“I was twenty years old when my first was born. The things someone barely out of her teens wishes for are pretty ridiculous.”
He handed her a cup of coffee with just the exact amount of cream and sugar she liked. “Ridiculous, maybe, but probably fun, too.”
“Fun? Like a pair of ultra-low-rise, flared jeans?”
He grinned over the top of his mug. “Before my kids were born I was dressing like a low-budget version of Neo from The Matrix, so I will not condemn your fashion choices.”
“So your Christmas wish would have been for more Matrix cosplay accessories?”
He nodded solemnly. “And tickets to The Red Hot Chili Peppers.”
She shook her head. “You are so old.”
“I am only a couple of years older than you are.”
“But a crucial couple of years.” She set her cup down. “I am still young and spry, and you are falling down your stairs.”
“Careful, Celeste. I’ll stop inviting you over for coffee if you keep talking like that.”
She smiled. “I’m not worried. You like having me over.”
“I do,” he admitted, his words quieter and less teasing.
Celeste pushed down the surge of uncertainty she always felt when he took on that tone. He was a dear friend— the best she had, in fact. And she had the world’s worst dating track record. The few times she’d dated anyone in the last two decades, the experience had ended in disaster, and she never heard from theguys again. Ruining her friendship with Mike was not something she was willing to risk, no matter that he was handsome and fun and smart and the highlight of her day. Friendship was safer.
“A holiday bucket list.” That was a less treacherous topic of conversation. “I kind of like that idea, actually, but under one condition.”
He took another sip of his coffee. “What condition is that?”
“That you check things off your list, too. A friendly competition, if you will.”
His lips turned up in a smile. “I’m listening.”
“We each compile a list of things we would have wanted to do in the years before our kids were born, things that being single parents meant we had to push aside.” Few people truly understood the emotional toll of losing a spouse and raising a family alone. Mike knew. He’d lived it just like she had, having lost his wife to cancer when they were both still very young. “The one who can check off the most items wins.”
“And what does the winner get?” Mike asked.
She hadn’t thought that far yet. They both sat a moment in silence, contemplating.
“I’ve got it,” Mike said. “The loser gives the winner something on his or hercurrentChristmas wish list.”
“Like that big, extravagant present you suggested I get earlier?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to commit herself to spending a lot of money.
He shook his head. “Something on the wish list that doesn’t cost anything, or hardly anything. That should probably be a rule for the nostalgia bucket list too.”
“Agreed. Neither of us has a fortune to spend. So do we tell the other person now what we want if we win or is that a surprise?”
“I think surprise.”
Celeste nodded enthusiastically. “I like it.”
“Starting tomorrow?” Mike asked.
“We’ll meet at my house tomorrow night to write up our bucket lists.”
“I’ll be there,” he said.
For the first time since her daughter had told her she wouldn’t be home for Christmas, Celeste felt excited about the holidays. She had something to look forward to, and a friend to share the season with.
