He smiled, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. “Sure. A cookie helps a hurting heart, right?”
“If you’re eight. At our age, maybe not. But we should have one anyway.”
They got up from the floor and went into the small kitchen. She poured them each a glass of milk to go with their gingerbread cookies, and the two of them sat at her table just as snow began to fall outside the window.
“It’s snowing again,” Mauve said.
“So it is.” Jason gazed out the window, a look on his face that Mauve interpreted as longing. At least she wasn’t alone.He wanted her. She wanted him. Unfortunately, they were not meant to be. She must not allow herself to daydream, even if this was supposed to be the most magical time of the year. Not even Santa could grant her wish.
4
JASON
Two days later, Jason parked his rental behind Mauve’s office just as the last light of day dissipated. He sat for a minute with the engine off, watching the snow come down in slow, lazy flakes. He was twenty minutes early. He hadn’t meant to be but, when it came to Mauve, well, she was all he thought about all day long, and it was torture to have to wait to see her. Which was ridiculous. She had a job, after all. He wasn’t her whole world.
He had this feeling of time slipping away, minute by minute, and an urge to capture it. As if he could.
The sidewalk glittered where the shop lights hit the new snow. Sugarville Grove didn’t do Christmas with any restraint. That certainly hadn’t changed. Garlands looped from every lamppost, wreaths on every door, white lights strung along the eaves of buildings, every storefront beautifully decorated. It certainly wasn’t L.A.
He’d been so anxious to leave when he was a kid. But now, all these years later, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine why people chose to live in Sugarville Grove. Especially at Christmastime.
He pulled out his phone to see if Mauve had texted. But there was nothing, other than their earlier exchange.
Jason
Day 2. Shopping at the Christmas market?
Mauve
Sounds great. Dinner afterward?
Jason
Wherever you want to go. Whatever you want to see. I’ll be by your side.
Mauve
How poetic!
Jason
I’m an artist. What can I say?
Mauve
I’ll be done at 4:50. Pick me up at my office?
Jason
I’ll be there.
Maybe she was done early. He’d go in and wait in her lobby if not. It was cold. Which was a good excuse.
Mauve’s office was in a narrow three-story red brick with a hand-lettered sign in the window of the second floor that read SUGARVILLE SPEECH & LANGUAGE — MAUVE CALLAHAN, MS, CCC-SLP, painted in sage green on a cream background.
He went inside, climbing the stairs to the second floor. The landing at the top opened into a small waiting area with a fluffy rug and two upholstered chairs. Picture books were crammed into a low bookshelf. A small plastic Christmas tree stood in the corner decorated with paper snowflakes that children hadobviously made. The reception desk was empty but he could hear Mauve’s voice through the closed door of the therapy room.
“Try it with me. Ready? Watch my mouth. Chris. Mas. Two pieces. The first part’s the hard one. Krr-iss. Your tongue pulls back, then pops forward. Chris.”
