“Give her my love.”
“Merry Christmas, Taylor.” The door closes as he heads down the sidewalk.
I watch after him, and he turns and waves. I return it, smiling, and keep watching until he disappears. I’ve always loved Christmas in Creekville, but Levi’s sudden appearance takes it all up a notch. The holidays haven’t felt this merry since . . . well, since Levi’s last Creekville Christmas. Minus the eggnog-and-mistletoe incident. If we didn’t count that, it had been pretty nearly a perfect Christmas.
And Levi and I had decided that it definitely didn’t count. It had been a weird night.
I was glad we’d finally get a shot at another truly perfect Christmas.
Chapter Two
Levi
I’dmeanttobumaround Europe for Christmas. The cease-fire looked like it would hold through the new year, but if that changed, it’d still be easier to head back on assignment from the “neighborhood” than DC, assuming Eastern Europe was that hood.
I’ve been restless lately. Usually, a new assignment solves that. Or a new country. New faces. New food. New views. I’d found a cheap room to rent in Moldova while I waited until the magazine gave me a new assignment. I’d had every intention of settling in to eat an obscene number of the local cheese dumplings and stream shows I’d missed between explorations of Kishinev and the surrounding countryside.
I knew the restlessness well. I’d felt it growing up here. An impatience to see and do the next thing. A sixth sense that life was happening outside of my sleepy town. I’d been right; there is so much life outside of Creekville.
But four years is a long time to have been away from family over the holidays. This year, with all the peace in the air—and after too many cheese dumplings eaten alone—I’d decided it was four years too many.
I wanted the familiar charm of Creekville’s Main Street, the over-the-top town traditions, smothering hugs from my mom, and an illicit Christmas cigar my mom pretended not to see my dad and me smoking out in the cold. I hated cigars, but I loved huddling in the far corner of the yard, us and my brother.
I wanted Taylor. To see her, to make sure we were still good after…well. After the last time I was in town for Christmas.
So I took a red-eye flight into Dulles, slept in my editor’s guest room, and got up this morning to take the two-hour train ride to Roanoke. From there, I transferred to a bus headed to Creekville, and twenty minutes ago, I walked from the depot at the end of Main straight to . . . Bixby’s Café.
Taylor’s place. She’s as much a part of Creekville as my family.
I look back and smile at her through the café window. She returns the smile and waves.
I pick up my rucksack from where I’d leaned it against the corner of the building and hitch it over my shoulder as I walk the mile to my parents’ place. Downtown Creekville during the holidays is the Hallmark ideal of every smalltown Christmas movie. I’d passed so many familiar sights on the way to Bixby’s. The town square, where the towering tree bristles with ornaments and ribbon but isn’t yet lit. The pharmacy with a poster advertising the town production ofA Christmas Carol. The hardware store with a display of elves committing mischief. The yarn store with handknit wool sweaters in the window.
But it hadn’t felt like home until Taylor jumped into my arms and immediately drafted me into her whirlwind of plans and overcommitment.
I pick up my pace toward my parents’ house, ready for another warm welcome. They come into DC sometimes when I’m there between assignments, but my mom is going to lose her mind when I walk through her front door.
Their place is in full Christmas mode. It’s tasteful, but a giant live wreath hangs on the front door, lights drip from the eaves, and full plaid bows accent evergreen swags across the front porch railing.
I’m about to knock before I catch myself, and I feel a twinge at having been gone so long that I almost forgot I’m always welcome here. Instead, I push open the front door and yell, “Mom?”
I hear a gasp and something loud clatters to the kitchen tile at the back of the house. Then my mom comes barreling out, heading at me with the same speed as Taylor did, and I hold out my arms to scoop up my favorite lady.
“Levi? What in the world?” she says, pushing against me. I loosen my hold, and she grabs my face and peppers loud smacking kisses all over my cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re here!” Smooch. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Smooch. “I already sent your gift to the magazine office.” Smooch. “But I’ll get you something else.” Smooch. “Just won’t be handmade.” Smooch on the forehead.
“Mom,” I say, laughing and pulling her hands down from where she’s holding my face hostage. “It’s good to see you too. I had time off from the magazine, and I decided yesterday that I want to spend it here. Can I have my old room?”
“Can you—” She breaks off with a splutter. “As if I’d let you stay anywhere else. Go put your stuff down and meet me in the kitchen. You’re too—”
“Skinny,” I say at the same time she does. “Not my fault. I’ve eaten cheese dumplings for three days straight.”
“They didn’t help,” she says. “I’ll fix that. Now let me go call your father.”
I head upstairs to drop my bag in my old room at the end of the hall. I pass my sister’s room. Rachel is the youngest and just got married last year. She’s spending the holidays with her in-laws in California. My brother Zeke is two years younger than me, but he’s been married since college, and he’ll be here with his wife and two kids in time for Christmas Town. It’s a must-do if you’ve got children.
My room has stayed the same since high school. I’m kind of a minimalist, so I only have two shelves with stuff on them. One holds my yearbooks and a couple of trophies from regional cross-country meets. The one below it holds a half dozen of my favorite novels, all scavenged from used bookstores because I thought it made them more legitimate.
I shake my head and toss my bag on the navy comforter covering the double bed. I sit at the headboard and lean forward to peer through the window. It gives me a clear view of the gate my dad installed in the fence between our yard and the Bixbys’. He’d put it in after he got tired of removing splinters from Taylor’s and my hands because we were too impatient to walk to each other’s front doors and knock.
