Chapter Nine
Riley
For the first time in days, my heart doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.
Instead, I’m hopeful. I realize it’s dangerous and stupid because clearly, Travis only sees me as a friend.
His best friend, according to him, but still.
I share that spot with my brother. Not exactly something a girl should get excited about, right?
In reality, nothing has changed between us. Travis is still leaving right after Christmas. I’ll also head home. But the fact that he’s actually single keeps a sliver of hope alive inside me.
I roll over to Travis’s side, but his bed is empty. Downstairs, voices and laughter mingle with the tunes of Silver Bells. I better get up too—today is Christmas Eve after all. I don’t want to waste the day doing nothing.
I slip out of bed and pad downstairs in my pajamas and fuzzy socks.
The Christmas tree in the living room sparkles with what must be a thousand white lights, garland drapes every available surface, and there are people everywhere.
Grandma’s doing a crossword puzzle in the armchair, Aunt Annie and Uncle William are debating about the proper way to make French toast, and I can hear Rosie babbling happily from her high chair.
But when I head to the kitchen, I stop in my tracks.
Travis is standing at the stove with his back to me, wearing expensive-looking sweatpants and a faded college hoodie. His hair is sticking up in about five different directions, and he’s stirring something in a pot. Hot cocoa, from the smell of it.
For just a second, I let myself imagine it.
This view. Every morning. Travis in my kitchen, making hot cocoa, his hair rumpled from sleep, humming along to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
Coming home to him after a long day of teaching.
Waking up together. Building a life. The fantasy is so vivid it almost hurts.
The longing for it to be real hurts even more.
“Morning, Travis,” I finally say.
I need to ban fantasies about him and me from my mind because I don’t want to get my heart broken. Even though it’s way too late for that. I’m a goner for him.
He turns, and when he catches sight of me, his whole face lights up in a smile that makes my mouth dry.
“Morning,” he says. “I’m making your favorite. Cocoa with extra marshmallows.”
He fills two mugs and piles them both high with marshmallows, then hands me one. When our fingers brush, an electric current runs through me. I want to groan and tell my body to stop it already. I can’t have Travis. No need to make things harder than they are by making his touch electric, right?
“So,” Travis says, breaking the spell. “We need to figure out our talent show act. Any ideas?”
I lean against the counter. “Well, what are you good at?”
“Football. But I’m not sure how that translates to a living room talent show.”
“What if we lean into that? You do sports commentary, but for completely mundane things?”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “Like me wrapping a present. Or making a sandwich. You know, full NFL broadcaster voice like ‘And she’s reaching for the tape, folks, this is a critical moment’. That kind of thing.”
Travis smiles. “That’s actually brilliant. I could do play-by-play analysis of you doing normal holiday tasks like they’re Olympic events.”
“Exactly! And I just act completely serious about it, like I’m actually competing.”
“Oh, this is perfect. We could use household items as props. Make it look official. I could even do instant replays.”
“Instant replays?”
“Yeah, you know. You do something, I make you do it again in slow motion while I analyze your technique.”
The rest of the day goes by in a blur of preparation and laughter.
Travis and I rehearse in his room while we snack on Mom’s homemade gingerbread cookies until Maddox knocks on the door to tell us we’re expected downstairs for dinner.
Travis and I quickly change into our talent night outfits first, because it’s about to happen right after dinner.
I change into black yoga pants and a white tank top, then pull my hair back with a headband, like I’m actually about to compete in the Olympics.
Travis emerges from the bathroom wearing his old college football jersey, and I have to actively stop myself from staring.
The jersey fits him perfectly, showing off shoulders that have only gotten broader since his college days.
It’s not fair that he’s almost forty and looks even better than he did in his twenties.
“Looking very quarterback-y,” I manage to say.
He laughs. “Thanks, but I’m a linebacker.”
“I know literally nothing about football positions, sorry.”
“That’s totally okay. Let’s head downstairs, eat dinner, and win this talent night, okay?”
“You bet,” I say with a grin.
All through dinner, I keep catching Travis’s eye across the table.
He keeps smiling at me, and I keep feeling my stomach turn.
It’s got nothing to do with Mom’s glazed ham or Rebecca’s perfectly glazed vegetables.
No, no. The food is amazing. What I’m suffering from is a mix of butterflies and nerves.
After the dishes are done and the leftovers are crammed into Tupperware containers, Rebecca announces it’s time for the Steelbirds’ annual talent show.
We all help push the furniture to the side so that a tiny stage area appears in front of the Christmas tree.
Our parents and Travis’s aunt and uncle take the couch, Grandma settles in the armchair, and I sit down on the floor next to Aspen, who’s got Rosie in her lap.
The baby is already clapping, even though nothing has happened yet, and my heart melts at the cuteness factor.
While Rebecca announces the ground rules and the grand prize, Travis leans in and whispers, “We’ve got this. No one can compete with what we’ve got planned.”
He’s right. Aunt Annie goes first, performing an interpretive dance to Michael Jackson’s Thriller that involves bold moves I didn’t know anyone over sixty could still do. She’s surprisingly good, though, and the room erupts in applause when she finishes with a dramatic zombie pose.
Uncle William follows with a magic trick that goes slightly wrong when one of his cards catches on fire, but everyone applauds anyway. Travis’s grandma recites a surprisingly moving poem about Christmas memories that has Rebecca dabbing at her eyes.
Beau does a stand-up comedy routine about the disasters of home renovation, my parents sing an off-key duet of Baby, It’s Cold Outside, and Aspen and Maddox perform a synchronized diaper-changing demonstration using a stuffed teddy bear.
Then it’s our turn.
