, think they’re too cool for school.”
“Ah, yes, we had some of those, both girls and boys. They made fun of you?”
“Daily. Whenever they saw me in the hallways, they’d shriek, point, and screech ‘and Callie is a pear tree’ as loudly as they possibly could.”
“Why?” Marco shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I didn’t think so either,” I replied with a shrug. “The next Christmas I told Mom I was too old for caroling and refused to go.”
“I’m really sorry that happened to you,” Marco said gently. He was silent for a minute before adding, “I was picked on as well.”
“You? Really?”
He shrugged. “I guess I was a bit of a nerd. I was never into sports, and I liked baking, so I’d go to school with stuff I’d made. Some people found it weird.”
“Kids can be mean. Does it still bother you?”
“No. I put it behind me when my archenemy sat directly opposite me at our first reunion a few years ago.”
I took a sharp breath. “What happened?”
“It was eye-opening,” Marco replied. “The guy raved about how great high school was, and when I disagreed, he asked what had made my experience miserable. I answered, ‘Mainly you.’?”
My mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Yup, and you know what? The guy only had a vague recollection of how shitty he’d been back then. He was shocked by my description of his behavior. Had no clue how much it had affected me, and he kept apologizing.”
“Do you think it was genuine?”
“Yeah, I do,” Marco replied. “So I say forget those mean girls. They don’t matter anymore. If you can, try leaving them in the past where they belong. Get your revenge by having an awesome time caroling this evening.”
“Maybe,” I said. “And if not, I’ll only sing one song. Anita will never know.”
“There’s your rebellious streak again.” Marco chuckled. “I love it.”
We continued down the street, and a tiny flutter of excitement bubbled in the pit of my stomach. I was glad for Marco’s support and for his sunny outlook that was brightening my days more and more.
“I made progress on your accounts after you left yesterday,” I said a few steps later.
Marco held a hand over his heart. “Please, doc, tell me the truth. Is there hope?”
In a grave voice, I replied, “I’m afraid it’s too early to tell.” When I saw his alarmed expression, I added, “Kidding. I’ve seen worse. At least you didn’t include receipts your dog ate, half digested, and brought up again.”
“Please tell me that never happened.”
“Yup, and it’s worse than you’re imagining. In comparison, Dessert Dudes’ finances are in great shape, although some stuff is missing.”
“I’ll try to find whatever you need. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Callie.” He hesitated a moment. “Do you…do you think you might consider helping us out with the bookkeeping a little longer? Maybe until we’ve found someone to take over on a more permanent basis or until Vince is ready to handle things?”
I looked at him and considered his offer for a second. “Will you keep the desserts coming?”
“Stick with me.” He nudged me with his elbow. “I’ll hook you up.”
“To an intravenous drip?”
“Whatever my Swiss Miss desires.” Marco grinned.
“I can’t make any promises just yet,” I said, trying to push down my excitement at the prospect of continuing to see Marco on a frequent basis after the Advent calendar tasks came to an end. “Let me see how much time it would take each week before I say for sure.”
“Of course. I can’t tell you how great it is that you’ll even consider the option. I’ll let Vince know you’re thinking about it.”
“Fantastic,” I said. “I guess the sooner we get your cash flow assessed and under control, the faster you can buy equipment, move into bigger premises, or hire staff. Maybe someone whose skills complement yours so you can grow Dessert Dudes more quickly.”
“Very true,” Marco agreed. “I’ll find a moment to speak with him this week.”
A short while later, we arrived at Trinity Square. The huge Christmas tree stood proudly in the center, decorated from top to bottom with multicolored fairy lights, purple and gold ornaments almost as wide as my pizza tray, and a giant shining star proudly perched on top.
A few market stalls sat dotted around the square, the vendors selling mulled wine, hot cocoa, and roasted chestnuts alongside toffee apples and fudge. Others offered handmade gifts such as mittens, woolen scarves, and elaborate origami-style pop-up Christmas cards.
I noticed a dozen people standing to one side, wearing fake fuzzy antlers and red noses. When I caught a glimpse of the embroidered logo on one of the sweatshirts—the words The Raucous Rudolphs in silver letters—I tapped Marco on the arm and pointed.
“That’s our group.”
“Lead the way, maestro,” he declared.
We headed over. Most of the Rudolphs were a little older than us, but not by much, which surprised me. For whatever reason, I’d expected them to be seniors. I gave a small wave as I looked around. “I’m Callie, and this is Marco.”
“Hello.” One of the women grabbed my hand. “Anita said you’d be stopping by. I’m—”
“Jemma Hollis, the baker,” Marco said, his voice excited. “Man, I love your stuff.”
