Last year, she gave me a gorgeous cashmere sweater handmade in Ireland.Ireland. Not as in, the yarn came from Ireland. As in, someone actually created it there.
I know it’s not a competition. I’ve reminded myself of that fact dozens of times in the months leading up to Christmas. But a silent voice kept whispering to me as I clicked through pages of search results online, saying,You know Autumn will give you something amazing and thoughtful. Just like she always does. Don’t you want to give her something special, too?
Yes. I do.
The only problem was coming up with something.
Which is why I kept procrastinating while reassuring myself I’d come up with the perfect ideasoon.
But soon turned into the week before Christmas. Then it turned into three days prior. And then Christmas Eve arrived, and I still didn’t have something for my sister.
That’s why I ventured into town for some last-minute shopping, ignoring my mom’s advice to never, ever go out to the stores on Christmas Eve.
It’s a madhouse,she says every year.Amadhouse. Everyone waiting until the last minute to finish their Christmas shopping when they could have finished it weeks ago.
And this year, I’m one of them.
In an attempt to avoid some of the crowds, I headed out first thing this morning. Early enough to actually find one of the coveted parking spots downtown rather than having to park all the way over on Horseman Way, a good ten-minute walk to the center of downtown.
When I walked into Greta’s Goodies, the cheerful bell above the door announcing my arrival, I was relieved to find the store relatively quiet. Aside from Greta and her assistant, Shelly, there were only a handful of shoppers browsing the aisles.
Not five minutes into my shopping session, I found the perfect gift—a bracelet that I could customize with little charms to represent Autumn’s interests and things that are special to her.
Success,I silently crowed while I waited at the jewelry counter for Greta to help me.I did it. Not even nine AM and I found just what I need. By nine-thirty I’ll be on my way home to spend the rest of my day off cooking and baking in preparation for Christmas dinner with my family.
Then Ryan, one of the other volunteer paramedics who works with me at the Ambulance Corps, came into the store, and all my thoughts of gifts and pies and casseroles disappeared. All I could think about was how handsome he looked in that deep blue fleece that matched the color of his eyes and the stretch of the fabric across his shoulders and biceps. I thought about how cute he looked with his cheeks flushed from the cold and how he seemed almost uncertain as he walked into the store, like he had even less of an idea of what to buy than I did just minutes before.
We’re just friends, of course. But that doesn’t mean I can’t admire the view, does it?
Anyway, I called him over, ostensibly to ask if he needed any help. Which was silly, considering one, I don’t work here, and two, I might not be the best person to give advice on picking the best gifts.
Still, I called out his name, and my heart did that little fluttering thing it always does whenever he smiles at me. And he made a beeline over, his smile growing bigger the closer he got. “Willow,” he said as he approached. “Good to know I’m not the only one procrastinating.”
“Nope,” I replied brightly, feeling even more pleased about how the morning was going. “But at least it’s not too busy yet.”
As we chatted, I contemplated asking if he wanted to grab a coffee afterwards. Or some holiday pastries at Decadent Delights down the street.
Just as friends. Obviously.
But midway through our conversation about whether eggnog is delicious or disgusting—I said delicious, he said itwas disgusting—my surprisingly pleasant morning turned into chaos.
And six hours later, I’m still living it.
Or, rather, me, Ryan, Greta, Shelly, and eight other customers are.
Just as I was insisting that Ryan just hadn’t tried therighteggnog, the bell over the door jingled again. But instead of another customer, Daniel Geraghty came storming in.
“Don’t move!” he shouted. And to emphasize, he pulled a gun from his waistband and fired it into the ceiling.
Which would have actually been funny, considering bits of ceiling tile came tumbling down on him, making it look like he’d just been snowed on, except for the wholehe had a gun and fired itthing.
Then he locked the door behind him and snarled,“Everyone. I want you on the floor in front of the counter.Now. Or I’ll shoot.”
We did what he asked. Of course. And six hours later, we haven’t moved.
“Willow,” Ryan whispers. His fingers brush my leg, the most contact he’s dared. “Are you okay?”
I glance at Daniel to check if he’s watching, but his attention is on his ex wife, Greta, who’s sitting beside Shelly, silently crying.
