Grey turns to me at the question, a soft smile on her face and her eyes slightly red, the tears no doubt triggered by the emotion of finding another book her mother had touched earlier today.
“‘Sometimes love feels like it leaves us, only to return to us.’ Found in Sense and Sensibility,” she quotes, already having memorized the sentiment.
The words tug me closer to her, knowing how deeply it affects her whenever she finds a book. Her lingering grief over the loss of her mother reminds me to enjoy the life that I have. Some people don’t get everything they want. We don’t always get the love we hope for in the time that we hope. We don’t always getthe dream in the way that we want. And we don’t always get the closure we fought for. But there’s still love to be found all around us. And that can be enough to make it through another day.
“I love it,” I say simply.
“Me too.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders as the bell chimes over the door, alerting us to another person’s entry.
Gladys, our resident busybody and undeniably wild aunt-like figure to most of us in this town, lets out a whoop before shutting the door tight. “Girlies, hold on to your socks!” she cries. “I’ve got a Christmas miracle.”
I laugh, crossing my arms and relaxing my usual ballerina posture. “Like I would ever go without socks in weather like this.” My laugh is enough to reassure Gladys that I’m in for her story, without having to think of the chilly nightmare it would be to have no socks. My feet have been sacred during my life as a dancer, and my quirks with them are unending. “Also, didn’t I see you over at Sparrow’s Beret not five minutes ago?”
She ignores my question, her eyes lit with glee. “There’s a new man in town.”
“Here we go,” I say under my breath. “Grey, prepare yourself to be set up for a dinner date within the week.”
My friend blushes but shrugs it off.
“I’m not stupid, my dears,” Gladys corrects. “Grey has been pining for that Boston fellow—the person, not the city, of course—ever since I can remember. She’s not ready for my matchmaking energy quite yet.”
I brace myself against the counter behind me, the dread in my gut already building because I know where this is going.
“Yes, it’s you!” Gladys yells to me with delight. “Now, as I’ve said before, his brother has a haircut like a Weedwhacker—we’ve already established this. But the man I’m discussing looks like a Grecian god who stepped down from Mt. Olympus to give us a glimpse of what heaven is like.”
“Gladys, since when do you care about Greek mythology?” I say with a laugh. I already knew she was referring to Edgar, who owns In the Ring, a boxing studio in town. The man who now, apparently, has a brother. Edgar doesn’t live in Birch Borough. He only works here, but his sister lives in town. Angela—aka Angie—of the famous Angie’s Pies is a lovely baker and business owner whom we’ve known and loved for several years now.
Gladys is quick to protest. “I’ve cared about it since I first laid eyes on the man! For three hours, I researched marble statues to try to find the one that looked like him to show you, but not one of them quite captured him. Still, I now have quite an education in mythology.”
Grey turns back to the window, laughing softly. She continues stringing the garland laced with twinkle lights across the beam above it.
I pinch the bridge between my eyes and take a deep breath. I’m trying to think of how I can get out of this conversation and hop across the street to get a hot chocolate before my class without Gladys seeing. Sparrow has recently started making a hot chocolate recipe for me that’s mostly dark cocoa, part cream, and a hint of vanilla. But Gladys knows my schedule, so leaving now wouldn’t go over well. And no one ever would want Gladys’ wrath.
No, it’s better to get this over with as quickly as possible. The only way out is through and all that.“Okay, Gladys. I’ll bite,” I sigh. “What does this man do, and what does he look like?”
Picking up a box of ornaments on a nearby bookshelf, I move to help Grey as she beautifies both the garland and the tree made of books set on the deep windowsill.
“I should start by saying that he is a bit of a crotchety one.” Gladys wrings her hands together. “Something happened to him a while ago that took his joy, I gather.”
Involuntarily, my nose scrunches. I’m not attracted to the uncaring, unfeeling type. No, I much prefer men who will open their hearts to me and tell me I remind them of the stars.
“But don’t discount him quite yet,” she hurries to add. “Even though he didn’t help lovely Marie with her groceries. She nearly fell on the ice, carrying her bags, and he just walked by her . . . not very gentlemanly.”
“No, I should say not,” Grey quips.
“And there was the time he left a shovel on the ground in front of the toy store instead of helping Ollie pick it up. Poor thing. You know Ollie’s hip isn’t reliable these days.”
“This isn’t a resounding endorsement. You think there’s redemption for him?” Grey asks what I couldn’t.
I glance over my shoulder to see Gladys’ eyes brighten. “He’s tall!” she positively shrieks as her arms go high and wide.
I’m not quite sure how to picture the man she’s trying to portray, except that he must be a mountain. Immediately, my mind goes back to a winter night in the cold and a kiss that I could have built a life on, but I shake my head to act like I’m interested in Gladys’ mystery man.
“Dark eyes, enviously curly hair,” she continues. Her eyes widen. “And he builds things. Word is that he visited our town a few times, a long time ago, but didn’t stay. He just arrived right before Pumpkin Pie Day. Oh, and the best part? He’s single! I think he may also have a daughter, but I need to confirm. To be honest, I’m impressed I got this much info on him in less than a day.” She puts her hands on her hips in satisfaction. “And, oh, he’s also a boxer! He’ll punch out every other creep from your mind, I guarantee it.”
My heart begins to quicken. Heat rushes up my neck. Gladys’ description sounds all too familiar, apart from the Scrooge vibes she mentioned.But my heart rate is replying with force, nonetheless.
“Gladys,” I say slowly and quietly so I don’t upend the careful life that I’ve crafted here over the past eight years, “what is this man’s name?”
