Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances

“‘Temperature-wise,’” he scoffed. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?”
“What?! I’m not . . . talking about me! I’m just telling you that I’m not cold!”
The intensity of his gaze made me feel itchy.
“Okay, maybe I’m talking about me this very second,” I said. “But it’s not always about me.”
“Some things never change,” he said scornfully. He strode off with his doll-size cup, but at the door, he
turned for one last parting shot. “And don’t bother asking for a tow. I’m off duty!”
“Well,” I said. He’d actually hurt my feelings, but I didn’t want to let on. “That was interesting.”
“I  don’t  think  I’ve  ever  heard  Travis  deny  anyone  a  tow  before,”  Christina  said.  “Seriously,  I  think
you’re the first.”
“Please don’t sound so impressed,” I said faintly.
She laughed, which was what I wanted. But as she refilled the napkin container, Travis’s words came
back to me: It’s always about you, isn’t it?
It  was  disconcertingly  similar  to  what  Dorrie  said  to  me  last  night:  Have  you  truly  looked  inside
yourself? Do you even know what you need to change?
Or something like that.
“Hey, um, Christina . . . ?”
“Yeah?”
“Is there something wrong with me?”
She glanced up from the napkins. “Addie, Travis is nuts.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean everything he says is nuts, necessarily.”
“Addie.”
“Christina.”
“Just tell me the truth: Am I a good person? Or am I, like, too self-absorbed?”
She considered. “Does it have to be either/or?”

---

“Ouch.” I drew my hand to my heart and staggered back.
She grinned, thinking I was being Funny Addie. And I was, I guess. But I also had the strangest fear that
the universe was trying to tell me something. I felt as if I were teetering on the edge of a great chasm, only
the chasm was in myself. I didn’t want to look down.
“Look lively,” Christina told me. “Here come the seniors.”
Sure  enough,  the  Silver  Sneakers  van  had  pulled  up  outside  Starbucks,  and  the  driver  was  carefully
helping his load of senior citizens navigate the sidewalk. They resembled a line of well-bundled bugs.
“Hi, Claire,” Christina said as the first of the seniors jingled through the door.
“Nippy, nippy!” Claire said, slipping off her colorful hat.
Burt made his way straight to the counter and ordered a shot in the dark, and Miles, shuffling in behind
him, called out, “You sure your ticker can handle it, old man?”
Burt thumped his chest. “Keeps me young. That’s why the ladies love me. Right, Miss Addie?”
“Absolutely,” I said, putting the universe on hold as I grabbed a cup and handed it to Christina. Burt
had  the  biggest  ears  I’d  ever  seen  (maybe  because  he’d  had  eighty-odd  years  to  grow  them?),  and  I
wondered what the ladies thought of them.
As the line grew, Christina and I fell into our crunch-time roles. I took orders and manned the register
while she worked her magic with the steamer.
“Grande latte!” I called.
“Grande latte,” she repeated.
“Venti soy toffee nut mocha single shot no whip!”
“Venti soy toffee nut mocha single shot no whip.”
It was a dance. It pulled me out of myself. The chasm still gaped within me, but I had to tell it, Sorry,
caz, no time.
The  last  of  the  seniors  was  Mayzie,  with  her  gray  braids  and  a  beatific  smile.  Mayzie  was  a  retired
folklore professor, and she dressed all hippy-dippy in battered jeans, an oversize striped sweater, and a
half dozen beaded bracelets. I loved that about her, that she dressed more like a teenager than an old lady.
I mean, I didn’t want to see her in super-low-rise Sevens and a thong, but I thought it was cool that she did
her own thing.
No one was waiting behind her, so I rested my hands on the counter and allowed myself a breath of air.
“Hey, Mayzie,” I said. “How you doing today?”
“I’m terrific, hon,” she said. Today she was wearing purple jingle bell earrings, and they tinkled when
she tilted her head. “Ooo, I like your hair.”
“You don’t think I look like a plucked chicken?”
“Not at all,” she said. “It suits you. It’s spunky.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said.
“Well, I do. You’ve been moping around for too long, Addie. I’ve been watching. It’s time you grew
into your next self.”
There it was again, the prickling sense of standing on a precipice.
Mayzie leaned closer. “We are all flawed, my dear. Every one of us. And believe me, we’ve all made
mistakes.”
Heat  rushed  to  my  face.  Were  my  mistakes  so  public  that  even  my  customers  knew?  Did  the  Silver
Sneakers gang discuss my hookup with Charlie over bingo?
“You’ve just got to take a good hard look at yourself, change what needs to be changed, and move on,
pet.”
I blinked at her dumbly.
She lowered her voice. “And if you’re wondering why I get to tell you this, it’s because I’ve decided to
pursue a new profession: Christmas angel.”

