Snowfall: A Romantic Christmas Story Page 3
mean to dump this all on you on Christmas Eve, it’s just… I really thought I could save it all tonight, you know? Put on a good show, serve the best food, play the right music, show the fat cats in Snowflake I know what I’m doing. Now? Now it’s all come tumbling down; I’m a fraud, a sham, a fake.”
“Fern, listen…”
“I’m serious, Scott. You really think 30 people canceled on my party because of a little snow?”
“It IS coming down, Fern.”
“Yeah, now it is. Not when they called to cancel. Word gets out in a small town, Scott. One couple decided my lavish Christmas Eve gala wasn’t worth it; then they told two friends, and they told two friends… and word got out. I’ve seen it happen before; that’s why I moved here from the city. I figured life in Snowflake would be different. Nicer, you know? Calmer, quieter, less BS, red tape and politics. But it’s just the same here as everywhere else I’ve ever been; maybe even worse.”
“It takes time for a new business to grow,” I say, helpfully.
She chuckles wryly and finishes her glass.
Rather than wait for me to pour for her, she fills it herself; even tops mine off.
“I know that, Scott, really I do. I’m not trying to sound like a flake or exaggerate but, ever since I moved to Snowflake six months ago, I’ve been living on borrowed time.”
“What do you mean, Fern?”
“My office, my Jaguar, this condo, these very chairs we’re sitting in; they’re all leased. I haven’t been able to pay my bills for the last two months; I’m screwed. They’ll be moving guys here tomorrow morning if I don’t rob a bank tonight!”
Her voice is high-pitched, her face flushed.
I open my mouth to say something but… what’s to say?
“Oh God,” she says, putting her glass down and covering her face with her hands. “What am I doing? Why did I just tell you all that? You must think I’m the biggest loser ever, Scott.”
“Me?” I ask, looking away. “The guy lugging up your baked brie and heating up your scallops and pouring your champagne thinks YOU’RE a loser? What do you think I’m doing here, Fern? Living the dream?”
My voice sounds a tad bitter, and I’m sorry about that.
She waits me out; waits to hear my story.
I take one deep breath, only one, and say, “I left college three years ago to take Hollywood by storm. It took less than a year to kick my butt. I moved home – literally, into my parents’ basement – and have been working at Simply Snowflake since last Christmas. On weekends, I wait tables at Café Kringle. My girlfriend broke up with my on the 4th of July, citing my ‘rampant lack of ambition,’ I think she called it. So, here I am. Here I am to tell you that you are NOT a loser, Fern.”
She snorts; her eyes haven’t left me during my entire diatribe.
“Fine, Scott; we’re not losers. So… what are we?”
Her question takes me by surprise; so does the snort that erupts from my nose/mouth combo!
“I… have no idea,” I confess, mesmerized by how full and wet her lips look in the flickering candlelight. “But I don’t feel like a loser, do you?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I do, but… not as much of a loser when you’re around.”
After a beat she picks up her champagne glass again and asks, “So, you’ve crashed and burned and picked up the pieces again, Scott. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Downsize, for one! Let the lease lapse on this place, get a smaller one; a much smaller one. Let your office space go and work from home, for another. Get a used car. If you can’t afford a used car, I’ll lend you my bike!”
“Really?” she asks. “You’d do that?”
“Well, when I’m not using it that is. Which I mostly am because… I’m in between cars at the moment.”
Her laugh is warm as honey and soft as the Christmas music that was playing earlier.
“Okay, so I downsize and… then what? What do I do for clients, Scott? I mean, since you’re revamping my life and all?”
Her tone is still haughty, like she’s joking, but her eyes are serious; almost… pleading.
“Well,” I brainstorm out loud. “I know Simply Snowflake is getting ready to head into its slow season. After Christmas and until just before Valentine’s Day is pretty beat for us. I’m sure my boss could use your services, you know, on a month-to-month basis pretty soon, if that would help.”
“You’d do that for me?” she asks, leaning forward in her seat.
“I’d do it for us,” I shrug. “I’m sure you could help give Simply Snowflake a busy January, and Simply Snowflake could mean you stay in business through January. Maybe, if it works out, through Valentine’s Day as well.”
She shakes her head, voice soft as she says, “I don’t know how to repay you, Scott. And to think I was such a creep when you got here tonight. I can’t believe you’re still even talking to me, let alone helping me…”
“I’m used to it,” I say, the champagne hitting me all at once. “Besides, I usually let the hot clients slide when they act like that.”
She snorts and sighs all at once, sitting back in her chair in an… inviting… way.
I stand and reach for the champagne bottle; go to fill her glass.
I mean, what have I got to lose at this point, right?
The candlelight is soft in her eyes and flickers along her moist, full lips as I lean over to pour the bubbly into her glass.
She touches my hand, softly, and leans up to kiss me; she tastes like cranberry and champagne.
I pull her from the chair and she glides up to meet me, willingly.
Our bodies dance around the living room, warm and entangled as the storm rages on, rages on… and on.
Only later, much later, do the lights come back on, illuminating her half-naked body as she snoozes, content, on the fuzzy white rug in front of the fire.
By then the candles have long since burned down, and the tree, and the music, are a fitting way to ring in Christmas morning…
* * * * *
About the Author:
Rusty Fischer
Rusty Fischer is a full-time freelance writer and the author of several published novels, including Zombies Don’t Cry (Medallion Press) and A Town Called Snowflake (Musa Publishing). For more FREE romantic holiday stories, visit him at www.storiesoftheseason.com.