There was no way he was Rudolph. I was beginning to regret accepting that date and revisiting my high school crush.
Lacking any customers, I returned to my latest Christmas card, examining it for clues.
Christmas dreams can last throughout the year.
That could have romantic undertones.
Again, I wished Nick was Rudolph.
My mother slunk in as if she were Mata Hari on a secret mission. She had a tan plaid scarf wrapped around her neck and the lower part of her face. “Ignore me.” She removed a brown mitten and dug in her pocket.
I rolled my eyes. I’d begun to spot the signs of patrons about to drop ananonymousChristmas card into the box. My mother had one thing on her mind, and it wasn’t coffee or baked goods. “Who’s your Christmas pen pal, Mom?” Was it me? I’d sent her a card, after all, writing:Embrace the challenges of the new year.
“Who I write to is none of your business.” Mom thrust her nose in the air and dropped an envelope in the box. And then her entire demeanor shifted. Her shoulders balled up and her chin dropped to her chest. “Are you coming to my boutique today? There are still plenty of boxes to sort through.”
“You want me to continue going through your inventory?” I’d fully expected her to cut me loose now that the boxes were in her shop, and most had been opened. The cat, as they say, was out of the bag.
“I…value your opinion.” Mom inched toward the door, shoulders hunched.
She wanted my opinion? This was unusual. My mother hardly paid heed to anyone’s views but her own. “I can come over after my shift here.”
“Thank you.” Mom looked as if she wanted to say something more, but then she spun around and slipped out, repositioning her scarf over the lower part of her face before scurrying down the sidewalk.
I dug in the Christmas card drop box, looking for the bright red envelope I’d seen my mother deliver, expecting it to be addressed to Prancer. When I found her card, the name she’d directed it to surprised me.Father Christmas.
“Who?” I asked of the empty coffee counter section of the café. Was Father Christmas my father? My grandfather? Some other man? Someone who was privy to the comings and goings at the Sleigh Café?
Was that why she’d tried to drop off her card incognito?
I vowed to keep a close eye on Father Christmas’s envelope to see who picked it up. But who was I kidding? I hadn’t seen Rudolph pick up my holiday dispatches. How was I supposed to catch Father Christmas?
I tacked more envelopes on the bulletin board, snapped a photo with my phone, and then posted the picture on social media, dutifully tagging the Sleigh Café’s account. Holly had been great about sharing my post on the café’s social media pages.
My cousin Joy popped in and ordered something other than a pumpkin spice latte, for which I was glad. I’d made at least a hundred of the seasonal drink this week and had eaten more than my share of Nick’s pumpkin tarts. Her order of a peppermint latte was a nice change of pace.
While my back was turned, Joy stuck a Christmas card into the box by the cash register. Her movements weren’t smooth, as if she was nervous about the drop-off. She rattled the box even though I’d just emptied it. And then she was quiet, pacing the length of the pastry case.
Earlier in the week, I’d written her a card encouraging her to pursue new things in the new year. Was the card for me? Or had Joy, like my mother, taken the idea of card-giving and applied it to someone else?
While I made her drink, Joy continued to pace. And that wasn’t like my cousin.
“Are you okay?” I finished making her beverage and reached for a lid. “Can I interest you in a cake pop or a pecan tart?”
“No.” She stopped pacing and thrust her hands in her jacket pockets. “I’m just wondering if I made a mistake.”
“With the Christmas card?” I took her drink to the cash register, gesturing toward the card collection box. I could give hers back if need be.
“No.” She tugged her wallet from her pocket and took out cash to pay. “I applied for a college program to earn my teaching degree.”
“Joy, that’s fabulous.” I processed her payment and then handed over her drink. “That doesn’t sound like a mistake. It sounds awesome!” I wished I had her courage and decisiveness.
“Do you really think it’s the right thing?” She sipped her drink. “I feel like twenty-seven is too young for a second act and too old for college. But I’m not happy working part-time at the pre-school. It’s just…I don’t know what the future will bring.”
“But you’ll find your way, Joy. Because you’re taking action.” Which only made it clearer to me that by clinging to my identity as a dancer I wasn’t taking any action at all. But who was I if not a dancer?
I vowed then and there to stop being wishy-washy. I was going to retire from the stage. And I was going to take my time finding a new focus for my life.
Nick came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of delicious-smelling banana nut bread, sliced and ready to be sold. Every time I looked at him, I found him more attractive, even if he was wearing his regular work uniform of blue jeans, his pristine chef’s jacket, and his blue knit cap. Even if he had a blue ink smudge on one of his fingers and dark circles under his eyes.