Джей Эшер: What Light

I reach across the counter to restock the mistletoe display. “I’m thinking this whole idea of a holiday romance isn’t going to work. I will admit I did consider it when I saw Caleb, but first impressions are clearly not my strength.”

Heather looks me straight in the eyes and nods toward the parking lot. “Remember that, okay? Because here he comes.”

I can feel my eyes go wide.

She takes a step back and motions for me to come join her. I walk around the counter and she points to an old purple pickup truck. The cab is empty.

If that is his truck, what’s he doing here? He already bought a tree. Below the tailgate is a bumper sticker for a school I’ve never heard of.

“Where’s Sagebrush Junior High?” I ask.

Heather shrugs, and a curl falls loose from where she had it tucked behind her ear.

This city has six elementary schools. Each winter I went to the same one as Heather. Those feed into the one middle school, which I also went to, and then one high school. That’s when I started doing my assignments online.

Heather looks into the trees. “Oh! There he is. God, he’s cute.”

“I know,” I whisper. I avoid where she’s looking and instead watch the toe of my shoe dig into the dirt.

She touches my elbow and whispers, “Here he comes.” Before I can say anything, she makes a beeline to the far side of the Bigtop.

From the corner of my eye, I see someone emerge from between two of our trees. Caleb walks straight toward me, shining his dimpled smile. “Is your name Sierra?”

All I can do is nod.

“So you’re the one the workers are talking about.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs once. “I didn’t know if there was maybe some other girl working today.”

“Just me,” I say. “My parents own this place. And run it.”

“Now it makes sense why they’re afraid to talk to you,” he says. When I don’t respond, he continues, “I was here the other day. You asked if I needed help?”

I don’t know what I should say. He shifts his weight between his feet. When I still don’t say anything, he shifts his weight again, which almost makes me laugh. At least I’m not the only one who’s nervous.

Behind him, I see two of the baseball players sweeping up needles between the trees.

Caleb steps beside me and watches them sweep. I hold still, forcing myself not to move away. “Does your dad really make them clean outhouses if they talk to you?”

“Even if he thinks they want to talk to me.”

“Then your outhouses must be extremely clean,” he says, which is the weirdest pickup line I’ve ever heard, if that’s what that was.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask. “I know you already have a tree…”

“So you do remember me.” He seems a little too pleased by this.

“I do the inventory,” I say, flipping the memory of him into pure business, “and I’m good at my job.”

“I see.” He nods slowly. “What kind of tree did I get?”

“A noble fir.” I have no idea if that’s true.

Now he seems impressed.

I walk around the counter, putting the cash register and mistletoe between us. “Anything else we can help you with?”

He hands me a tag from a tree. “This one’s bigger than the last, so a couple of the guys are putting it in my truck right now.”

I find myself staring into his eyes for too long, so I wrench my gaze to the nearest displays. “Do you need a wreath to go with it? They’re fresh. Or an ornament?” Part of me wants to just sell him the tree so he can leave and this awkwardness will end, but part of me also wants him to stay.

He doesn’t say anything for several seconds, which forces me to look at him again, and he’s scanning everything inside the Bigtop. Maybe he does need something else. Or maybe he’s looking for an excuse to stay longer. Then, when he sees the drinks, his smile gets brighter. “I’ll definitely take a hot chocolate.”

At the drink station, he lifts a paper cup from the top of the upside-down cup tower. Beyond him, I see Heather peek out from behind a flocked tree, sipping on her own hot chocolate. When she sees me watching, she shakes her head and mouths “Bad idea” before slowly sliding herself back behind the branches.

My heart skips a beat when he unwraps a candy cane to stir the chocolate powder in his hot water. When he lets go of the candy cane, it continues spinning in the swirling drink.

“That’s how I make mine,” I say.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“It’s like a cheap peppermint mocha,” I tell him.

He tilts his head and looks at his drink with new eyes. “You could call it that, but that sounds kind of insulting.” He passes the drink to his other hand and then reaches across the counter to shake.

“Nice to officially meet you, Sierra.”

I look at his hand, then at him, and hesitate for a split second. In that moment, I see his shoulders deflate a bit. I know better than to be so judgmental over a rumor even Heather wasn’t sure of. I shake his hand. “You’re Caleb, right?”

His smile falters. “So someone told you about me.”

I freeze. Even if he isn’t the guy I’ll have a holiday romance with, he doesn’t deserve to be second-guessed by someone who only recently learned his name. “I must have overheard your name from someone who helped you,” I say.

He smiles, but his dimple doesn’t appear. “So, how much do I owe you?”

I ring him up and he pulls out his wallet, which is stuffed thick with bills. He hands me two twenties and a whole lot of ones.

“I didn’t get to cash out my tips from last night,” he says, a slight blush rising. The dimple pushes deep into his cheek again.

It takes pure willpower not to ask where he works so I can accidentally on purpose drop by. “We can always use more ones,” I say. I count out the singles and hand him back fifty cents in change.

He puts the coins in his pocket and the blush disappears, his confidence back. “Maybe I’ll see you some more before Christmas.”

“You know where to find me,” I say. I’m not sure if that came across as an invitation, or if maybe that is exactly how I meant it. Do I want to see him again? It’s not my business to figure out his story, but I can’t stop picturing the way his shoulders dropped when I didn’t shake his hand right away.

He heads out of the Bigtop, slipping the wallet into his back pocket. Giving him a moment, I then creep out from behind the counter to watch him leave. As he walks up to his truck, he hands a few dollars to one of the guys.

Heather steps beside me and we watch as Caleb and one of our workers shut the tailgate together.

“From my perspective, that looked awkward for both of you,” she says. “I’m sorry, Sierra. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, there’s something there,” I say. “I don’t know how much is true, but that guy’s carrying some sort of baggage.”

She looks at me with a vaulted eyebrow. “You’re still into him, aren’t you? You’re actually thinking about getting involved.”

I laugh and return to my station behind the counter. “He’s cute. That’s all. It’s not enough for me to get involved.”

“Well, that’s very wise,” Heather says, “but he is the only guy I’ve seen you this awkward around since I’ve known you.”

“He was awkward, too!”

“He had his moments,” she says, “but you won that contest.”

After a phone call where I describe my week in French to Monsieur Cappeau, Mom lets me leave work early. Heather holds a movie marathon every year starring her latest celebrity crush and a bottomless bowl of popcorn. Dad offers me his truck, but I decide to walk. Back home I would have grabbed his keys in a second to avoid the cold. Here, even in late November, it’s relatively nice out.