Christmas Carol

“Maybe by an hour or so,” he shrugs.

“Then let’s go to my sisters,” I reply quickly, which just makes him laugh harder.

“Carol?” Chelle says, coming back into the shop. “What do you think?”

“I need to talk it over with Krissy, but I think I’m going to do it, Chelle,” I tell him, feeling nervous, but excited all at the same time.

“This is amazing! I can see the window painted now!” Chelle exclaims. “Kringle’s Catering. You will gain so much more business here on the main drag, Carol.”

“I think so, too,” I admit, loving the idea of a painted window.

“Wait, hold up. Why Kringle’s Catering?”

“Uh…that’s the name of the business,” I explain to Cyrus.

“Why not Carol’s Catering?” Cyrus suggests and I smile.

“If you haven’t noticed, Mistletoe is a Christmas town. Kringle’s Catering fits in better. Besides that, I kind of hate my name.”

“Why?” he asks and the look on his face says he truly doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t like it.

“It’s just…”

“Just?” he prompts.

“Boring and plain,” I finally answer with a shrug, not bothering to add that those descriptions are exactly how I feel about myself.

“Anyone that thinks that has never met you, mi corazón,” he murmurs.

“My heart,” Chelle gushes and I turn to look at her.

“What?” I ask.

“Mi corazón,” Chelle answers, the words not sounding as beautiful without Cyrus’s deep voice. “It means my heart. Didn’t you know?”

“No,” I murmur, my gaze moving to Cyrus. He’s looking at me. I can’t read what he’s thinking, his face is blank. His stare, however, is intense and I get the feeling I should be scared—not turned on.

But I am…CyrusMeeting Carol’s sister was interesting. The girls are nothing alike. They might look similar and they’re definitely both sweet, but Carol is more vivacious. She’s definitely the leader of the two. You can tell that she’s had to make more decisions and stand on her own. That appeals to me. In fact, everything about Carol appeals to me. I’ve set here in this cozy farmhouse kitchen—which has way too many Christmas decorations—and watched Carol and her sister Krissy interact and for some reason it relaxes me. I never had a family, but this is how I always imagined having a sibling would be. That familiar ache that I always get when I think of how life should have been, hits me again. I ignore it as best I can, and instead concentrate on the sound of Carol’s laughter.

I don’t know what it is about her, but I’m drawn to her.

“You haven’t talked much, Cyrus. What do you think of Kringle’s?” Krissy asks, making a hand motion to indicate the house.

“It’s good—if not a little too…”

“Too what?” Carol asks, and I grin at her.

“It looks like the North Pole puked on this place, Bebé,” I laugh.

“Gah, I love your accent, Cyrus. Where are you from?”

“Oregon,” I laugh. “I stayed in a few foster homes growing up that taught me Spanish. They figured with a name like Martinez, I should live up to my heritage.”

“What happened to your parents?” Carol asks, watching me closely.

“No idea. Last time I saw them the cops were hauling them away for trying to sell their child for drugs. I was five.”

The room is silent after that. Carol’s gaze never leaves me. I can’t read her expression. Part of it might be pity, but I get the feeling there’s more to it than that.

“Carol does the decorations. To be honest, since Carol moved to town, everyone here comes to or her expertise when it comes to decorating. Every year she’s in charge of the town’s Christmas Tree. She’s also head of the tourist committee and the Winter Carnival.”

“Krissy—”

“What?” Krissy responds defensively. “It’s just the truth. There’s a reason the whole town calls you Christmas Carol, sis.”

“Christmas Carol?” I ask, wondering just what I’m getting myself into.

“Yeah,” Carol mutters, her cheeks blushing a bright red.

A woman who screams forever and loves Christmas.

Good Lord what am I getting myself into?

“You’re the reason my Santa was eating snow today, weren’t you Cyrus?” Carol asks.

I shrug.

“I hate Christmas,” I admit. I figure she might as well know it now as later. The season obviously means something to her, and I despise it. That’s not something I can try and hide from her. I don’t know how long this thing with her will last, but I do know it’s different from anything I’ve ever felt before. I’ve never lied about who I am—and I sure as hell am not going to start with Carol. I want her to know the man she lets between her legs, because I’m starting to think I’m going to stay there for a while.

“How does someone hate Christmas? It’s the best time of the year. People are more giving, little kids believe in magic, the lights, the snow… it’s beautiful,” Carol whispers and I smile at her, but there’s no joy in the smile. There’s a longing maybe, because I wish I could have experienced the Christmas she described, but I know better than anyone that’s only superficial.