AllFreeNovel
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Behind me, the neon sign goes dark. The stars in the sky pop in the absence of light.
I walk, my feet crunching on the gravel. Just as I approach my car, the pickup driver’s side door opens, and the man from the bar steps out.
“Sorry,” he says, lifting a hand. “I didn’t mean for this to be so weird.”
He digs his hands in his pockets, keeps his distance, and I unlock my car.
“You didn’t think lingering in a dark parking lot waiting for a dancer to get off work would come off as weird?”
My heart is hammering a little. I’m not afraid exactly. Well, not terrified. I know how to defend myself. And I know for a fact that there are security cameras in the lot. I think the guys are still inside; I could scream. They’d probably hear me and come running. But yeah, it’s weird and scary.
“You have a point,” he says with a nod.
He takes a step closer, and I lift a palm, open my door. He stops in his tracks.
“So,” he says. “When someone gets off work at midnight, what do they do after?”
He runs a hand over the crown of his head. His hair is long, pulled back into a ponytail. He has put on a denim jacket over his T-shirt. I like his smile.
“Go to sleep usually,” I say.
He nods again and looks off to the side. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I know a place. Best burgers and fries in the county. Brightly lit. Usually packed with truckers.”
“Not a dark, deserted parking lot on an empty road?”
“Right.”
I hazard a guess. “Benny’s?” It’s the only all-night diner that I know of. It’s a bit of a drive but they do have great fries and Iamstarving.
He smiles. “What do you say?”
I think about it a moment and then find myself agreeing to meet him there.
It’s crazy, maybe.
I sit in my car and watch him pull away. I could just go home. My heart has stopped racing. His taillights disappear around a corner. I wait, still thinking—about my pjs, the leftover pizza I hope Angela didn’t eat.
But there’s something about him, about the thought of going home to a dark apartment. What would my mom say? I can guess.
I follow him anyway.
1
Idon’t even like Christmas. I mean, it’s a bit of crock, isn’t it? Just another thing that could be beautiful and true—a time of giving and communion, a moment of connection with the divine. Lights glittering, families gathering in love and laughter, meals shared in peace.Couldbe but isn’t. In this busy, addicted, technology-addled, image-obsessed world, Christmas has just become another thing to buy and sell, to crop and filter, to hashtag and edit for reels and stories. But maybe that’s me just being cynical.
I remember loving Christmas when I was little—baking with my mom, hosting the family dinner, our tree, the joy of Christmas morning. But that was a long time ago.
Now Christmas brings back other memories.
“I’ll take the red bow, and the snowflake paper,” says the man in front of me.
“Of course,” I answer. “Great choice.”
Not really. It’s a common choice, just like the book I’m wrapping—the latest runaway bestseller with foil embossed type, the author’s name in a bigger, bolder font than the title. The dark, foreboding image just a sliver of a girl’s face. I’m not judging. These are the books that keep the lights on in my little independent bookstore.
