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Josefina breaks out into laughter at the cartoon image of Santa wrapped around a candy cane stripper pole.
“I love it.”
“My mom would have a heart attack.”
“Should we bring her in to watch her gasp and clutch at her cross?”
I laugh. “Tempting, but we’re on a time crunch.”
Josefina grabs one of an elf smoking out of a candy cane bong. “Classy.”
“Wait until you see the other ones I got.”
The twinkle in her eyes has little to do with the lights of the Christmas tree reflecting off them. “I’m so happy you’re back.”
Her sentence has two meanings, one of which has my throat getting all scratchy. If anyone understands the ups and downs that come with depression, it’s her.
“I’m happy I’m back too.”
She wraps her arms around me. “I’ve missed you.”
My sniffle could be misconstrued as an allergy to the Christmas-scented candle I lit, but I know the truth. I lost myself over the years and became a fraction of who I was meant to be, all because I thought that was a part of growing up.
I don’t plan on making that mistake again.
According to a late-night Sunday text from Sam, Julian wakes up at five a.m. and works out at his home gym before stopping by the Angry Rooster Café for a cup of iced coffee. Sam, who was sworn to secrecy about the surprise, promised me that the best place to intercept Julian would be at the coffee shop.
So I begrudgingly wake up at the crack of dawn, get dressed, and head over to the coffee shop before he gets there.
“Hey.” I wave from my spot at the back of the empty café.
“Dahlia?” Julian stares at me with a pinched expression.
“Morning.”
“What are you doing up this early?”
I take a long sip of my iced coffee. “I’ve decided to take a stab at being a morning person.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
“Ask me again after my next cup of coffee in ten minutes.”
“How many have you had?”
“Not enough to make me want to talk to you at six a.m.” He heads over to the register and places an order for two iced coffees the way I taught him while I drain the rest of mine and dump the empty cup in the nearby trash bin.
He returns with our two drinks. “Here. Can’t risk you starting off the morning with only one cup.”
I could blame my escalating heart rate on the steady stream of espresso pumping through my veins, but then I’d be lying.
“Thanks,” I manage despite the tightness in my throat.
The gesture is as sweet as the drink I take a sip of. While I chalked up his taking care of me the other night to being nice, this feels like so much more.
Go with the flow, Dahlia.
Easier said than done. I’ve never been that kind of person, thanks to my anxiety and chronic overthinking, so I’m not exactly one to roll with the punches and throw caution to the wind.
