My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories(80)

“I can help with that.”

The voice was deep, and it could only come from one person.

Shelby’s blond hair had grown out since his football season buzz cut, and it was sticking up everywhere. His face was unshaven, he had dark circles under his eyes, and his shirt wasn’t buttoned right. I’d never seen him look unkempt before.

“I’m sorry,” I said. In truth, I blurted it. I felt a little more kindly toward Shelby than usual.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry I made those birds crap on your car.” I’d never apologized, and it felt right to do it now. “It wasn’t cool, and I didn’t have a reason. Not a valid one anyway.”

Gracie dropped the clipboard and stepped in front of me. “I told him about your girlfriend.”

“Did you tell him about the Mini Cooper?” Shelby asked, urgently.

Gracie shook her head. “That’s your issue.”

“Dude.” Shelby stepped around her and grabbed me, looking intently into my eyes. “I only drive the Mini Cooper because I have to. My dad gets weird ideas about things”—he jerked his head toward the lassos and clown wigs that were hanging on a nearby Peg-Board—“and that car is one of them. He surprised me with it, and he was so happy … I just wish you’d set it on fire instead of the church.”

“Relax, big boy. I didn’t mean to set anything on fire.”

Gracie stepped in front of me again and knocked off Shelby’s giant, sweaty hands from my shoulders. “But you forgive him, right?”

Shelby’s body was large, but his brain was quick. He looked from me to Gracie. “Seriously? You two?”

“Can you help with the book or not?” Her hands were on her hips. “Because I’m not having this conversation right now, but I will remind you that you owe me.”

“Very true.” Shelby dropped his head. “Fine, hand it over. I know I can put those stage markings in the right place. They’ve always looked like football plays to me.”

Gracie gave it to him, and he sat on the stool, heavily, as if he were exhausted. It creaked under his weight. “I’ll let you know when I’m done,” he called out. “And Gracie? We’ll be having a talk later.”

She waved him off and pulled me to the side of the stage. “That was an impressive apology from you. Unexpected.”

We were right beside a corner. A small, dark corner. A corner that wasn’t in her father’s line of vision. And she was impressed with me.

“Was it reward worthy?” I asked, looking from her to the corner and back again.

“You are cheeky.”

“I acknowledge advantageous situations.”

“Cheeky. And smart, too.” She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me into the darkness.

I was glad she hadn’t put her costume back on. It’s not like I had her pressed up against the wall or anything, but I was closer to her than I’d ever been. It exceeded expectations. Her hair smelled girly, like spring.

She still had my shirt wrapped around her fist.

“I know I’m trying to make better life choices,” I said, “but I’d commit a crime every day if it meant I got to do this.”

“That’s not logical.” She let go of my shirt. “If you committed daily crimes, the only time we’d have together would be an hour on Sundays.”

I wanted to make a conjugal visit joke, but I didn’t think we were there yet. “So you’re saying you want to spend time with me?”

She answered with a giggle. Gracie wasn’t a giggler.

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m … I’ve never … the only kiss I’ve ever had was with Milo Crutcher in sixth grade, and he stuck his whole tongue in my mouth. I understand his intentions now, but I didn’t then. So, I’ve just … sort of…” She gestured awkwardly with her hands. It was adorable. “I’ve avoided trying it again.”

She thought I was going to kiss her, and she wasn’t running away.

“That’s a shame.” I touched her face, ran my thumb along her cheekbone. “Although I’m glad he ruined it for you. I’ll be happy to be the one to set things right.”

“I b-bet you would.”

I removed my hand from her cheek. “Your teeth are chattering. I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” She grabbed my wrist. “I’m the one who made the move.”

“And I appreciate it.” I tipped up her chin with one finger. “But this probably isn’t the time or place for this, and maybe I want to buy you a steak first.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” she said, but she’d stopped shaking.

I smiled. “I’ll buy you a salad.”

Then I gave her a peck on the forehead and stepped into the light.

*

I’d behaved for thirty-one hours, shown restraint with Gracie, and had an intelligent conversation with her father. I’d found tablecloths to cover the legs of the waitresses-now-angels, persuaded Lee and Grant to put on wigs and robes (two of the Wise Men were stuck in traffic), and attached cotton balls to sawhorses to create sheep.

I’d wielded a glue gun to finish hemming Gracie’s costume—with no hit to my masculinity at all—and borrowed an eighth-grade gamer from the middle school choir to run lights. I’d untucked the robe from the back of an unaware shepherd’s pants, removed the Confederate caps from the horses-now-donkeys, and located Benadryl for a nervous stage mother.