Page 5 of Gift of You
Shutting the door on the disaster that was yesterday, I stepped back into the bathroom and prepared to face the day.
6
MATTHEW
It was Christmas Eve,and as such, the morning at the bookstore had been busy, with customers coming in for last minute gifts ahead of tomorrow’s holiday. As the day progressed, that initial rush subsided, though, as people rushed home to get ready for church and other family holiday traditions. Not for the first time, I found myself wondering how my temporary neighbor had fared this morning against what was sure to be a massive hangover. Also not for the first time, I pushed the thought away. Not my circus, not my monkey.
I was debating closing the shop early when the bells above the door jangled, alerting me to the arrival of a customer. I shelved the book I’d been holding and made my way to the front of the store, pulling up short at the sight of the man I’d just convinced myself to stop thinking about. He was standing just inside the entrance, dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal peacoat with an amethyst-colored scarf that looked like it was intended more for fashion than for warmth. His face lit up in a bright smile when he saw me. It was like being hit with a sunbeam, both warm and blinding at the same time.
“Can I help you?” I grumbled, my voice rougher than I’d intended.
I didn’t miss the way his smile faltered ever so slightly at my tone, but I didn’t offer an apology for it. The sooner I figured out what this guy wanted—again—the sooner I could get back to reading my book in the comfort of my own home with only Ernie for company, just the way I liked it.
“Oh, um, I just wanted to say thank you for your help yesterday. For both the toiletries and for putting me to bed.” He gave a rueful little chuckle, but when I simply nodded my acknowledgement, he held out his hand. “I got this for you. It’s not much, just a token of my appreciation.”
It was a bakery bag, which I didn’t want to take, but there was a little voice whispering “be nice” in my ear. It sounded like Allison. It was the same voice that had sent me out to the five-and-dime to get toiletries for a stranger yesterday afternoon.
Reluctantly, I took the bag, opened it, and peered inside. It appeared to be an apple streusel muffin, dusted with a sprinkling of powdered sugar. I’d always had a weakness for baked goods, and Mrs. Sampson, the bakery owner down the block, knew apple streusel was my favorite. No doubt she’d helped him pick it out.
“That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.” There, I’d used my manners.
We stood in the doorway of the shop, locked in some sort of awkward stare down. “I’m Louis, by the way,” the man said, offering his hand to shake and giving me that same electric smile from earlier. I stared at his hand for a moment before sliding my palm against his. His skin was soft and smooth—not surprising since he looked like he’d come straight out of a fashion magazine—but his grip was firm and warm. He looked down at our clasped hands, and I realized I still hadn’t let go.
“Matthew,” I muttered, abruptly releasing him and heading for the sales counter, putting some distance between us. I set the bakery bag out of the way, then made myself busy tidying up the window display behind me, effectively turning my back on him.
“I’ll just have a look around,” I heard him say, his voice rising at the end like it was a question rather than a statement. When I didn’t respond, I heard the sound of his footsteps and assumed he was going to do just as he’d said and browse the shop, but when I heard the jingle of the bell over the door, I turned to find him walking out.
It was odd how a man leaving—one whom you’d only just met and had so far found to be nothing more than a disruption to your quiet life—could leave you feeling... empty.
7
LOUIS
My temporary neighbor was prickly.If you looked up grumpy in the dictionary, you’d find his picture, complete with furrowed brow and a frown marring his otherwise attractive face. But he’d also run to the five-and-dime to get me toiletries in the middle of the afternoon, and he’d put me to bed last night, removing my glasses, covering me with a blanket, and leaving a vomit bowl. Anyone could make the argument that he’d gone above and beyond. I found the contrast fascinating.
It had been clear he hadn’t wanted me in his store just now, though, and his dismissal stung, but I was used to it. People often found me to be...a lot. And I’d tried over the years not to let it get to me. I’d even tried to diminish myself, to dilute my personality to make myself more appealing, but eventually the real Louis always came out. I simply didn’t know how to be anyone other than myself, and fuck anyone who didn’t like it. Okay, well, it still stung, but I was working on it. Zero fucks and all that.
I walked back into my rental and rummaged around the kitchen, looking for the supplies I needed. It was Christmas Eve, and in my family, that meant baking cookies. And since myparents had flown to Texas to be with my sister and her new baby for Christmas this year, that also meant I was on my own for said baking. Good thing I was anexcellentbaker.
After treating my hangover to a greasy breakfast, I’d spent the day exploring the little town where I was staying. Thankfully everything was within walking distance, since I still hadn’t figured out how to retrieve my car from Jonathan’s cabin, and I’d found all the necessary baking supplies needed at the market on one end of the block—right next to the five-and-dime, as it happened.
Pulling those supplies out now, along with baking sheets, mixing bowls, and measuring cups provided by the rental, I got to work.
Forty-five minutes later, I was standing on a chair in my tiny rental with the oven door open, waving a baking sheet at the smoke detector that was wailing loud enough it could likely be heard three towns over. It was at this moment that my front door burst open, revealing a harried-looking Matthew armed with a fire extinguisher.
I paused in the midst of waving my cookie sheet to admire the sight of him, chest puffed out in a black and red buffalo-plaid flannel, jeans stretched tight across his thighs, with a couple of days’ stubble on his chin. Jesus, he looked like a real life lumberjack coming to my rescue. I’d happily be his damsel in distress.
Alas, I was pretty sure he didn’t swing that way.
“Where’s the fire?” he asked, his deep voice gruff and urgent.
I sighed. “There’s no fire. This oven hasn’t been cleaned, and whatever it is that’s sitting in the bottom started smoking and tripped the smoke detector. Actually, since you’re here, can you open that window?” I nodded toward the window over the sink across from me.
He grumbled something about adding this to his list for Jerry, but did as I asked. It took him a moment to wrestle with the lock and wrench the thing up a couple of inches, but it was enough that after a few more waves of my baking sheet, the smoke detector stopped its incessant yammering. The silence that followed was deafening.
“I’ll just head back,” he said, taking a couple of steps toward the door, which was still sitting wide open. I could see tiny snowflakes fluttering around against the dark sky beyond.
“Wait!” I shouted louder than necessary, desperate to stop him. “I was making sugar cookies. Do you want to help me decorate them?”