Jemma’s brown eyes sparkled. We hadn’t met in person before, but I remembered how much Anita had talked about her after they’d met at the demolition derby, and how my sister had swapped out the baking session with Jemma to the one with Marco for my benefit, despite liking her so much. No wonder Anita had chosen caroling for tonight’s Advent calendar task.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know who you are, too. Half of the Dessert Dudes duo. I love your stuff. Your dirty devil mousse is to die for.”
“That means a lot coming from you.” Marco beamed. “Thanks very much.”
“You’re welcome,” Jemma said. “Before we get carried away and talk about nothing but our favorite recipes, let me introduce you to the gang.”
We spent the next minute saying hello and making sure our fake antlers and red plastic noses fit until one of the members of the group tapped his watch and announced, “Almost showtime.”
“Here’s our song list and the lyrics,” Jemma said. “They’re the classics you’ve probably heard before, but don’t worry if you can’t remember a tune or fluff the words. We’re all amateurs, and tonight’s about having fun.”
“Phew.” Marco wiped imaginary sweat from his brow, and when I shot him a quizzical look, he grinned, shrugged, and added, “You’ll see.”
We took our positions, with Marco standing directly behind me, close enough for me to smell his aftershave again. With a deep breath, we threw ourselves into “O Christmas Tree.”
I’m not sure what I expected, but what happened wasn’t it.
Marco, as striking as he sounded when he spoke, had one of the worst singing voices I’d ever heard, and yet, despite being completely off-key, he didn’t seem to care, joy bubbling forth from every mangled note.
I gave in, let myself go, and at some point during the third verse, closed my eyes and swayed to the music. When I opened them again, light snow fell as a crowd gathered around us, most of the people joining us in song. Nobody laughed or pointed. Nobody called me names or said I sounded ridiculous.
Festive cheer filled the square, and as we burst into “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” I sang the words “and Callie is a pear tree” as loudly as I could. The memories of the girls taunting me at school faded into the background as I finally grabbed hold of Marco’s advice. There was no point in being the only one lugging those old feelings of resentment around. It was time to let them go.
We sang carol after carol, and it wasn’t until we got to the last one thirty minutes later that I remembered two things: my long-discarded backup plan to only participate in one song, and that I’d almost forgotten to deliver the mandatory task completion evidence to my sister.
Immediately pulling my phone from my pocket, I recorded a video, laughing when Marco leaned over my shoulder and into the frame, his smile as broad as mine. Once we’d finished the song, Marco went to get us some mulled wine while I sent the clip to Anita. My sister’s reply was instant.
Anita: Who are you and what have you done with my sister?
Me: Ha, funny
Anita: Seriously. You’re on fire. You two make a great couple…
“Does she approve?” Marco asked as he came back with a steaming cup in each hand.
I put my phone away and looked at him with a grin as I replied, “Oh, yes. Very much so.”
“That was fantastic,” Jemma said, walking over. “Did you have a good time?”
“It was great,” both Marco and I replied in unison.
Jemma beamed. “Anita mentioned sending you here was a task she assigned you. As it happens, I’m heading to Orlando with my sister and nieces next week and I’m hoping to meet Anita at the park.”
“Oh, that’s amazing,” I said, excited for Anita about this development. “I’ll bet she’s really looking forward to seeing you.”
Jemma smiled, her eyes lighting up. “The feeling’s mutual. When I see her, I’ll tell her you aced it.” She looked at Marco and winked. “In your case, I’ll stretch the truth a little.”
He grinned. “You’re very courteous.”
After we said our goodbyes to Jemma and the rest of the Rudolphs, Marco and I perused the market stalls, trying on a variety of Santa hats and posing for selfies with our faces so close together, I could feel his stubble on my cheek.
“Look over there.” Marco pointed at one of the stalls. “Is that a make-your-own-truffle station?”
As we walked a little closer, I saw half a dozen people wearing latex gloves and dipping spoons into tubs filled with a semisolid chocolate mixture. Next, they rolled the chocolate into balls and plunged them into other containers that held an array of toppings. Once done, they placed their finished truffles into clear plastic bags.
“That looks awesome,” I said. “Want to try?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
After standing in line for a few minutes and paying the admission fee, we were handed a set of clean gloves each and invited to get started. I dipped my spoon into the gooey chocolate and delicately turned ten cherry-sized portions into balls using the palms of my hands. Peering into the topping containers, I rolled a couple of the balls in peppermint candy pieces, some in flaked almonds, and the others in crushed pistachios.
“Have you used the cereal bits?” Marco asked, and I shook my head. “Mom used to make chocolate-covered cornflake clusters when I was a kid. Here, try this.” He held the truffle up to my face, but when I opened my mouth, he gave me a boop on the nose with it instead.
