Page 73 of Merry Little Sugar Rush
When he opens the lid and pulls out the gift, he seems to stop breathing. All he does is stare down at the item I made him. Or more specifically, the photograph it contains. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with shock. “Where did you find this picture?”
I glance at the frame and offer a small grin. “Mom was going through photos a week ago and she stumbled on it. It was mixed in with all the Christmas pictures from that year. She thinks we were probably ten when she took it.”
His eyes drop once more to the captured memory of two little kids who were the best of friends. A boy and girl ice-skating around the rink during the annual festival, the lights twinkling around them as they both smile widely for the camera.
“You made this.” Burk runs his fingers across the smooth wooden frame.
“I did,” I confirm, clearing my throat. “I know it’s not as good as one you’d be able to make, probably with your eyes closed, but I enjoyed making it for you.”
“How? When?” he asks, his brown eyes full of wonder.
“Last week, after Mom found the photograph. I took some of the thin pieces of scrap wood when I was helping you clean up your grandpa’s shop after you finished building the arch. I took them to my dad, and he helped me make the frame. I did most ofit myself, thanks to the knowledge you shared when we built the arch.”
He beams proudly. “You did a great job.”
“I didn’t, but I figured it was more the sentiment than the actual gift.”
“No, don’t sell yourself short, Joy. This is amazing. I love it,” he insists, leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine.
I ignore the way my heart skips a beat when he tells me helovesthe gift I made him. If only he was using that word in a different context.
He sighs and sits back, putting space between us. “Do you want to take a walk?”
His question surprises me a bit, considering we haven’t been inside too long. “Oh, uh, okay?”
Standing up, he extends his hand toward me and helps me rise. We gather our coats and slip stocking caps on our heads. I glance down at my dress shoes and know they won’t keep my feet warm for any length of time outside, so I grab one of the thick pairs of wool socks I keep by my washer and dryer and slip those on my feet. Once they’re in place, I slide my winter boots on and turn my attention to Burk.
“Should I change out of my dress?” I ask, glancing down at the deep-red floor-length dress I’m wearing beneath my winter coat.
He just smiles. “I’ll keep you warm.”
My cheeks flush as images of him doing just that filter through my brain. “Are you going to put on boots?” I ask, looking down at his black shoes.
“I’ll be all right, Easy-Bake. Besides, we won’t be out for long.”
I nod, indicating I’m ready, so he takes my hand and leads me down the steps. I don’t bother to lock the door, hoping wereally won’t be gone long. I just can’t imagine someone breaking into my place on Christmas night.
Together, we walk outside and toward the end of the buildings, making our way to the park in the middle of town. Despite being forecast, it hasn’t snowed today, so the sidewalks are still fairly clean, as are the roadways. We cross at the light and make our way to the walkway through the middle of the town square. The lights are still on, a million white lights illuminating the area, giving off the perfect Christmas glow.
“Here.” Burk stops walking and turns to face me. He has both of my bare hands tucked inside his, keeping them warm and us anchored together.
I glance around, trying to figure out what’s going on. No one is around. We’re literally standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by the calm of Christmas. “What’s going on?”
He takes a deep breath. “I have something I want to say to you, and I wanted to do it here.” He looks around, a faint smile stretching across his lips. “This is one of the places I have the most memories of my time in Snowflake Falls. Every single one of those memories features you.”
My own grin breaks out across my face. “We spent a lot of time together when we were little.”
“We did.”
Reaching up, he runs his thumb across my chin and cheek. “I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.”
That’s when the rug gets pulled out beneath my feet.
That’s when my heart breaks.
TWENTY
Burk
