Page 106 of Holiday Love
She smirks. “Only if you’ve been naughty.” She waggles her brows at me in a very suggestive way.
From the couch, her dad clears his throat loudly. I give him my most innocent look. He glares back.
I tear into the paper with far less grace than it deserves and lift the lid.
Inside is a keychain. At first glance, it’s simple, a tiny surfboard carved from polished wood, but then I see what’s painted on the back in neat block letters that I recognize as Helen’s handwriting.
Still standing.
For a second, I can’t speak. Which, if you know me, is rare enough to qualify as a Christmas miracle.
Helen’s voice is soft beside me. “I saw it at this little shop near the beach and, I don’t know, it made me think of you. I added the words. After everything this year, what you survived, you’re stillhere. Still standing. I didn’t want you to ever forget how far you’ve come.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and run my thumb over each letter. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in all my life.
Instead, I slide the keychain into my palm and say, “Careful, Helen. Keep giving me gifts like this, I’m gonna end up at all your Christmases.”
Helen leans in, her voice low, just for me. “Maybe I’d like that.”
My heart stalls. It’s not even beating. She’s killed me with kindness. I press a hand to my chest. “Great. I’m flatlining. Again.”
Helen rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
I reach behind the couch and pull out a box. My wrapping job is, um, let’s call it abstract. The paper is wrinkled, there’s a rip on one corner, I used duct tape, but it’s what’s inside that counts. Right?
Helen opens it and laughs. That soft, delighted sound that makes my heart do weird things.
It’s a ballerina snow globe.
She lifts it gently, gives it a shake, and glitter swirls around the tiny dancer frozen mid-arabesque. “It’s beautiful.”
“It reminded me of you,” I say. “Delicate. Graceful. But look—” I tap the globe. “It’s plastic, not glass. Tough. Resilient. The kind that doesn’t shatter when it falls.”
She goes still, blinking at me like I just said something important without meaning to.
Silence stretches out, a beat too long.
I panic a little, sure I got it all wrong. I should have bought her something more expensive, fancier. Something that came in an actual box, with a warranty. I’m kicking myself hard enough to get mental bruises, but Helen launches forward and throws her arms around me, nearly knocking me flat.
“I love it,” she breathes against my neck, her voice thick. The globe is still clutched in her hand, held tight to her chest like it’s something precious. “It’s perfect.”
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear, and whisper, “Just like you.”
She shivers, and I swear I can feel her heart stutter against mine. Her breath catches. Slowly, she pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes. There’s something vulnerable in her expression, something open and real, and Iknowshe feels it too. This thing between us.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then slides back up. For a second, we both lean in. The moment stretches, charged, like a held breath, but then she remembers. Her eyes flick to the couch, where her parents are sipping coffee and pretendingvery hardnot to notice what’s happening on the floor in front of them.
Helen bites her bottom lip and lets out a soft laugh.
“Later,” she whispers, her nose brushing mine.
I grin, heart thudding, already counting down the seconds. “Promise?”
She nods, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. So beautiful and, just like that, I’m done for. Totally, hopelessly gone.
Her dad grunts and stands. “Teddy, I got you something.” Surprised is an understatement. I roll away from Helen and go to meet him in the middle of the room, where he hands me a small gift bag. “It’s nothing big, but it’s practical,” he says without any change in his expression.
It’s a Swiss army knife. Engraved.
