“Stay,” said my head.
“Go,” said my heart.
So which one did I listen to?
The one that led me home to Harbour Blue for Christmas.
I have neither the time nor the…time to celebrate a holiday. Yet here I am. Isolating. Alone. Tons of work. In a snowstorm. With no food. And absolutely no caffeine. I had overlooked that part when planning my trip. Caffeine is how I power through my long days. Thankfully, I put in an order at the local, and only, small town grocery store this morning.
Honk, honk!
A horn blaring from a vehicle blasts a hole in my concentration. I look outside from my desk. All I can see are snowflakes. Many, many fat and clumsy snowflakes falling to the ground. I can’t see the ocean, which is practically on my beautiful, two-story Victorian rental house’s doorstep.
Honk, honk!
“What’s their problem?” I mutter. “I don’t have time for this.”
I had decided, last minute, to leave Paris and visit my family on the east coast of Canada despite the 14-day quarantine required for anyone travelling here from out of the country. I could have stayed in Europe, worked over Christmas and toasted the New Year with a glass of champagne, solo, but I was craving the cheer and warmth of home. At forty-seven-years-old, I live a comfortable life but I’m just so far away from my parents and they’re only getting older. I had arrived in Nova Scotia last night, December 10th. Today is my first full day in isolation and I’m already regretting it. I’m falling behind and the weight of my work is giving me a headache.
A couple more honks and I put on my fine cashmere pink coat and slip on my new grey suede leather boots. I bought the shoes in a store in my Paris neighbourhood last week. These boots will not hold up to the Maritime storm raging outside.
I open the heavy front door and am immediately pummeled by flying snow and a cold salty breeze. I shiver—and I’m not even outside yet. I try to lift my feet over the wet and deep white stuff, but it’s no use. My boots disappear in the drifts, which are almost up to my knees. I wade to the eggshell blue gate a few metres away.
I can’t see who is on the other side of the fence, but I can hear them huffing and puffing along with the grating of a shovel hitting concrete.
“What’s going on?” I shout to the noise.
“I’m trying to deliver your items but your gate is stuck,” a man calls back. “Too much snow packed in front of it.”
“So?”
“Well, I thought you could open the gate from your end. But then I started digging. I’m almost finished.”
“Then why do you need me?” Frustration edges my words. “I was working. Now my new boots are dead, thanks to you.”
The gate is pushed slowly open to reveal a man with his hair coated with snow and friendly brown eyes above a green mask over his mouth and nose.
“Sorry about your boots, Tamzin,” the stranger says.
“Do I know you?” I tuck a snow-coated curl behind my ear.
“Um, yeah.” The man shakes his head and the snow falls off, revealing thick black hair. “Don’t you recognize me?” he asks.
My headache is getting worse. I’m standing in the cold snow while more cold snow piles on top of my head. I feel like a snowperson in the North Pole.
“Are you Santa Claus?” I say, sarcastically. “Look, I simply want my coffee.”
“I have all your caffeination supplies and I will also eat any cookies you leave out. Alas, I’m not Saint Nicholas, I’m Keiran Cho.”
I gulp.
“You’re Judy’s younger brother. I haven’t seen you in twenty-five years.”
“Yep. I’d recognize you anywhere,” Keiran says. “Same curly blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“Judy and I are Facebook friends.”
“She’s married,” Keiran says. “Couple of kids.”
“I know.”
“She said you’re living in France? Working for a big engineering company?”
“Yes.” I keep my answers brief, hoping Keiran will get the hint.
“Your order is in the vehicle. Just a second.” Keiran scrambles through the snow to a green van with its windshield wipers working overtime.
The name of his family’s store, Cho’s Groceries, is written on the side in black. The man grabs several plastic bags and hauls them to me.
“I’ll put these on the step,” he says. “Health regulations say I’m not supposed to come into the house.”
I pull the collar of my thin coat closer around my neck. It’s letting snow and the damp East Coast humidity in.
Keiran strides through the snow like it’s powdered sugar, not dense slush. I can’t help noticing his broad shoulders in his navy-blue wool peacoat. He puts the bags down gently on the wooden veranda, after brushing off the snow that has accumulated on it.
“Thanks,” I say, already thinking about how to handle this breach of my schedule.
“We’re all about service at Cho’s,” Keiran says. “Well, more like what I’m all about. Not sure if you heard, but my Uppa died a few weeks ago.”
Shoot! I had made that rude comment about my shoes being dead. “I’m so sorry about your father,” I say. “I remember Mr. Cho well. He was always friendly and welcoming. I loved when Judy asked me to stay for supper at your house. He made the most delicious dumplings.”
