Was it from too much paper? Or had I just not tucked it correctly?
I glanced toward Josh to see if he noticed my struggle before I reached for a shiny gold bow to stick on top, hoping that it detracted from my awkward wrapping job.
I passed along a rectangular box wrapped in cartoon snowmen before being handed another gift to wrap. This one was smaller—jewelry-sized. I didn’t open it, but I let myself imagine a tiny ballerina spinning inside the box as I reached for the yellow polka-dot paper from the pile.
“People at the school actually donated all of these toys?” I asked.
Josh nodded, his hands moving with practiced ease as he sliced clean lines into a sheet of red foil paper. “Yeah. They’ve got a solid community here and have been doing this for a few years now. They have a sort of tree that parents or local businesses even, can take a tag off of. Each tag shares different toys or gifts that families at the shelter need.” He paused to crease a crisp fold. “I heard this haul is nearly double what they collected last year.”
I looked down at the growing mountain of wrapped gifts with a new sort of appreciation. “That’s kind of amazing. I didn’t realize people around here were so intense about Christmas.”
“The school district here takes its holiday spirit seriously.”
“You like it here?” I asked instead, my voice quiet but curious.
Josh cocked his head slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting, like he was trying to decide if I was being serious.
“Yeah,” he said after a second. “I like it here. The school’s good. Kids are good. It’s not forever, but … for now? I’m happy.” He gave a small shrug, as if that was the best explanation he could offer.
And maybe it was.
We kept folding and taping in companionable silence, the buzz of the fundraiser filling the space around us. Kids squealedas they rushed to pick their wrapped presents from the Winter Wishes table. A dad with a glitter beard tried—and failed—to stuff a basketball into a square gift box. Laughter floated through the air, mingled with the soft sounds of Mariah Carey and the scent of sugar cookies warming in foil trays.
Wrapping was something I usually did while half watching a holiday movie on my own, but now it had somehow turned into something fun. Especially when I glanced over and saw Josh crouching beside a little girl in a fuzzy antler headband, asking her what her favorite part of the event was.
Her answer was, “Cookies and coloring,” and his laugh—warm, soft, real—made something in my stomach flip.
Something about seeing him here—so naturally himself, so good with people—made the ache of disappointment from my never-ending string of horrible dates feel more distant than it had been sneaking up on me again. How couldn’t it? I mean, after a while whether it be two dates of six now, it was hard not to think that things weren’t working out because, well, me.
By the time our shift ended, we had a stack of shiny, haphazardly labeled gifts towering beside the main tree and only one minor paper-cut injury between us.
Josh looked a little too pleased with himself.
“What?”
“You don’t have to say anything. I know I won,” he said with that insufferably smug grin.
I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “You knew you were going to win.”
“Confidence is key,” he said, tossing a ribbon spool into the bin like it was a basketball.
“And here I was, thinking this was about giving back to your new school community.”
“Oh, it is.” He leaned in a little, voice dropping conspiratorially. “But it’s also about crushing your opponents with speed, precision, and superior tape control.”
I let out a laugh I hadn’t expected. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” he said with a wink, “you still agreed to team up with me.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Yeah, well … I was sick. My judgment was compromised.”
He grinned. “No take-backs.”
As we stood by the exit, coats in hand and breath fogging lightly in the crisp December air that seeped through the school’s old double doors, I could already feel my body beginning to drag. My fingers were sore from folding and taping, and I had a glitter smear on my wrist from some rogue ribbon that had clearly fought back.
Josh glanced at the time on his phone and then at me. “You’re still going on that date tonight?”
I groaned. Out loud. “Unfortunately.”
