apparent.
Like an engagement ring.
Look, Magnolia, I got your name tattooed over my heart. Merry Christmas!
I laughed under my breath. Probably not.
I sent her a text even though I didn't really want to set the compass down.
Me: The compass is beautiful, thank you very much.
Magnolia: You're very welcome. I know it's a bit much for a Christmas present for your boss, but I saw it at a vintage store in Merryville and thought of you. Enjoy your days off, Grady.
Obviously, I didn't see her after that since we closed down the office for a few days before and after the holiday. But when I got home that day, I kept my gift out on my kitchen counter where it absolutely tore my heart out every single time I saw it.
I found myself going on longer and harder hikes, probably things I shouldn't have been doing by myself.
Inside the converted garage apartment where I lived, I worked out every evening, just so that my body would hit the point of exhaustion before I flopped face-first onto my bed.
Christmas morning, while we opened presents at Pop's small apartment downtown, I caught Grace watching me carefully a few times, but since Thanksgiving, she'd stopped asking me if I was okay. We ate cinnamon rolls from Donner Bakery in our pajamas around my dad's Charlie Brown-esque tree and traded white elephant gifts with each other.
I ended up with a beat-up tackle box from Tucker, and I stared at it for a while, wondering if it had come from Big Bob's Bait and Tackle, a remnant of his time with Magnolia.
The tackle box did not sit out on my counter.
Before I went to bed that night, I stared at my phone and allowed myself one text to Magnolia. Just one.
Merry Christmas, Magnolia. I'm trying to figure out how the person who's known me the shortest amount of time ended up buying me the most perfect gift I've ever gotten.
My fingers deleted that second sentence before I could hit send. I closed my eyes, laid an arm over my face, and tried again.
Merry Christmas, Magnolia. I hope you got everything on your list this year.
"Stupid," I whispered, punching the backspace button like it had personally injured me.
Merry Christmas, Magnolia. I wish I could've given you the present I really wanted to give you. Maybe next year.
Backspace, until it was all gone. "Because that's not creepy."
Merry Christmas, Magnolia. I miss you when I don't get to see you. You're the most fascinating woman I've ever met in my entire life. I am in love with you.
Backspace.
Merry Christmas, Magnolia.
I hit send.
Immediately, she started typing, and I found myself stupidly, idiotically, breathless with anticipation.
Magnolia: Merry Christmas, Grady. Was Santa good to you this year?
I rolled over onto my side and took a deep breath before I answered.
Me: Got almost everything I wanted.
Me: You?
Magnolia: Pretty much the same.
I let out a slow breath. I felt like we were dangling on a dangerous precipice.
Magnolia: What are you up to?
Without thinking, I snapped a quick picture and sent it. Nothing about it was risky. Half my face, my shoulder, and in the background was the TV mounted on the wall, which was playing Home Alone. Also known as the greatest Christmas movie of all time.
My phone dinged, and all she sent was a picture back.
There might have been a TV, and I think it might have shown Home Alone, but all I could do was stare at that half of her face. My thumb traced the line of her bottom lip, and I felt my body react. Her hair was down—wonderfully curly, like it had been for the past couple of weeks—and underneath it, I could see a thin strap of white over the graceful curve of her shoulder.
A tank top maybe.
Somehow, I managed a response, but my hands were shaking.
Me: Great minds.
Me: Have a good night, Magnolia.
Magnolia: You too.
Magnolia: I think I'm going to work from home this week if you're okay with that.
Maybe the week would be good. Maybe I needed that to completely reset after the holidays. I sent her a thumbs-up.
Magnolia: See you after the New Year.
I sent another thumbs-up, like a jackass, because it's all I was capable of. I shoved my phone away from me, rolled on my back, and struggled to breathe evenly. One picture. One picture of half her face, and the line of her neck and shoulder, and I was acting like a kid who just saw his first nudie pic.
Boundaries existed for these