The Mistletoe Motive(45)

A moment later, he steps back, turns, and disappears into the snowy night.

“What a strange, lovely man.”

My vision’s watery, a solitary tear slipping down my cheek, but I smile to myself the whole way up the stairs.





Chapter 13


Playlist: “You and Me at Christmas,” Why Don’t We


Maybe it’s cumulative exhaustion, but for the first time in weeks, my sleep is a black blanket, heavy and dreamless. I wake up rested on Christmas Eve morning and whip up brunch with Eli and June before heading to my parents’ to celebrate. It’s laughter and good food and music, happy chaos that I love but also requires lots of headphone time.

I sleep dreamlessly that night, too, and wake up to a picture-perfect white Christmas.

Bing sings the famous apropos song as snow drifts from the sky and my parents and I open presents in front of the tree. When the next song starts, my heart twists.

Little Jack Frost, get lost, get lost.

I try very hard to banish Jonathan from my thoughts, because tomorrow I meet Mr. Reddit. But after another long day of celebrating, after I tumble into my bed that night, savoring the cozy comfort of my apartment and my cuddly Gingerbread, I’m not as lucky as I have been the past two nights.

This time, my dreams are different. The hands and body holding me close, loving me, filling me, are gentler, careful, like it’s our first time and there’s a world to discover between us. It’s not Jonathan…and yet something deep in my mind says it is. As I swim to the surface of my dreams, they morph to Jonathan and I saying goodbye outside my apartment, just like after the big sale. Jonathan’s staring down at me, something fierce and hot in his gaze as he tells me what he told me that night:

“Your Mr. Reddit better be quaking in his boots. He’s got a lot to prove before he’s worthy of you.”

Mr. Reddit… It snags my brain, hooks my thoughts, and yanks me closer, closer to the surface of wakefulness.

Mr. Reddit…

I never told him that name. I only told Mr. Reddit himself.

I’m thrashing among waves where memory and dreams crash and swell, reaching for him, choked and wordless.

Don’t leave! I want to tell him. Don’t leave when I’ve just found you!

I’m so scared he’ll dissolve into midnight-water darkness like he did when we said goodbye. But instead, Jonathan clutches me tight and rips me to the surface, wrapping me in his arms, his mouth taking mine, filling me with words and air and hope. It’s me, he whispers. It’s always been me.

Jackknifing up in bed, I gasp. My heart is pounding.

I can’t believe it. And yet it’s the only thing I can believe.

It’s hard to grasp that something so unlikely could be true, but I know I’ve never used the name “Mr. Reddit” around Jonathan. It has to be him. There’s no other explanation.

As I rush around, replaying our conversation the night we closed up Bailey’s, the questions he asked, his hesitation and tenderness, the wariness in his expression, I become more and more sure. It’s him. Jonathan is my Mr. Reddit.

Frantically tugging on fleece-lined leggings, my most garish fuzzy candy-cane-stripe socks, I falter when I realize my ugly Christmas sweater is nowhere to be seen.

It takes me a moment to recall when I last saw it, and that’s when I remember—I left it at Bailey’s. My sensory comforts fluctuate from day to day, so I always bring back-up clothes in case what I’m wearing starts to bother me. That last day of work, I brought the heinous sweater and another pair of fleece lined leggings similar to what I’m wearing now, and then failed to bring them home.

I could wear something else. But then I remember Jonathan’s breathtaking smile, that deep, rich laugh when I promised to wear the ugly Christmas sweater.

My heart leaps, toe loop after toe loop, as I drag on a cotton long-sleeved tee that I’ll wear under the sweater, as I brush my teeth and sort out my wild hair, then run out of the house. A thousand questions storm my mind. How long has he known? When did he figure it out? And why didn’t he tell me?

I run, desperate for answers and desperate to see him, slipping on snow, darting around bundled-up slowpokes, my headphones quieting the world to a peaceful hush as snow kisses my skin like a blessing and a promise.

His voice echoes in my head, what he said when I told him I hoped his online friend was everything he wanted.

I already know she is.

My heart’s flying, I have wings. I soar across the last block leading up to Bailey’s, then let myself into the shop. It’s quiet inside, a hush of emptiness that I love, compounded by my headphones. Daylight streams in, no lights on. The smell of books and wood polish tickles my nose.

Quickly, I stroll to the back and spot the canvas bag hanging from my clothes hook. I lift it open, yank out my ugly Christmas sweater, then tug it on, which knocks my headphones off and sends a rush of sound into my ears.

“Why haven’t you told her?” Mrs. Bailey’s voice carries from the bookkeeping room.

I freeze. My breathing sounds a thousand times louder than it should.

“You know why.” My stomach drops. That’s Jonathan. “She’s going to despise me for it.”

Blood roars in my ears. I try to breathe, try to make sense of what he’s saying.

“Perhaps at first,” Mrs. Bailey says quietly. “But once she sees that this is the only way to save the bookshop, she’ll understand.”