Jake glances up at me with a half smile. “Maybe we can find a Star of David to put on top.”
I waver. His smile seems genuine, and it’d be nice to sit with my work husband and a bunch of shiny baubles and lights before the store opens. I could use the peace, the comfort and calm. I twist my necklace once before relenting with an “Okay.” The back of my neck heats as I sit down next to Jake, acutely aware his knee is a mere inch from mine. I could scoot over, make more room, but Jake might laugh—and also, I don’t want to scoot away from his knee.
Instead, I grab a tin of popcorn and string. I stare at the items and then up at Daniel. “Um, yeah, I have no idea what to do with these.”
“It would be weird if you did.” Daniel grins and then grabs the popcorn and passes me some knotted lights instead. “My grandma had me stringing popcorn when I was seven, so now I’m a board-certified expert with over a decade of experience. Can you untangle lights?”
“I can certainly try!” I reply.
I focus on the lights, and for a few minutes, we all work in comfortable silence. An acoustic version of a Beatles song comes on, and I hum along, grateful for the break from Christmas music. I even notice Jake tapping a foot next to me as I pull out one knot after another. The task is nice, satisfying, and tension eases from my shoulders.
“Blech! Gross!” Daniel coughs into his hand.
My eyes go from him to the tin of popcorn. “Did you just eat that?” I ask.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to eat the popcorn,” Jake says. And then he catches my eye, and there’s this spark as we both laugh, and my stomach swoops with the pleasure of it. Jake’s laugh is like snow in Georgia, so rare you can’t help but stop and pay attention to it.
I look back at Daniel with warm cheeks.
“I was hungry.” He shrugs. “I’m a growing boy.”
“Tell you what,” Jake says. “I have a killer salted caramel popcorn recipe. I’ll bring some in for y’all.”
For y’all. Jake Kaplan is going to bring me popcorn? And he says y’all? Oh geez. The stomach swooping intensifies because apparently my body hasn’t picked up on the message that we don’t like this particular Southern Jewish boy. I keep my eyes on Daniel and ask, “Where’s the popcorn from?”
“Myra gave it to me.” He scratches the back of his head. “A week ago. And then I forgot to decorate the tree, which is why we’re all doing it this morning so, you know, she doesn’t fire me.”
“Please,” I say. “Myra would never fire you. And she definitely wouldn’t fire you during the holidays.”
“Maybe you’re right. We’re too busy to lose staff right now.”
I glance around. Since the store isn’t open yet, it’s still empty in here, but soon a rush of customers will fill the aisles. “Definitely,” I say. “Especially after a quiet year.”
“Yeah, it has been empty lately.” Daniel shakes his fist. “Damn you, online retailers.”
I snort. “You were just talking about how much you love the Avengers shirt you ordered online.”
“So, I’m a Marvel-loving hypocrite, whatever.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, now concentrated back on my lights. I’m faced with a particularly difficult knot and can’t seem to get a grip on it. My fingers feel as graceful as meat cleavers. “Grr.”
“Here, give it.” I glance up to find Jake looking at me. His eyes are soft and a bit amused, and this time my stomach doesn’t swoop—it freaking flutters. Jewish god damn it. I shrug and pass him the lights, ignoring the tingle I feel when our fingers brush together. In three deft pulls, Jake has the lights untangled. His self-satisfied smile is both attractive and annoying. The duality of man. “You’re welcome,” he says, passing the lights back to me.
“Thanks.” I force a grin. “Nice to know you’re good at something.”
“Oh, I’m good at a lot of things,” Jake replies. The look he then gives me should be R-rated for mature audiences only. My skin flushes, and I swallow hard as he picks up another knotted string and untangles it with his dexterous fingers in seconds.
“Guys…,” Daniel says. “C’mon. Play nice.”
“We are playing nice!” My voice comes out both an octave and a decibel too high. “I was complimenting him on being good at something, since, you know, he’s not very good at selling books.”
“Wouldn’t be so certain about winning that bonus if I were you,” Jake says.
I narrow my eyes. “Is that a threat?”
He shrugs, totally cool and calm. “Maybe.”
“Maybe. What does that mean?”
“You’ll find out later today.”
“Like you could really—”
Suddenly the soft acoustic music shuts off and is replaced by “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” blasting at top volume. The blaring jingle disarms me, and I lose focus on what I was about to say.
“Oh, look! We’re open!” Daniel comments. He mutters the next part under his breath. “Just in time.”
* * *
Three hours of bookselling later, I walk into the break room, ready to scarf down my turkey sandwich and chips. I nod at Tanya, who smiles and gives a small wave, charm bracelet jingling on her wrist, before she returns her eyes to her book. My lunchtime doesn’t line up with my friends today, and anyway, I want to avoid the food court and temptation of spending money. I packed my lunch with tense muscles this morning, wincing at the loud crinkle of the chip packaging, trying not to wake up Mom and Mama.
I sit down and pull a book out of my tote bag. It’s historical fiction about a vigilante, murdering doctress in the nineteenth century. It’s excellent, but I’ve been so busy with the holiday season, I’ve barely had time to read it. As I search for my bookmark, which always seems to slip between the pages like we’re playing a game of hide-and-seek, my phone buzzes. Hmm, probably just spam, but no—it’s an e-mail from YouTube, and suddenly I remember I posted Geraldine’s video online last night. My heart pounds as I bring up the page and gasp. Literally gasp. Like Tanya looks over at me from her own book and lunch of tuna fish and crackers and says, “Everything all right, dear?” Gasp.
“Yes!” I reply, excitement flooding through me. “All good!”
My eyes widen as I take in the number: 923. Almost a thousand people have viewed Geraldine’s video. A thousand! In just one night! And there are comments as well, thanking her for all of the cool tips. Oh my god. I knew it. People love Geraldine. I have to tell her! But it would be awesome if we could crack a thousand views first.
I send links to a few more YouTubers, including, after racking my brain for the name, that Lucille Tifton girl that Geraldine is obsessed with. She probably won’t watch the video, but hopefully other people in her thousands of comments will be curious and click the link. I can’t believe this worked!
As I’m finishing up, my phone buzzes with a text message from Mama: Thanks for the marmalade, darling.
My chest hums with contentment. Maybe my cover was blown about the groceries, but it was better than leaving the pantry empty. And maybe I can do something more to help, something more than washing dishes and buying groceries. Maybe I can… Oh, that would be perfect…