“He did! You’d eat all the mandu and I wouldn’t get any. I didn’t mind.”
“You had no choice.” I chuckle. “You were Judy’s much younger and dorky brother.”
Keiran laughs. Then he stares straight into my eyes. Something about the way he looks at me sends shivers down my spine and not because I’m cold.
“You know, Tamzin, it’s great to see you,” he says.
“You, too, Keiran.”
“I’ve got to run. Other orders to fill and this nor'easter is forecasted to turn to freezing rain soon. I’ll catch you later.”
Keiran hops into his van, turns it around and heads down the road in a flurry of snow.
Keiran Cho. I haven’t thought about him in years. He’s got to be at least eight years younger than me. He had been a skinny little boy who wore his jeans hiked up to his armpits when I saw him last.
Now, Keiran is all grown up, while I had a tantrum like a child, over coffee and lost minutes.
“At least I’m consistent,” I mutter.
It’s exactly why Raul broke up with me, last year. If I’m not working, I’m working on working. I never give myself time to relax.
A gust of wind hits me in the face.
I need to get back to my desk. I close the gate and trudge to the porch, lug the groceries inside and then shake everything off, including me.
I unpack the coffee beans first. I need the hit of caffeine to push past my jetlag. The place I booked for the holidays has everything I would ever want: a bean grinder, fast and reliable internet and a large den complete with a desk. The ocean view simply comes with the house. The only thing I have time to look at is my computer screen.
With my instant meals put away and the coffee brewed, I fill a mug.
“Crap!” The store forgot to include milk with my order. Usually, it’s my assistant, Andre, who handles everything and anything in my domestic realm. He has people who stock my kitchen, clean my apartment, do my laundry, cook my meals and buy my coffee so I can think of more important stuff than milk.
I could ask my Mom to bring some over, but I don’t want her on the road in this crazy weather.
I sigh, pick up my phone and call the grocery store. “This is Tamzin Martins,” I say when a woman answers. “Someone at the store forgot my milk.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman says. “Let me bring up your order.”
I hear her tapping on a computer.
“Ms. Martins, there is no milk listed here. If you give us a couple of hours, we’ll send you a litre. Does that work for you?”
“Fine.”
I’d much rather a coffee with milk but caffeine is caffeine. I drink my black coffee absentmindedly, while I tackle the business of estimating how much time and money it’ll cost to get a barge from France to Spain. My shoulders are creeping up to my ears and my head is aching like it has been stomped on by giants. As usual, I’m lost in problems and barely register the pain.
The doorbell rings, startling me. I look at the clock on my screen, it’s almost five p.m. and getting dark. I hurry to the front door.
It’s Keiran. I feel a tiny, unexplainable ember warm my stomach.
He takes a couple of steps back from me and shows me a jug of milk. “Moooo.”
“Har, har.”
He puts the milk down in front of him. “What were you doing?”
“Working,” I say, rubbing my temples.
“Take a break?”
“What? Now? I have piles of things to do and it’s only five.”
“Only five? When do you log off?”
“Never.” I glance back into the living room, where a large clock is counting down the seconds I’m away from my computer.
“It’s almost bedtime for people in France,” Keiran says. “Grab your coat and meet me out the back. I’m sure you have ten minutes.”
“I wish I did.” I begin to close the door on his friendly face.
“Hold on, hold on.” Keiran puts up his hand. “Five minutes, then.”
I look at the clock again. “Five minutes.” I grab the milk and hustle inside. I stick the milk in the fridge, then put on my coat and ruined suede boots. “Why didn’t I bring warmer clothing?” I ask myself. I’d known where I was heading. Harbour Blue is not only known for its quaint downtown with cute seaside shops and a tearoom that serves hot scones and tart jelly, but the town also gets hit with wicked winter storms that wreak havoc on power lines and bring the community to a standstill.
A fuzzy beige blanket tossed over the sofa offers to provide me with some warmth. I grab it.
I hadn’t realized there was a back porch. I find the back door in the kitchen.
Keiran has brushed the snow off a patio set and is waiting for me in the silver twilight. I sit the socially appropriate distance from him.
“Oh!” I say. “I left my phone inside.”
“You don’t need it to enjoy this Christmas card scene.” Keiran takes off his mask.
He’s right. It’s so pretty outside. The snow is still falling, but it’s not has heavy as this morning. I can see the Atlantic coming towards me. It is a light shade of blue in the growing darkness. There’s a sharp smell of pine needles from the holiday wreath adorning the back door.
I hug the blanket closer, enjoying the moment.
