Once Upon a December: A Holiday Short Story Collection (4 page)

“He will, if for no other reason than to make sure I’m not totally screwing this up again. That is, if you’ll let me try to make it right.”

With a nod, she smiles through her own tears, her green eyes shining brightly.

“I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too.”

“Still?”

“Always.”

I don’t really need the mistletoe, but I pull it out of my pocket anyway . . . just in case he’s peeking . . . and I hold it above our heads.

We lean in, and I slowly brush my lips against hers.

And with that kiss, I’m finally home.

Last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve always struck fear in Melanie Taylor’s heart. The frantic customers. The exhausted cashiers. The long lines. All of it was mayhem, and the last thing she needed was more chaos in her life.

In an attempt to avoid the crowds, Melanie had chosen a high-end department store to do the last of her shopping. There was only one gift left on her list, and it had to be special. And in her world, special was just another word for
expensive
.

Melanie stood at a glass case, looking down at the selection of designer watches. The one that caught her eye was undeniably gorgeous, made of titanium ceramic, and equipped with enough functions to pilot a small plane.

“May I help you?” The man behind the counter beamed. It was impossible to ignore the excitement in his voice.

Melanie pointed at the silver watch. “I’d like to see that one, please.”

“Oh, that’s a fine choice,” he said as he reached for his keys. The man lifted the watch out of the case and handed it to her. She didn’t bother looking at the expensive price tag. Instead, she gazed at the band, and then at the watch’s face, hoping either would trigger some recollection.

Nothing.

The man noticed her reluctance.

“Shopping for your husband?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What a wonderful Christmas gift! Your husband would be proud to wear a watch so beautiful and well-crafted . . .”

The man continued his sales pitch, but it was easy to ignore. He had no way of knowing that the price of the watch wasn’t the cause of Melanie’s hesitation. It was the fact that, just last year, in this same department store, she had bought a watch for her husband for Christmas.

And she couldn’t remember what it looked like.

A desperate Melanie glanced at the man behind the counter. He didn’t look familiar, either, but that was hardly helpful. Still, she decided to ask.

“Were you working last Christmas Eve, as well?”

It was a long shot, she knew. But perhaps he remembered her, and if he did, maybe he could recall if she’d bought this exact watch.

The manager looked confused.

“No, ma’am.  I just recently moved from . . . up north.”

She smiled sheepishly. This nice man probably had a family and wished he could be with them on Christmas Eve instead of dealing with privileged customers like her—especially ones who couldn’t recall if they had bought their spouse this same ten-thousand dollar watch just last year.

With a sigh, Melanie glanced down at her own watch. The store closed in twenty minutes.

“I’ll take it,” Melanie decided. “I just hope I have time to gift-wrap it.”

The manager smiled brightly as she placed the platinum card in his hand. Of course, he was ecstatic. The commission from this sale would probably ensure that his family had a very merry Christmas.

“Do you have children?” Melanie asked.

The manager handed her the receipt to sign. “Yes, I do. Two girls. Both blondes, just like their beautiful mother.”

The pride in his voice made Melanie smile as she scribbled her name on the slip.

“Well, I hope you, and they, have a lovely holiday . . .”

“Nick,” the man said. “My name is Nick, and I wish you and your husband a Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you, Nick. I wish for that, too.”

He had no idea how much she wished for that.

Nick handed Melanie a pretty gift bag. It was red and silver, and festive enough that she wouldn’t have to bother with gift wrapping at all.

Her mission complete, she took a few moments to browse through the rest of the store. At one of the counters, she overheard a man and his son, trying to decide between a leather handbag and a bottle of designer perfume for the mom. Unlike Melanie, the two of them had smiles on their faces. They were happy customers, excited to find something that would brighten the eyes of someone they loved.

Melanie, on the other hand, had just hoped to find something that would make her husband notice her, even if it was just for one day.

On her way to the elevator, Melanie couldn’t help but think about the nice store manager and his wish for her. As much as she hoped for a wonderful Christmas with her husband, her only concern right now was that he didn’t already own a watch just like the one in this bag.

And that was the prayer she whispered as she stepped onto the elevator.

The first thing Ethan noticed was her long legs. They were hidden beneath the fabric of her black dress and stylish overcoat, but they peeked out as she walked onto the elevator. Without acknowledging him, she pressed the button that would take her to the first floor.

Ethan’s appreciative gaze swept over her. She was a beautiful woman, with long, dark hair that curled just slightly on the ends. For just a moment, he considered reaching out and letting his fingers touch the silky strands, but sanity prevailed, and he quickly stuffed his free hand in his pocket.

