“But I still… still have to sell.”
The line went silent. Finally, she said softly, “Yes, you still have to sell.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” I admitted to her. An admission I’m not ready to make to Filson. I’m the responsible one, the valedictorian, and the prom queen. But I’m living in the past — and it seems like Granny’s house is going to be a distant memory too.
The house that has been my home since I was six years old. Granny’s legacy.
“Don’t be. People file for bankruptcy all the time,” Annabelle had said. “And this plan allows you to avoid that.”
“There are so many things that need to be done,” I said. “The paint on the steps is peelings and the sink in the kitchen leaks—”
She cut me off, “Call a handyman.”
But I didn’t want to call a handyman to work on the house. The house that holds nearly all my memories. I know all of the construction workers in town; all the fix-it crews. I’ve lived in Snowy Valley since I was six, and I haven’t left. Now I run the soup kitchen in the center of town. Inviting a local with a hammer into the house to fix it meant my problems would be broadcast to everyone on Jingle Bell Lane.
And my reputation… and Granny’s legacy… means more to me than anything. Like it or hate it, it’s the truth.
I’m not ready to be judged.
Filson is the only person who won’t gossip about me. He’s a recluse at best; a grinch at worst.
But right now, I need someone who can keep their mouth shut. Who won’t talk about me to anyone else.
I just wish he didn’t look at me like I was in the way.
“I should have known,” Filson says, bringing me back to the moment at hand.
I frown, realizing I’ve upset him. “Should have known what?”
“That you see me as a hired labor, nothing more.”
“No, that isn’t what I was saying,” I tell him, my tea sloshing over the edge of the cup, spilling into my lap. “Oh, shoot,” I say, trying to wipe it away at the same time as Filson moves to help. Suddenly, two cups of tea are knocked over, my wool coat soaked.
I jump up from the couch as he moves to grab a towel.
Before I can even unbutton my coat, he’s trying to dab the mess away. But it results in his large hands pawing at my body.
And it’s electric… his hands against me.
My heart pounds as I step back, his hands still.
I pull off my coat. “It’s fine, Filson, just let me take it off and—”
“Sorry,” he says, holding the rag in the air in defeat. “Sorry,” he repeats as I set the coat on the lonely kitchen chair. Filson’s cabin is so depressing, so wrong. So small for a man so big. And it breaks my heart, thinking of him up here all alone.
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “I’m the one who offended you.”
He hands me the towel and I wipe off my coat, before wringing out the rag in the kitchen sink.
“I’m not offended… more like, put in my place.”
“What do you mean?” I spin, facing him, my breath catching as I consider the way it felt to have his hands against me, if even for a moment. A rugged man in a shirt nearly bursting at the seams because of his muscles, his sheer strength.
He’s a few steps from me because in this one-room cabin there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I came here needing his help. I still need it. But standing here now, I wonder if there is something else I need more. Something I’ve never had. Not once. Not ever.
“You’ve always seen me as less than, Maple,” he says, his voice husky and his eyes roaming all over me. I left my house in leggings and a tee-shirt that reads ‘TIS THE SEASON FOR MIRACLES.
Standing with him now, all I see are memories. The two of us as little kids. He was dark and I tried to be light. His light. Everything about Filson was damaged. But I was too. It’s why I understood him so well. But his pain turned him inwards, and mine pushed me out.
Still, we were the same. My parents died in a car crash leaving me an orphan. His mother left when he was a baby, his father was usually too drunk to make an honest man of himself. Both of us wanted to be loved, neither of us ever quite finding it.
I’ve been in love with him since I was six years old, but I’ve never had any reason to believe he felt the same way.
But standing here in his cabin — one he made with his own blood, sweat, and tears, my longing is as strong as ever. My longing to be his.