---

She waited for my reaction, her eyes bright. It was strange that she would bring up the whole “angel”
thing  after  I’d  talked  about  angels  with  Dorrie  and  Tegan  last  night,  and  for  a  teeny-tiny  fraction  of  a
second I actually wondered if she was my angel, here to save me.
Then cold, hard reality thudded back down, and I hated myself for being such a fool. Mayzie was no
angel; today was just the Day of the Nut Jobs. Apparently, everyone had eaten too much fruitcake.
“Don’t you have to be dead to be an angel?” I said.
“Now, Addie,” she scolded. “Do I look dead to you?”
I looked at Christina to see if she was catching this, but Christina was over by the exit, putting a new
bag in the trash can.
Mayzie took my lack of response as permission to continue. “It’s a program called Angels Among Us,”
she said. “I don’t have to get a degree or anything.”
“There’s not really a program called that,” I said.
“Oh, yes, yes. It’s offered at Gracetown’s Center for the Heavenly Arts.”
“Gracetown doesn’t have a Center for the Heavenly Arts,” I said.
“I sometimes get lonely,” she confided. “Not that the Silver Sneakers aren’t wonderful. But sometimes
they’re a bit”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“well, boring.”
“Ohhh,” I whispered back.
“I thought becoming an angel might be a nice way to connect with others,” she said. “Anyway, to get my
wings, I just have to spread the magic of Christmas.”
I snorted. “Well, I don’t believe in the magic of Christ-mas.”
“Sure you do, or I wouldn’t be here.”
I drew back, feeling somehow as if I’d been tricked. Because how was I supposed to respond to that? I
shook myself and tried another tactic. “But . . . Christmas is over.”
“Oh, no, Christmas is never over, unless you want it to be.” She leaned on the counter and propped her
chin on her palm. “Christmas is a state of mind.”
Her gaze dropped below the level of the counter. “Goodness gracious,” she said.
I looked down. “What?”
The top corner of the folded-up sticky note was sticking out of my jeans pocket, and Mayzie reached
across the counter and plucked it free. The gesture was so unexpected, I just stood there and let her.
“‘Do  not  forget  the  pig,’”  Mayzie  said  after  unfolding  the  note.  She  tilted  her  head  and  peered  at  me
like a little bird.
“Oh crud,” I said.
“What pig are you not supposed to forget?”
“Uh”—my  mind  was  jittery—“it’s  for  my  friend,  Tegan.  What  drink  can  I  get  started  for  you?”  My
fingers itched to untie my apron strings so I could go on break.
“Hmm,” Mayzie said. She tapped her chin.
I tapped my foot.
“You know,” she said, “sometimes when we forget to do things for others, like this Tegan, it’s because
we’re too wrapped up in our own problems.”
“Yes,” I said vigorously, hoping to dissuade further discussion. “You want your usual almond mocha?”
“When actually, what we need to forget is ourselves.”
“Yes again. I hear ya. Single shot?”
She smiled as if I amused her. “Single shot, yes, but let’s mix it up this time. Change is healthy, right?”
“If you say so. So what’ll it be?”
“A toffee nut mocha, please, in a to-go cup. I think I’ll take in some air before Tanner comes back for
us.”
I relayed Mayzie’s order to Christina, who had slipped back behind the counter. She whipped it up and

---

slid it over.
“Keep what I said in mind,” Mayzie said.
“I’m pretty sure I will,” I said.
She giggled merrily, as if we were in cahoots. “Bye, now,” she called. “See you soon!”
As soon as she was gone, I tore off my apron.
“I’m going on break,” I told Christina.
She handed me the steamer. “Rinse this out for me, and you’re officially free to go.”

---

Chapter Ten
I
set  the  steamer  in  the  sink  and  twisted  the  faucet.  As  I  waited  impatiently  for  it  to  fill,  I  turned  and
leaned against the sink’s edge. I drummed my fingers against its metal rim.
“Mayzie says I need to forget myself,” I said. “What do you think that means?”
“Don’t ask me,” Christina said. Her back was to me as she blew out the steam wand, and I watched the
puff of steam rise above her shoulders.
“And  my  friend  Dorrie—you  know  Dorrie—she  kind  of  said  the  same  thing,”  I  mused.  “She  said  I
always have to make things be about me.”
“Well, I won’t argue with you there.”
“Ha ha,” I said. I grew uncertain. “You’re kidding, right?”
Christina  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  grinned.  Her  eyes  widened  in  dismay,  and  she  gestured
furiously. “Addie, the . . . the . . . ”
I twisted around to see a sheet of water spill over the edge of the sink. I jumped back, yelping, “Ahhh!”
“Turn it off!” Christina said.
I fumbled with the faucet, but water continued to pour into and over the sink.
“It’s not working!”
She pushed me aside. “Get a rag!”
I dashed to the back room, grabbed a rag, and dashed back. Christina was still twisting the faucet, and
water was still pouring onto the floor.
“See?” I said.
She glared.
I wormed in and pressed the rag to the sink’s edge. A second later it was soaked, and I had a flashback
to the time I was four and couldn’t turn the bathtub off.
“Crap,  crap,  crap,”  Christina  said.  She  gave  up  on  turning  the  water  off  and  applied  pressure  to  the
spurting faucet. It squirted past her fingers in an umbrella-shaped arch. “I have no idea what to do!”
“Oh, God. Okay, um”—I scanned the store—“John!”
All three Johns looked up from their corner table. They saw what was happening and hurried over.
“Can we come behind the counter?” John Number Two asked, because Christina was hard-core about
customers not coming behind the counter. Starbucks policy.
“Of course!” Christina cried. She blinked as the water sprayed her shirt and face.
The Johns took charge. Johns One and Two came to the sink, while John Number Three loped toward
the back room.
“Move aside, ladies,” John Number One said.
We did. Christina’s apron was soaked, as was her shirt. And her face. And her hair.
I pulled a stack of napkins from the dispenser. “Here.”
She took them wordlessly.
“Um . . . are you mad?”
She didn’t respond.
John Number One hunkered down by the wall and did studly things with the pipes. His Tar Heels cap
bobbed as he moved.
“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” I said.
Christina’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.

---

“Well,  fine,  I  forgot  to  turn  the  water  off.  But  that  shouldn’t  have  caused  the  whole  system  to  break
down.”
“Musta been the storm,” John Number Two said. “Probably burst one of the outside pipes.”
John Number One grunted. “Just about got it. If I could only”—more grunts—“get this one valve . . .