She nods, and we head out of the barn toward the cabin. The snow is deep, and a white expanse covers the horizon.
“The storm’s over,” she says. “But I can’t imagine you getting your truck out of here today.”
“I don’t suppose so.”
“So you and I... we’re spending Christmas Eve together then?”
“Merry Christmas Eve, Evie.” I smile at her, the sky blue and everything around us blindingly bright. “What should we do today?”
“We are going to make wreaths and then Christmas cookies. And this thing between us... well, let’s just say, the magic on Mistletoe Mountain isn’t over yet.”Chapter ElevenEverett’s all man… and yes, he may be good at setting traps and chopping wood but I’m learning that his strength is certainly not wrangling cedar branches into a circle.
“This is fucking impossible, Evie.” Everett has managed to break his fourth branch in a row.
“Let me help. It’s not completely unsalvageable.” I use the wire to mend his nearly broken branch. “You just need to be gentle,” I tell him. I grin and add, “Pretend it’s my body, you wouldn’t just bend me over and expect things to work. You have to be tender, coax the branch into shape.”
“That’s not what you said yesterday afternoon.”
I laugh and jab him with my elbow. “Well, I may have bent over the bed, but you had certainly eased me into submission. The same thing is needed with this branch.”
I finish my wreath and add mistletoe to the center. “I would usually add a massive red ribbon to the center, but this mistletoe you gathered is even better.”
“So you really walk door-to-door and hand these to your neighbors?”
“It’s just a little something,” I shrug. “I started the tradition a few years ago when I began my blog. I was writing this post about creating traditions and being thoughtful, you know, thinking bigger than yourself. Connecting with people, whether online or in real life, is sorta my thing.”
We’ve finished a dozen wreaths and our fingers are red from the working with the wire and scratchy branches. “Thank you, Everett, for helping.”
“I don’t think I helped too much, but, watching you work has been nice. This cabin has never felt so… so much like a home.”
“I guess you’ll have to keep getting yourself a Christmas tree.”
“I was thinking I’d have to keep rescuing you the day before Christmas Eve. Bring you back here, help me get this place in shape.”
“Oh, yeah?” I twist my lips not quite believing him as I put the scraps of cedar in a basket for Everett to add to the fire. “You want to start a Christmas tradition with me?”
I don’t know what I even want Everett to say because there’s a cost to any of his words.
He could say yes, stay here with me -- which would be crazy. First, my sister wouldn’t believe me if I was to say I am giving up my life in town to come live in the middle of nowhere with a stranger.
Not just my sister, all my friends. And me too… except maybe not.
Maybe living in the woods with Everett would give my life meaning that I haven’t found anywhere else.
In a lot of ways, my life is amazing. I have a job I love and my work excites me. But at the end of the workweek, I know I’m filling my time with things that don’t matter.
Compared to my sister and her husband and son, my life feels a little empty. I’m not saying I must get married in order to be fulfilled.
But maybe this rendezvous has given me an opportunity to reflect on what I want. I could be doing so much more.
I could be volunteering on the weekends instead of getting drunk with my friends. I could be stocking shelves at the food bank instead of getting my nails done weekly. I could be donating my extra clothing to the women’s shelter instead of having an overflowing closet.
“You’re in your head again, Evie. You said that wasn’t your thing.”
Everett sets his hands on my waist, and beside us, the dining room table is stacked with Christmas wreaths. A blazing fire heats the room.
My heart feels like it could burst.
I feel so complete right now, but also… undone. Like what I truly want is something that isn’t mine for the taking.
Everett.
“I’ve had such a great time with you,” I tell him pressing my hands against his chest.
His lips are on my forehead. And I swear to God he’s smelling my hair. The same way I’m smelling his flannel shirt. Wanting to soak everything up from this moment, knowing that it won’t last forever.
“I’ve had a really good time too.” Everett’s words are hushed and solemn.
I smile, believing this is the best Christmas Eve of my life. “We need to bake cookies for Santa,” I tell Everett.