Page 6 of All in for Christmas

I remove the cute Santa face from the pocket and flip it over, seeing a strip of Velcro on the back.

Aha! I press the Santa face to the tree, hold up the calendar—and Santa sticks!

I chuckle. Got it. This is so darn cute.

Though, honestly? Maybe better suited to a family with kids.

I raise my chin, deciding I can be a kid at heart.

Why not? I spend every hour of every day being so structured in so many ways. What’s the harm in a little fun?

I tuck Santa back in the calendar pocket and happily shout at the ceiling, “Thanks, Dean!” Maybe things will go okay between us at Walton.

And maybe the fact that he doesn’t have a girlfriend is a good thing?

He never said he wasn’t seeing people casually.

Merely that there wasn’t someone serious.

Still. Dean’s handsome and well employed.

Funny and smart. So there could be someone angling to become more involved with him romantically.

Waiting patiently in the wings—to swoop in.

I glower grumpily, although I don’t mean to.

If that’s the case, Paige, you only have yourself to blame.

My heart thuds dully, but I bolster my spirits.

Tonight, I don’t want to think about self-blame and past mistakes.

Tonight, I want to think about Christmas and possibilities!

I freeze, worrying that Mom’s rubbing off on me.

No. I’m not throwing caution to the wind.

It’s just a holiday market advent calendar, after all.

It doesn’t really have the ability to predict the future—or change lives, least of all mine.

I stand and grip the calendar in my hands, wondering where I should mount it.

Maybe in the kitchen near the refrigerator?

I stride into the kitchen where the refrigerator holds only one thing: my daily schedule pinned down with magnets.

The color-coded spreadsheet’s neatly divided into blocks concerning professional and personal tasks.

Today is Friday, so I’ve got “lesson planning for short week” written in the work block after “returning and discussing final exam” and “pick up dry cleaning” under errands.

Oops. Forgot that. Then again, I wasn’t exactly expecting the curveball of Dean showing up at Walton’s faculty holiday party, either.

No matter. I’ll get the dry cleaning tomorrow, after my lunch date with Mom.

But now, to hang my fun surprise! I remove a framed piece of art from the wall and place it on the counter.

A green ribbon at the top of the advent calendar attaches to a wooden rod from which the quilted fabric piece drapes.

I loop the ribbon over the nail and straighten the calendar.

It’s so cheerful! It brightens up the space.

Okay. Today is December nineteenth, so I put up just as many ornaments.

I select a toy drum from one pocket, a gingerbread man from another, a petite gift next.

I’ve finally got them done when I think of Dean’s Christmas Comet.

My gaze snags on the star in the final pocket and I take it out, examining it in my hand.

It’s made of satiny gold fabric. How pretty!

Why not put this one up tonight? I’ll use it as a topper for the felt Christmas tree.

I press the star to the calendar with a flourish.

“Here’s your Christmas Comet!” I say out loud to Dean, as if he were standing right here.

For an instant the item shimmers and glows, brilliantly bright.

I blink and stare harder, trace a finger over the fabric star, but no.

Now it looks normal. I must have imagined that somehow.

This isn’t really a magical calendar. That was all part of the vendor’s spiel to give Dean’s purchase greater allure.

My heart lifts; I know Dean would enjoy me getting a kick out of his gift.

I stare out the window, seeing the snow has stopped and the dark clouds are parting.

Looks like that Christmas Comet might make an appearance after all.

A wave of exhaustion rolls over me and I yawn.

I don’t think I’ll make it to midnight tonight. Not after the busy day I’ve had.

I prepare for bed and snuggle down under the covers with a pillow propped behind my back.

I nab my spiral-bound dream journal off my nightstand and a pen.

Last night, I wrote: Dark Stretch. That’s what I write when I’m too tired to think about anything else.

I just close my eyes and fall into blackness until my alarm goes off the next morning.

Tonight though, I’ve got a mission. I flip the notebook to a fresh page and position my pen against it, scrawling out December nineteenth. Then I write three words: Relationship with Dean. Sigh. And turn out the light.

A bright light beams against the window, waking me from my slumber and showering the room with a blistering brightness. I squint in confusion against the glare. What? Oh my gosh. I was so tired I forgot to draw the curtains.

I snatch the remote off my nightstand and press a button. Curtains glide toward each other, dragging on their tracks and darkening the room.

I check the glowing numbers on my bedside clock.

Midnight.

I pull the pillow over my head and groan.

Roll sideways.

And fall back asleep.