11. The Sixth Day Before Christmas
The Sixth Day Before Christmas
Scene I
[Yet again, the entrance to Snowspruce Christmas Village.]
Viola walks quickly along the snow-lined, cobblestone path.
On the sixth day before Christmas, I, as Viola, run into Duke again. Because, of course I do.
“Come to visit me again?” Duke asks, stretching out on one of the chairs outside the Chocolatery that’s directly between the side employee entrance and the laundry.
I hold up a bagel. “Sebastian forgot his breakfast.”
Duke smiles. “Isn’t he just so forgetful?”
“He probably wouldn’t even be here today without me,” I deadpan. “Speaking of, I’d better get this to him. He gets cranky when he doesn’t eat.”
Duke rushes out of his chair, just to stand casually in front of me like maybe I won’t notice that his chair fell over in his haste.
“So, bagels?” He clears his throat. “Sebastian likes bagels?”
I suppress a smile. This has got to be the dumbest conversation opener ever to exist. I could help the guy out, talk about favourite breakfasts, waking up to cinnamon buns on Christmas morning or something like that. I don’t though. “I guess.”
Duke shuffles his feet. “Do you like bagels?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking out in a grin. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Bread probably doesn’t like bagels.”
Despite myself, I smile. “Bread?”
“Oh, for sure. Bread,” he says matter-of-factly. “Bread’s like this scrawny guy who came first and offered the whole condiment on carb idea. Then, his beefy cousin, bagel, came along and stole the show.”
I fake-gasp. “That bastard. I never knew.”
Duke nods seriously. “Most don’t, but I see right through him.” He laughs at himself. “Get it? Because of the hole?”
I shake my head, still smiling. Who knew such a dork hid under his Santa suit and muscles? “Yeah, I get it. You’d have to be loop -y not to.”
“Ahh,” Duke teases, pointing at me. “You’re not as crusty as you seem.”
Aloof. Cold. Distant. That is what I need to be going for. Except, he’s laughing at his own bread joke—laughing at my bread jokes. Like I’m funny.
“No, not crusty,” I hedge, “maybe a little flaky though.”
He throws his head back and laughs, a rich reverberating laugh that mingles with the morning Christmas music to warm me all the way through. “Look at you, rising to the occasion and throwing pastry puns around.” He preens a little. “I knew you liked me.”
And that’s enough of that.
I can’t have Duke thinking that I like him. I shouldn’t even have him noticing me. ‘Right,” I say, doing my best to channel aloof and cold and distant. “I should probably—"
“I, uh, brought you something,” Duke interrupts. “You know, in case Sebastian ‘forgot’ something again.”
I can’t help it, my stupid heart leaps. It doesn’t matter if I’m dressed as a guy or girl, I’ve got it so bad for him. “Yeah?”
He pulls out a little Christmas ornament of a cranky penguin from his pocket.
It’s not wrapped. In fact, it still even has the price sticker on the bottom of it.
Still, it’s maybe the sweetest gift I’ve gotten in years.
Last year for Christmas, Mal got me a dress that was two sizes too small.
He called it a goal dress. It didn’t matter to him that it was physically smaller than the size of my bones.
“You got this for me?”
Duke nods. “It reminded me of you.”
“You’re nuts.” My words have no bite, though, since I’m smiling like an idiot.
“And handsome.”
And handsome.
I shrug. “If you say so,” I lie, like he isn’t the most handsome pre-Santa I’ve ever seen.
“You and your brother both shrug like that. It’s cute,” he says, repeating the motion with a laugh.
“Is it cute when my brother does it, too?” I say, unable to resist teasing him a little.
Duke’s brows knit together. “Yes?”
I laugh. He really is just such a kind guy. I know that I look, or more precisely sound like a complete idiot all day as Santa, but Duke’s still calls me (him?) cute, just to be nice.
He looks me over and exhales. He stands there, looking thoughtful and confused. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“How do you know what you like?”
