Page 16 of A DIY Christmas Miracle
What was I supposed to do if the snowstorm wasn’t coming? For the past two months, I’d made plans to get snowed in with Will. The weather reports had supported my plans and all the Christmas books that’d been released during the last few weeks had provided new ideas of what we could do…
Blinking a couple of times, I stared at my screen, waiting for the app to update. The reception out here really sucked.
“Are you okay?”
“Huh?” I looked up from my phone and directly into Will’s eyes that were fixed on me with concern. He closed his book and placed it next to him to give me his full attention.
“Are you okay? You just growled at your phone.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Yeah… everything’s fine. Cell reception just sucks here.”
“And that’s a surprise to you?” Will chuckled and shook his head. Great, now he was thinking I was stupidandnaïve. Someone who didn’t know cell reception and mobile data weren’t as widely available or as fast in quasi-uninhabited mountain regions as in big cities.
“Not really,” I quickly said, waving my hand. “I’m aware of where we are.”
In a mountain cabin in winter, just before Christmas… in a place where there was supposed to be a raging snowstorm right now…
But I couldn’t very well tell Will the reason for my bad mood had nothing to do with bad cell reception at all and everything to do with the fact it was a beautiful, starry night outside. He’d think I was crazy — and that was even worse than him thinking I was naïve.
“I just wanted to make Cassy jealous with one of the pics I took earlier, but it isn’t going through,” I lied.
“Well, if it’s not going through, anyway, put your phone away and just enjoy the evening. We’re here to relax, soo…relax.” The way he said it, the way he looked at me, I couldn’t help but smile and do what he said.
I needed to trust that the snowstorm would come…. It just had to.
Besides, Will was right. I should enjoy the evening. I needed to live in the moment because right at this second, I was sitting on a very comfortable couch in front of a fireplace while the man who’d held my heart captive for years was sitting next to me on the other end of the couch. If I stretched my legs a little, my toes would brush against his. But even without physical contact, I was acutely aware of the closeness of his presence.
It was almost perfect, with him sitting here with his book, me sitting here with my e-reader, and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and mini marshmallows cooling on the coffee table.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen Will this relaxed, this casual, this… light. He was always wearing somewhat ‘nerdy’ clothing — not that I minded. He was hot wearing his cardigans, button-down shirts, and knitted vests paired with chinos or corduroy pants and topped with his signature leather bag that was always slung over his shoulder.
I’d never seen him in different clothes, wearing something I’d consider casual. But here he was, sporting sweatpants, lounging on the couch.Sweatpants!I could barely believe he owned sweatpants. I’d always assumed he wore his chinos and corduroy pants for the whole day, only changing into silken pajamas right before going to bed. He definitely seemed like he was more ofthe expensive, elegant pajama-type to me.
He opened his book again, and I watched him getting sucked back into the story, his eyes darting back and forth, following the lines at breakneck speed. His hair kept falling into his face, and he kept tucking it behind his ear where it only stayed for a few seconds.
“What are you reading?” I asked, following a sudden impulse to string up a conversation.
The snowstorm might not be here yet, but Will was here, we were alone, and the fact that I was waiting for us to get snowed in together before getting closer to him seemed ridiculous.
“A Christmas Carolby Charles Dickens.” He lifted his head and smiled wistfully. “It’s kind of a family tradition of ours, you know? Even when I was still a little kid, my dad used to read it to me every year. I think the first time he read it to me, I almost wet my pants because I was so afraid of the ghosts.”
He shrugged, his eyes glazing over as if he were somewhere else entirely. “I still remember my mom coming in because I was crying. She was so angry with my father because she thought the story was way too scary for a five-year-old. But my father didn’t let that stop him. He told my mom it was a classic and every kid should know certain classics.” His smile widened, lighting up his whole face, a warm expression sparkling in his eyes. “At the time, my father was a professor of English literature in London. It was of immense importance to him that I knew all the classics. When I was seven, he dragged me to the Globe Theatre to watch a Shakespeare play. I can’t even remember which one, just that he was so happy when I told him I’d enjoyed it.”
He chuckled, a mischievous expression on his face. I hung on his every word. Had I ever heard him say so much at once? Probably not.
I wanted to ask how long he’d lived in London. I had no idea he’d ever lived anywhere but Canada.
But I didn’t dare to voice my question so as to not interrupt him.
“Of course, I’d lied to him back then. I hadn’t understood a lick of what’d been happening onstage. But he’d been so enthusiastic I just didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. For me, it was the beginning of many, many Shakespeare plays we’d see together. It turned intoour thing, you know? My father was a very special kind of person… like, there’s this cliché about professors who kind of live in their own world? To this day, my father is just like that.”
“Is that why you became an English teacher? To follow in your father’s footsteps?” I asked once I was sure he’d finished his story and I wouldn’t be interrupting. I knew he liked classics, but I hadn’t known his father was the reason he did.
“I didn’t follow in my father’s footsteps.” It was obvious I’d said the wrong thing — again. The corners of Will’s mouth dropped, and his words were laced with melancholy. “If I’d have followed my father’s footsteps, I wouldn’t be teaching high school English. I’d be writing my doctoral thesis and aiming to gain tenure as a professor.”
“Oh,” I said, biting my bottom lip. “But… I mean, you introduce students to Shakespeare and stuff. You’re shaping the next generation. That’s important.”
“But I don’tjustteach about classical literature.” Will rolled his eyes. “According to my father, I’m part of a system that encourages students to read trivial literature instead of theimportant, worthwhileworks. When students prepare book reports and are freeto choose the books they want, they’ll usually choose modern YA books. Which I think is totally okay. It’s not like I’m sitting in an antique chair day in and day out reading the English classics repeatedly.”