“Hey.” I grinned, yanking on his arm while he held it above his head so I jumped up and down, trying to reach my truffle. Marco lowered his hand, but just when I thought he’d offer me my prize, he shoved it in his mouth.
“Precautionary measure,” he said with a grin. “Had to taste-test to ensure it was good enough for you.”
“Uh-huh.” I eyed him as I picked up one of the truffles I’d covered in pistachios. “Say, do you have a nut allergy?”
“No,” he replied with another smile.
His face was so close to mine, I could count the yellow flecks in his eyes. I held out the pistachio truffle to him, cackling when he suddenly grabbed me to swipe the chocolate. I managed to untangle myself and popped the truffle in my mouth instead.
“I make that one each,” I said with a ridiculous grin. “Let’s see if—”
“Hey, lovebirds,” the stall owner called out to us. “You’re holding up the line.”
Marco and I looked at each other and burst into laughter, quickly packing up the rest of our truffles and scooting out of the stall, my heart buzzing as he grabbed my hand. When we spotted little plush reindeers on one of the vendors’ tables, Marco swiftly bought one for me.
“To remind you to always sing as loud as you want,” he said, tucking the little felt animal into my pocket, and I thought my heart might burst.
When the market started to wind down, Marco offered to walk me home, and as we took our time strolling down the street, he said, “Thanks for another great night. The last time I made truffles was years and years ago, but it was never this much fun.”
“I had a lovely time, too.” I paused. “I’ve been doing a lot more of that lately.”
“It’s almost as if it was your sister’s dastardly plan all along.”
“Please don’t tell Anita I think her calendar’s awesome. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Marco crossed his heart. “I solemnly swear.”
As we reached my building, I turned to him, staring into his gorgeous eyes, taking in those cute dimples. “Thank you. I know part of why you agreed to the calendar tasks was in return for my bookkeeping help, but I’m really grateful for the favor.”
“It’s not a favor,” Marco insisted. “I meant what I said: tonight was awesome. So was painting yesterday, and sledding the other night.”
“I agree,” I whispered. “It’s been fantastic.”
As I looked at him, tiny snowflakes drifted downward, settling on our hats and shoulders. The street was quiet save for the faint sound of “Last Christmas” by Wham! coming from one of the windows above. It almost felt as if we’d been transported into our very own magical snow globe somewhere far, far away, a place where we were the only two people who existed.
The distance between us couldn’t have been more than two feet, but it felt thick, laden with the stolen glances and days of unspoken desire I’d tried hard to pretend weren’t there.
“Thanks for walking me home,” I said as I took a step forward, leaning in to kiss his cheek, where I lingered for a moment, my lips pressed to his skin, my hand on the lapel of his jacket. When Marco turned his head toward mine, and I felt his arm circling my waist, I could barely breathe.
“Callie,” he whispered.
I stood on my tiptoes, and before he said anything else or I tried talking myself out of it again, I brushed my lips against his. When he kissed me back, I let out a tiny sigh. As our embrace deepened, everything around us faded away. There was only Marco and me, his hands on my lower back, our bodies pressed together, the taste of chocolate on his lips. This, I now knew, was what heaven felt like.
Except moments later I came crashing down to earth with a thud. Marco and I had been deeply hurt by other people. Evidently, we both yearned for company, for a connection, which we’d found as friends. Panic flared because I was still scared—frightened of getting hurt again, terrified of being catapulted back into a similar sadness as the one I’d felt all those months ago when Oliver left me.
What if whatever was going on between Marco and me didn’t last? What if this truly was a rebound situation for him, me, or both of us? What would I do, how would I feel , if it fizzled and died as fast as it began and I lost his friendship, too?
My heart insisted I should keep kissing him, keep pulling him closer, invite him upstairs, and let go —but my head screamed at me to stop, stop right now , and think things through.
Earlier this evening I’d been so happy about how uncomplicated things were between Marco and me, and now I’d blurred the lines and confused myself with my doubts—exactly what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do. The intense conflict and jumble of feelings rushing through my head made me lower my hands and step back.
“I’m sorry.”
Marco shook his head. “Don’t be, Callie.”
“But—”
“No, really,” he insisted. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I saw you at the Christmas tree market in your cocoa-covered pants. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met, not for a second.”
I stared at him, blinked three times as I registered his admission. “I…I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I whispered. “I like you, a lot…”
“Please don’t say but.”
I took a deep breath. “ But …I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t tell if I’m ready for something new after what happened with Oliver. I…I need some time to figure things out.”
“Of course.” He nodded, but I could see the sadness in his expression, and I hated myself for hurting him. “It’s all right, Callie. You need to have clarity, and if anything’s going to happen between us, you should be certain it’s what you want. Take all the time you need. I’m here whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” I said, but didn’t move until he’d squeezed my arm and walked away, disappearing around the corner.