Travis and I stand up, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m wearing yoga pants and a headband in front of his entire family.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Travis begins in his broadcaster's voice. “Thank you for joining us this evening for what promises to be the most riveting athletic display you’ve ever witnessed in this living room. I’m your host, Travis Steelbird, and tonight we bring you the Christmas Eve Championship of Ordinary Tasks. ”
There are already chuckles from the audience. I take my position by the wrapping station we’ve set up with a shoebox, wrapping paper, scissors, and tape.
“Our competitor tonight is Riley Quinn, a true gift-wrapping veteran with an impressive career spanning over three decades. She’s here tonight to show us what happens when preparation meets opportunity, when skill meets determination, when—”
“Get on with it. Show, don’t tell,” Beau calls out with a laugh.
“Right.” Travis clears his throat. “Our first event of the night is competitive gift wrapping. Riley, are you ready?”
I nod and stretch my arms like a boxer preparing for a match.
“And we’re off! Quinn approaches the wrapping station with confidence. Look at that focus. You can see the years of experience in every movement.”
I pick up the wrapping paper and begin measuring it against the shoebox. The room is completely silent except for Travis’s commentary.
“She’s measuring the paper now. This is crucial, folks. Too much and you waste precious resources. Too little, and it’s game over. But Quinn, yeah, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Years of Christmas mornings have led to this special moment of pure triumph.”
I start cutting, and Travis moves closer, narrating every detail.
“Beautiful cut! Clean lines! The scissors are moving through that paper like butter! This is what we train for, Bob!”
“Who’s Bob?” Grandma asks, and I have to bite my lip to stay in character.
“And now… the tape.” Travis’s voice rises dramatically. “This is where careers are made or broken, folks.”
I reach for the tape dispenser, and right on cue, it sticks. I freeze, hand outstretched, and Travis gasps.
“Oh no, the tape is stuck! This is a disaster! How will Quinn recover? The clock is ticking! Christmas waits for no one!”
I jiggle the dispenser, and finally it releases. I pull off a strip of tape with a flourish, and Travis’s voice booms.
“She did it. The tape is free! What a recovery. This is why Quinn is considered one of the best in the business.”
I’m wrapping the box now, carefully folding each corner, and Travis continues his play-by-play.
“Look at that hospital corner fold. A high-risk, high-reward technique that only the elite dare attempt. The precision. The symmetry. She’s making it look easy, but make no mistake, this is years of training on display.”
I finish with a piece of tape on top and hold up the wrapped box like a trophy. The room erupts in applause and laughter.
“Perfect execution!” Travis shouts over the noise. “But we’re not done yet, folks! Now we move to our second event: competitive ornament hanging.”
I pick up the silver ball ornament from the box of props we prepared, and Travis shifts back into broadcaster mode.
“Quinn has selected the silver sphere. A classic choice that says, I’m here to win, but I respect the game. Notice how she’s testing the weight and is feeling the balance. This is an athlete who leaves nothing to chance.”
I approach the tree with theatrical slowness, scanning the branches like I’m a sniper looking for the perfect shot.
“She’s surveying the tree and looking for that perfect spot. The middle branches are thick with competition thanks to other ornaments that have already claimed the prime real estate. But Quinn isn’t intimidated.”
I hang the ornament carefully, and Travis’s voice reaches a fever pitch.
“The placement is… Yes! Perfect! Look at how the ornament catches the light! The symmetry! The balance! This is what we came here to see, Bob! It’s what Christmas is all about!”
I step back and raise my arms in victory, and the room erupts in cheers and laughter. Both of our families are clapping.
“Riley Quinn, ladies and gentlemen,” Travis announces while he gives me a look that makes me weak in the knees. “A true champion. The ornament hanging champion of Maplewood Springs.”
He grabs my hand and raises it like a referee declaring a boxing winner, and I can’t stop smiling.
When the applause finally dies down and we collapse back onto our spot on the floor, Travis leans close to whisper in my ear.
“We crushed it.”
“We really did,” I whisper back.
His shoulder is pressed against mine, and I’m acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him, the way his eyes are still bright with excitement, and the smile that hasn’t left his face. In this moment, with the Christmas lights twinkling and our family surrounding us, I’ve never been happier.
The rest of the show continues with Rebecca’s act, but I barely register anything. I’m too focused on the fact that Travis hasn’t moved away. That our shoulders are still touching and that every few minutes he leans over to whisper something to me, and I get to inhale his intoxicating scent.
When all the acts are finished and all the votes are counted, Rebecca stands up to announce the winner.
“Travis and Riley, congratulations! You’ve won the coveted Summit Sweets gift certificate!”
“Yes,” Travis says and punches the air.
He stands up and pulls me with him. Before I fully realize what’s happening, he wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off the ground, spinning me in a circle.
I grab onto his strong shoulders, and when he sets me down, we’re face to face, his hands still on my waist, my hands still on his shoulders.
His eyes drop to my lips, and mine drop to his, and the room around us fades into nothing.
This is it. He’s going to kiss me. Right here, in front of everyone, and I don’t even care—
“Speech! Speech!” Beau calls out, breaking the moment.
Great. I make a mental note to kick my brother later. Hard.
Travis steps back, his hands dropping from my waist like it was on fire, but he has color in his cheeks that wasn’t there before. I’m pretty sure my face is also bright red.
“Uh, thank you. We’d like to thank the Academy, our families, and most importantly, quality adhesive tape,” Travis says.
Everyone laughs, and the moment passes. We sit back down as the talent show wraps up with hot cider and cookies, but I can still feel the warmth of his hands on my waist, can still see the way he looked at me like he was about to kiss me in front of everyone.
I was certain he was going to, but then he didn’t.
I wonder if he’s ever going to kiss me or if I’m seeing things that aren’t there. I don’t know what’s in the cards for me. All I know is that time’s running out. Tomorrow’s Christmas, and then, Travis will leave.