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ChapterEight
Sawyerand I just finished the dress rehearsal for our performance tomorrow, and now, we’re at Cherish Cafe with the book Eleanor made us find, which was hidden behind Catcher in the Rye and Wuthering Heights. The book in my hands is intriguing, to say the least.
There title isOnce Upon a Christmas Kiss. The stories inside are handwritten. It has no dust jacket and a forest green linen cover with a mistletoe imprint. There are one or two loose threads at the edges, and it’s a bit worn but in good condition. There’s something mystical about it.
But I have no idea what Eleanor wants us to do with it other than read it, so we sit at a red bistro table, side-by-side, and thumb through the entries.
Sawyer says, “Great. A bunch of love stories—just what I’ve been wanting to spend hours reading.”
“But they’re handwritten. It’s so charming.”
“That’s worse, Dawson. Are we reading other people’s diaries? Because if that’s the case,” he hesitates, looking upward, “I amnotreading this. I’m drawing a line, Sister.”
I point at a page. “Hold on. It says here that the book is a Christmas legend. Come on, Sawyer, you gotta get into a legend. How cool is that?”
“Not cool.” He takes a nibble of his sandwich, turkey on rye.
But together, we read the backstory: many years ago, the director of Cherry Creek Academy, a private school here, wrote a fairy tale version of the story of her parents falling in love at Christmas. While writing this book, she fell in love and planned to marry on Christmas Eve. The headmistress gave a copy of the book to her dear friend, a teacher, with a handwritten note inside. The next year, that teacher read the book and fell in love, so she added her own note in the book and left it in the school library. It was not registered in the library system, and over the years, the book has made a circuitous path through the citizens of Cherry Creek. Year after year, people found their true love at Christmastime—when they had the book. The rumors of the power of the book grew until it became a town legend.
Sawyer says, “So, if someone possesses the book at Christmastime, they’ll find their true love.”
“And Eleanor wanted us to have it. I guess we could both use it.” I shrug.
“Right. Eleanor wanted us to find our soul mates.” Sawyer rolls his eyes. “She always was a romantic at heart.”
“But you see what she’s doing, right? Even in death, she’s trying to take care of everything that's important to her. At first, I thought it was about the causes she loved, but she’s including her people, too. Us.” I take a bite of my spinach and strawberry salad with pecans.
“Yeah. I think you’re right.” Sawyer sips his black coffee.
“It was a nice thought, but I hardly doubt my problems with love can be solved by possessing an old book.”
“You don’t have problems with love, Dawson. You have problems opening yourself up and being vulnerable.”
I shoot Sawyer a glare. His comment annoys me, but I can’t help but wonder if what he’s saying is true. I’m not about to admit that to him, so I say, “Me? What about you? Mr. Player. Bra Claw.”
“Fair enough. Maybe I see the problem in you because it’s something I struggle with myself.”
I look to see the sarcasm etched on his face or a teasing flicker in his eye, but there’s nothing. His expression is serious. It hits me that maybe Sawyer’s being honest with me for once. “It means a lot that you admitted that to me.”
He stares out the restaurant window, which has a gorgeous view of the snowcapped mountains. “I’ve had to take a hard look at myself and my decisions this past year, and I don’t want to live that way anymore. I do want to make Eleanor proud, living in a way I can be happiest.”
I didn’t realize just how much I wanted that until this trip, and even more now as I hear Sawyer say it. I’m tired of the loneliness—having no one to tell how how I really feel, or just how much my heart aches. “I want that too.”
Sawyer taps his fingers together. “I’d like to find love. I’m not sure how because I’ve never really gone about it the right way before, but I guess recognizing that is a good first step.”
“Great first step. But it seems like you were hitting it off with Katie.” I take a sip of Cherish Cafe’s eggnog, which is bursting with nutmeg and surely a zillion calories. I don’t dare bring up Sawyer’s alone time with Françoise, as that was supposed to just be an extra practice session. I don’t want to seem presumptuous.
Sawyer shrugs, sighing. “Katie. She’s somebody one of my lawyer friends said I should meet because she checks all the boxes. Cute, smart, motivated, wants children. Lives here in Cherry Creek.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I dunno. She just doesn’t make me feel anything. You know?”
Boy, do I ever. In fact, his words hit so close to home, that pang of that familiar dread hits my gut. I search my brain for some sarcastic retort that I’d usually say to Sawyer, but I realize that’s the opposite of what I’m supposed to be doing right now. So, I go for honesty instead. “I think that might be my problem, too. I don’t know if something’s wrong with me. Well, outside of what I already know, which is to do everything possible not to become my parents.” I manage a smile.
“I don’t even have that excuse because mine are awesome. They have this amazing marriage that I’d love to have.”
I tap my finger on my cup, deciding to allow myself to be vulnerable. Just a little. “Do you think it has to do with the fact that growing up, no matter what you did, you never felt quite good enough? I only ask because that’s how I felt with my parents.”