Instead, he cleared his throat and Melanie jumped, turning toward the sound. Her eyes widened when she saw him. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit and light blue tie—a perfect complement to his soft eyes. One hand was in his pocket while the other held a small gift bag.

“Doing some last-minute shopping?” Ethan asked.

Melanie blinked rapidly before nodding.

“I am,” she replied stiffly. “You?”

He lifted the gold bag, giving it a little shake.

She nodded. “For someone special?”

“For my wife. You?”

“My husb—”

Her reply was cut short when the lights dimmed, and the elevator lurched to a stop.

“Fantastic,” Melanie mumbled.

The emergency lights flickered on, and Ethan pushed the alarm button before grabbing the elevator’s phone. Melanie listened intently as he barked orders to someone before slamming down the receiver.

“The entire block is in the dark,” Ethan grumbled. He removed his jacket before settling himself on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable,” Ethan said. “The guy said it might be a while.”

Melanie glanced down at her silk dress.

“I’m not sitting on this dirty floor.”

Ethan shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Melanie eyed his jacket.

“Speaking of
suits
, isn’t that Armani?”

“I have no idea which expensive name is stitched on the label.”

She smirked. “But you know it’s expensive.”

“There isn’t a suit in my closet that didn’t cost a fortune. My wife insists upon it.”

“Maybe that’s because your wife has good taste.”

“Maybe that’s because my wife is too hung-up on labels.” Ethan loosened his tie and sighed tiredly. “Just sit down. I hate enclosed spaces, and you’re making me nervous.”

A stubborn Melanie remained on her feet, but the four-inch heels of her favorite boots weren’t the most comfortable, and after a few minutes, she finally relented and removed her coat. It was far less expensive than the dress, after all. She placed it on the floor before slowly sitting down.

“See? Isn’t that better?”

Melanie sighed loudly.

“One of us should probably conserve our cell battery,” Ethan suggested, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “My Blackberry has a full charge, so I don’t mind keeping mine on if you’d like to save yours.”

With a nod, Melanie reached into her bag and turned off her iPhone.

“You don’t want to text someone first?” Ethan asked. “Your husband might worry if you come home late.”

Melanie somehow resisted the urge to laugh.

“No one worries about me,” she said.

A brief look passed between them before they both quickly looked away.

“What about you? You don’t want to send a text to your label-loving wife to let her know you’re stuck in an elevator?”

“No need.”

“Why not?”

Ethan gazed impassively at the pretty brunette.

“Nobody worries about me, either,” he replied.

Leaning her head back against the steel wall, Melanie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a few moments of suffocating silence, Ethan finally broke the ice.

“We didn’t used to be this way,” he said softly. “Once upon a time, my wife and I were crazy about one another. She laughed all the time, and her laughter was all it took to make me smile. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and nothing was more important than making the other person happy.”

Melanie opened her eyes and glanced over at the handsome man.

“That sounds nice.”

“It was.”

“What happened?”

It was the same question he asked himself every single day.

Ethan shrugged. “Life. Money. Heartbreak. At some point,
appearing
to have the perfect marriage became more important than actually having one.”

Melanie knew all about keeping up appearances. She and her husband attended social functions all the time. They held hands and smiled for the cameras, and everyone assumed their marriage was picture-perfect.

If they only knew
. . .

“My wife buries her nose in a book or volunteers at the hospital while I camp out at the office. By the time I get home, she’s asleep.”

“Or she’s faking it,” Melanie whispered guiltily. How many nights had her husband walked into their bedroom, only to find her supposedly sleeping?

“Faking it? Why would she do that?”

“Maybe because when the two of you talk, it always ends in an argument.”

Ethan sighed deeply and leaned his head back against the wall. It was true. All he and his wife had done was bicker for the past six months. He was hoping this Christmas could be a new start, and the last-minute gift in the bag was symbolic of that wish.

“I love my wife. She has no idea how much. We’ve been together ten years, and still, I’ve never met anyone so beautiful and so. . .
good
. She’s kind and compassionate. Always the first to volunteer for anything. Especially for children’s charities . . .”

His voice trailed off, and Melanie heard the sadness in his voice.

“Do you tell her?”

Ethan tilted his head. “Tell her what?”

“All the things you just told me.”

He tried to recall how long it had been since he told his wife how much he loved her. They used to say it every day. Each morning. Each night. At the end of every phone call. How long
had
it been? Granted, it was hard to talk to a brick wall, and when the wall was asleep by the time he found the courage to drag himself home from work . . .

“No, I don’t tell her.” His voice was filled with shame.