The Holiday List (The Script Club 4)

“Chet…”

“The ancient Greeks believed in time as a measurement of change…a before and after, if you will. Newton believed in the absolute of time…that it exists and flows with no concern to external factors. Of course, Einstein said it’s all relative.” I let out a humorless half laugh as I opened the door.

Sam sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Baby, you’re thinking too hard. What can I do? Tell me what you want.”

You.

I wanted a life with him full of improbable entanglements…a child, an ex, two jobs, and a host of complications beyond my comprehension. But that wasn’t the sort of gift one put on their Christmas list, let alone confessed to in an emotional avalanche worthy of a Hallmark movie. I couldn’t answer his question. I couldn’t tell him that what I wanted most was something I could never ask for.

“I want…I want the clocks to stop working in December. That’s all.” I gave him the best smile I could manage, then kissed his cheek and stepped outside. “Good night, Sam.”

8

Sam

What the hell just happened here?

I had that same dazed feeling I’d had the day Chet knocked on my door with a plate of cookies. But this time, I was a little freaked out too. What did ancient Greeks, Einstein, and stopping clocks have to do with…anything?

Look, I wasn’t a complete moron. I figured he was nervous and honestly, I was too.

Something strange and transformative had happened over the past few weeks. I felt different. Physically, I’d healed. My sling was long gone, and I felt more energetic than I had in a while. That was great, but that wasn’t what fascinated me. Sprains healed over time. That was science and modern medicine. A healing heart and soul…I hadn’t counted on that part.

I wasn’t sure what he’d done, but Chet had somehow managed to single-handedly upend my world. I’d been through a version of this with Jase years ago. I’d learned to be wary of fabulous men who communicated with all the finesse of a steamroll. I’d hardened my defenses and steered clear of temptation. I noted my priorities and vowed never to let anyone on the inside. Linc came first. My wishes and desires could wait.

But Chet wasn’t a steamroller. He was nothing like Jase or anyone I knew. He didn’t use his looks or sex to worm his way in. No, he’d been far craftier.

He’d been kind.

He’d volunteered to bring cheer into my house. Then he’d brought joy into my life as well.

I kidded myself that I’d let him do it for Linc’s sake. It was for me. I’d let Chet in because I liked the way he made me feel. A little stronger, braver, and a lot less worried about repeating my dad’s mistakes.

I gazed down the street at the old house on the corner. Lights hung neatly from the porch railing and though I couldn’t see it from here, I knew the wreath on his front door matched mine. A simple evergreen affair tied with a thick red bow. I knew the tree in his living room was six feet tall and was decorated with precisely sixty ornaments…none of which were gold. I knew he hung mistletoe in the foyer just as he did here. And because I knew him, I was sure he’d done most of the work himself.

It wasn’t a control thing for Chet. It was just his nature to do nice things for others. To give without thought of what he’d receive in turn.

That was such a foreign concept to me. Everyone had an angle. Everyone wanted something for nothing.

Except Chet…who only wanted to stop time. Tall order, but you know what? I was gonna find a way to make that happen. For him and me.

For us.

Easier said than done, this stopping time business. I had a few ideas, one of which involved a trip to the dreaded mall. The other involved Chet, who was busier than usual at work and with his friends. He’d warned me that he had a lot on his plate, but I missed him. Linc did too.

“Just a sec, Papa!” Linc waved to Jase, waiting at the open hatch of his Range Rover parked at the curb in front of my house. He pulled his mini suitcase onto the porch and froze when he kicked a red-and-green wrapped box tied with a giant satin bow. “What’s this?”

I bent to read the attached card, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “To Lincoln, From Dorito, Merry Christmas!”

He dropped his suitcase and hugged the gift to his chest, racing down the steps to look at the house on the corner. “Where is he? Is he home? Can I go see him? I have to give him his present too.”

“It’s Thursday morning, buddy. He’s at work. Somebody has to control robots in space, you know,” I said gently, tousling his hair when I joined him with the suitcase he’d abandoned on the pathway.