Though I think I know what he’s talking about, the fact that he’s so open about discussing his feelings means that I’m wrong. Right? “Are we still talking about bread?”
He sighs. “It’s like, I’ve always assumed I’ve liked bagels. I’ve had bagels, eaten plenty of them—” He flashes me a smile. “But then it’s like, well maybe I like bread? How can I know I don’t like bread if I’ve never eaten it, you know?”
“You’ve never eaten bread?” I ask. I aim for a level voice even though my heart has started to pulse on overdrive somewhere in the middle of my neck.
He shakes his head. “But lately I’ve found myself thinking that I wouldn’t mind putting it in my mouth.”
Unbidden, my eyes flit down to his mouth. It takes every bit of strength in me to bring them back to his eyes. He smirks, knowing exactly where I was just looking. “You, uh, would like to put bread in your mouth?”
He rubs at the back of his neck. “Maybe? I feel like with the right slice of bread, I might not mind it. But wouldn’t that be so awful if I went to have some bread and then spat it out because it turns out I didn’t like it.
I don’t think I could do that to the bread. If the bread even wants to be eaten.”
Oh, the bread wants to be eaten.
I sigh internally, hating that maybe the most erotic moment of my life has devolved into the least sexy metaphor imaginable.
“Is there anything that you know for sure you wouldn’t like?” I hedge, hating that I’m living and dying on his next word.
He takes a moment to consider it. “Lately, I've been feeling that I'm open to any sort of person. It doesn't matter what they look like, as long as they have a good heart. Truthfully, I think the only thing, the only dealbreaker, would be if the person was a liar.”
I freeze. “A liar?”
He nods. “Yeah, my ex really…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I could recover from that again, to open myself up so completely to someone and have that be used against me. You know?”
“I know.” My voice is hollow because, truly, I know.
I know because time and time again Mal would use my honesty against me.
I was always on the lookout for one big lie, a mess up.
I couldn’t imagine that it was all a lie.
That there were hundreds of preceding lies—an afterwork trivia team that didn’t exist, physio for a shoulder that never hurt—that built the foundation for a much, much bigger one.
I also know about lying because it’s what I’m doing to Duke right now. What I’m doing to everyone.
“I guess we’re not still talking about bread?”
“Oh, my ex is a scone,” he answers with a perfectly serious face.
For a second, I hate how funny he is. How open and sincere he is. How perfect he is. It makes what I’m doing all the worse.
I clear my throat. “I really have to go.”
Duke shakes his head a little. “Ahh, sorry. That was a lot to dump on someone I’m trying to get to know.” He grins, that classic, carefree Duke grin. “There’s something about you and your brother that reels me in. Sets me at ease. Do you feel it too?”
“No.” I shift my eyes away from him. It’s probably the first true thing I’ve said to him.
He doesn’t set me at ease. He makes me come alive.
He makes my skin tingle with electricity and my stomach knot with anticipation.
He makes me smile to myself when I think about him and hum love songs even when I don’t know I’m thinking about him.
No, he does the opposite of putting me at ease, which is why I need to stay far, far away from him. “I’m going to get going.”
“Right, right. And I’m going to go talk to the guys, sort out some of my carbo-confusion.”
I nod. “I’m sure it’s quite kneaded .”
He laughs, shooting some finger guns at me. “I hope you have a day as special as you’ve already made mine, Viola.”
My heart thrills at the way he says my name. I’m going to carry the memory, the feeling of my name on his lips for the rest of the day.
I watch him walk away for a minute, telling myself that it’s to make sure the coast is clear.
Really, though, I just want to watch him for a little longer, holding the penguin ornament in my hand.
When I sneak into the laundry room a little later, I repeat my mantra over and over to myself: aloof and cold and distant.
More and more, I’m realizing I actually need to follow through with this—and not just to protect myself.
“Aloof, cold, and distant,” I tell the little penguin in my hand.
It stares back at me with skepticism.
Viola closes the door to the laundry room, holding the ornament against her chest.