"I feel something between us. Something I've never felt before with you. Can you feel it?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Are you sure about this, Holly?"
She drew in a deep breath and opened her door. "Yes."
She led me into the dark house, flicking on another small lamp in the living room. I was surprised not to see any Christmas decorations or a tree. She was such a warm person—somehow, she seemed the type to surround herself with the season. Even I dragged home a small tree each year from the woods behind my house, and although my decorations left a lot to be desired, it was a nice thing to look at in the dark evenings when I was alone. I looked at her curiously. "No tree?"
She shrugged. "I work tomorrow, and then on Christmas Day, I’ll have dinner with Leslie and Tom later in the day. I don't exchange gifts with anyone anymore." She laughed, the sound more sad than happy. "Not that I ever really did. My parents never made a big deal about Christmas. They felt it was too commercial, so they didn't do very much. Occasionally, there was a small gift by my plate in the morning."
"Occasionally?"
"Sometimes, there was nothing. It depended on if they were working, how long we'd been living in the place we were in, that sort of thing." She paused. "Maybe one day, it will be different. But for now, it seems silly to do anything only for me."
I swallowed around the painful lump in my throat. For the first time since I met her, she sounded despondent. Resigned. Whereas Christmas for me growing up had been excessive in the worst form, with too many gifts simply for the sake of giving gifts, hers had been the exact opposite. It also sounded to me as if she was as ignored as I had been as a child. I hated that she knew that feeling. I also hated the fact that she didn't feel she was worth the effort to add some holiday joy into her life.
What was it about this woman that made me want to give her every single desire she ever had missed out on? I wanted to fill her small house with lights and tinsel and put a tree in the corner that was loaded with gifts. I wanted to watch her open them and see the delight on her face. I wanted to be the one who made her smile. I wanted to share in her joy. I blinked at the peculiar feeling; it was another emotion I had never experienced before.
A strange noise had me looking down to see a pair of green eyes gazing up at me. Long dark fur stuck out everywhere and a patch of white was centered on his forehead. Bending down, I stroked the softness. "You must be Chester." I was rewarded with a deep purr as the cat wound itself around my legs, then stretched up, allowing me to pick him up. Holly giggled, the sound so much better than her earlier, sadder sound.
"He must like you. He never lets people pick him up."
"Have you had him long?"
"No. I found him last winter outside the diner. I think someone had abandoned him. I brought him home to keep him safe for the night, but I couldn't bear the thought of taking him to a shelter. So, he stayed."
I smiled at her. Of course, he did. Her rescuing me tonight wasn't a first for her. I wondered if maybe she would let me stay as well. Th
e strange thought made me pause for a moment.
"He's so small."
She nodded, reaching over to scratch his head. "I think he had a hard life before I found him. He never grew very much." Then she giggled again. "He looks like you."
"What?" I chuckled.
"The green eyes and the white patch on his head. There is quite the resemblance."
I grinned. I had developed a white streak at the front of my hairline when I was young. My mother disliked it and had insisted on having it colored, but I stopped doing that as soon as I left home. "Your taste in strays is excellent."
"I only save the handsomest men."
I blinked at her. Handsome? She thought I was handsome?
"I'm a throwback," I blurted out.
"What?"
"I heard my mother tell someone once I was a throwback to my grandfather, whom my father didn't get on with. I looked exactly like him—right down to the white patch in my hair. I have his coloring and eyes too. She said it was probably why my father wasn't very fond of me."
Her eyes were wide. "Your mother said your own father wasn't fond of you?"
I shrugged. "It wasn't much of a secret."
"That is so…cold."
"I was never treated the same way as the other two." I paused. "I don't think any of them found me very handsome. I looked different, I wore glasses. The way I saw things, did things, was different." I laughed mirthlessly. "My entire family is opinionated, vocal. Far too much, in my opinion. I was always in the corner and quiet. I never fit in."