"Beth!" Mrs. Haversham waved me over to her table, where her grandkids were eagerly devouring their holiday treats.
I joined them with a grin. "How are you all enjoying everything?"
"Oh, it’s wonderful! We look forward to this every year," she said, her eyes twinkling as much as the lights.
"I’m so glad you’re here," I said genuinely.
The evening continued beautifully despite that empty chair nagging at my heart. I laughed with old friends and made new ones, shared stories about past Christmases, and even led an impromptu sing-along when Jingle Bells came on.
But each time someone entered through that door, my heart did a little leap—and fell just as quickly when it wasn’t Daryl.
"Beth," Ellie caught my arm during a lull. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said quickly. "Just busy."
She gave me a knowing look but didn’t push it. "Well, just let me know if you want me to kick his ass. I don't mind forgoing the nice list."
I chuckled, but my heart wasn't in it.
As the night wound down and guests began to trickle out into the cold winter night, I took one last look at that empty seat. Daryl hadn’t shown up.
With a deep breath, I turned back to help clean up. It had been a wonderful evening filled with joy and community spirit—everything I loved about Christmas—but there was no denying it stung just a little that he hadn’t been part of it.
As the last guests left the café, I felt a tug of disappointment. Daryl hadn’t come. Despite everything, I still wanted to reach out to him. Maybe tonight wasn’t his scene, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t share a bit of it with him.
I packed some leftover cookies, a slice of pie, and a cup of hot cocoa into a styrofoam container. Ellie watched me with raised eyebrows but didn’t comment. She knew me well enough to understand when my mind was set on something.
“Need help cleaning up?” she asked, already wiping down the counter.
“I’ve got it,” I said, smiling gratefully. “You’ve done enough tonight. Thanks for everything.”
After Ellie left, I finished tidying up, locked the doors, and headed to my car. The night air was crisp and cold, making my breath fog in front of me. I climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine sputtered but didn’t start.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath.
I tried again, pumping the gas pedal a few times until finally, the car roared to life. It seemed like even my old clunker was reluctant tonight.
The drive to Daryl’s place was quiet, snow crunching under the tires as I navigated through town. When I pulled up to his house, my heart sank a bit at the sight of his door—no wreath hung there like on everyone else's doors in town. But I pushed aside any assumptions; maybe he just wasn’t into decorations.
I got out of the car, grabbing the food container from the passenger seat. The cold bit at my fingers as I walked up his driveway and stood at his door. For a moment, I hesitated. What if he slammed the door in my face? What if he wasn’t home?
But then I remembered his quiet demeanor in the garage and that fleeting look of curiosity when he heard me sing. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on his door.
I waited in silence, listening for any sign of movement inside.
I waited in silence, the cold air biting at my fingers. Just when I thought he might not answer, I heard movement inside. Footsteps approached the door, heavy and hesitant. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open.
Daryl stood there, his usually composed face marred with exhaustion and anger. He wore nice clothes—clearly, he’d tried to clean up—but they were torn. Blood smeared across a couple of cuts on his face and knuckles.
"Daryl, what?—"
"What do you want?" His voice came out gruff, harsher than I’d ever heard it.
I snapped my gaze to him, taken aback by the hostility. He'd never snapped at me before. Clearly, something had happened.
"I wanted to bring you some food," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You never came to the party, and?—"
"I don't want your shit," he interrupted, eyes blazing with anger. "I don’t need any of it. Not the cookies or the wreath or the breakfast. Not your goddamn party or fucking open mic night or baking competitions. Fuck!"
