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“Make it two,” she says, and I hear her footsteps leaving her bedroom.
She’s still in her dress when I open the office’s main doors downstairs.
“Come on in,” I say, nervous that I’ve got a single Aria in my midst and we’re alone in the office.
I’m pretty sure Weatherby has security cameras set up in here. I know he did in the old place.
There. That thought alone will keep me from making choices with Aria that I should not make.
Charlotte, the receptionist, has decorated for Christmas with pre-lit birch trees, pinecone garlands, and starry curtain lights. The ambiance is kind of nice—which is hard for a Christmas-hater like myself to say.
But maybe I hate Christmas a little bit less this year with so much of Aria in it.
“Can we sit here?” She motions to the seating area.
I’m relieved we’re not going up to my office. There’s a tension in the air, and I can’t figure out what it is.
“Sure,” I motion to the sofas. “Have a seat.” I rush over to the drink refrigerator behind the reception desk and grab us some water bottles. “And we have playing cards in the side table. Jay sometimes plays solitaire out here when he needs to think.”
She settles onto the sofa and thanks me as she takes the bottle. “I’m so glad there’s been a good response to the advertising for the festival.”
“Yeah, me too.” I sit across from her. “And everyone seemed to like our ideas for the dinner.”
She nods and traps her bottom lip between her teeth.
Have mercy. Anything to do with her mouth is going to be the death of me.
“I hope it’s enough to convince the sponsors to come back,” she says.
“It will be.” I’m optimistic. The festival is an institution. This one thing isn’t going to bring the whole thing down. “So? How have you been feeling today?” I ask. “For real? Now that we don’t have an audience.”
“And now that you’re not covered in cheesecake,” she adds with a laugh.
“Exactly.” I chuckle.
“I’m feeling well. I know it was the right decision for us to break up, I’ve never doubted that. And I wish them the best.” She sighs and massages her temples. “I actually have a question for you, though.”
“Oh really?”
She nods and releases a breath. “Why do you hate Christmas?” She holds up a hand. “Is it the elves? Or did Santa bring you a lump of coal?” She laughs, and when I don’t smile her eyes widen. “Oh. Was that it?”
I shake my head, feeling hot under the collar. “It’s not a huge deal. I’ve never been a fan, that’s all.”
Her smile is cautious. Warm. “Even as a kid? Now I’m sad for you.” She shrugs. “You can tell me. I opened up to you last night. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Why do you want to know?” I feel it welling up inside of me, this need to tell her, this need to shout it to the world that what happened was not cool.
“We’re supposed to be these big advocates for Christmas.” She slides her hands into her dress pockets. “I worry that this is asking too much of you.”
“I can go along with it. It’s for a good cause. I hate that the kids who needed shoes and their extracurriculars paid for didn’t get that, so I want to help.”
“Me, too.”
We’re quiet for a while before she looks back at me. “I feel like if the festival goes away, I’ll lose the only truly happy thing of my childhood Christmases,” she says.
“How so?”
“My grandpa. He was the one to take us. He spoiled us there, buying us crap we didn’t need. We were so happy. That’s why the festival is so important to me.”