“Judy moved out west, to Alberta,” Keiran says.
“I saw that. She seems busy, as a doctor.”
“Not so much since she had kids. She takes holidays now. You two used to be similar—very driven.”
“I wonder if we still share the same taste in movies.” I snuggle into my chair. “My all-time favourite is the one we watched with you.”
“I remember it.” Keiran hollers and slaps his leg. “The black and white comedy with the werewolf who became a vegetarian. It’s my favourite, too.”
As Keiran and I talk about our younger years, my headache fades. There’s something about this man I’m enjoying. He’s funny and tells a good story. It doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome.
I’m having a good time reminiscing and laughing. Then Keiran’s phone rings, bringing me back to the present.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’ve got to get this. Have a good night.” He jumps down from the porch while answering his phone. “Hi, honey.”
Oh.
My high spirits crash to earth and my headache returns.
Whatever. I don’t have time for him, anyway. Besides, I’m only here for Christmas. I’ll be back in France before New Year’s Eve.
I sigh as I climb out of my cozy nest. Keiran and I had talked for over an hour. It’s fully dark out, but I can hear the ocean. The shush of the waves is soothing but I have things that must be done. It’s going to be a late night.
•
I yawn as I prepare my breakfast of coffee—with milk—and instant oatmeal. I have piles of emails and texts, which have built up while I slept. In the
wood-panelled den off the kitchen, I eat and work at the same time.
Thoughts of Keiran interrupt me. We’d had such a nice conversation last night.
I wonder who his girlfriend is. I log into Facebook to lurk on his profile. There are photos of him and Judy’s children in a sailboat, as well as a picture of Keiran with an attractive woman beside him, outside his family’s grocery store. The woman has long, straight red hair and a crop top showing off a taut stomach. She’s near his age, if not younger.
That must be the honey. I click away from the photo.
Oops! I’ve accidently added Keiran as a friend. My whole body heats up with embarrassment. How high-schoolish.
This is why I should have stayed in Europe and worked over Christmas. Immersing myself in my professional life means I don’t have to deal with my personal life.
I do have friends in Paris. I’m not a hermit. But I’ve never wanted the husband-and-kids package. I don’t know how I’d fit them into my day.
I bury my head in estimates again. Numbers are good at chasing away feelings.
My phone rings. It’s my Mom calling to check in. I know my parents worry about me being alone in France, and here. But really, I’m fine.
I take a swift look at the view outside my window. The rain never arrived and the sun is shining in a brilliant blue sky that matches the ocean. The snow tones down the warmth of the scene. It’s cold out there. The fire crackling in the grate behind me reminds me to get back to my job.
A Facebook notification pings.
Keiran has approved my friendship. It makes me smile, then grimace.
He’s sent a message, too.
Hi Tamzin. Thanks for wanting to be my friend. ;) I wanted to reach out to you but didn’t want to be unprofessional and use your contact info from the store. How about sharing a glass of wine with me this evening? Back porch around 9? I’ll bring the wine and my own glass.
“Urgh,” I groan out loud. I put a hand to my forehead. I’m already behind.
Nine p.m. is one a.m., Paris time.
I’m sure I can catch up if I work faster.
OK, I tell Keiran.
At eight-thirty that night, I find myself putting on make-up and selecting a pretty apricot-coloured cashmere sweater. I put on my coat and boots and take the blanket to wrap-up in while I’m waiting for Keiran.
When I hear the purr of his van, I become jittery.
What if we have nothing to talk about? What if he’s just being nice to me because I’m his sister’s old friend—emphasis on old.
As Keiran rounds the corner of the porch, my heart beats a little faster. He’s holding a bottle of wine, two glasses and a bundle of clothing.
“Here.” He passes me a blue, down-filled parka, then a pair of sturdy black winter boots. “It’s my old coat and my Umma’s boots. They ain’t pretty but they’re warm.”
Wow. Keiran has been thinking about me.
I put on the parka. Three of me could fit in it. Keiran’s scent wafts up to me. I smell freshly cut summer grass, with a hint of orange.
“Thanks,” I say. “The boots look a bit big but they’ll be better than these suede things.”
Keiran opens the bottle of rosé. He fills my wine glass, then his and sits. His brown eyes sparkle in the December air. The way he leans toward me gives me goosebumps.
I take a sip of the wine.
“How is it?” asks Keiran.
“It’s nice.”
“It’s French.”
“I read the label,” I say.
“I’m an idiot!” Keiran plants his forehead into his palm. “I should have asked the woman who lives in France what kind of French rosé to bring tonight.”
“Really, it’s OK.” I take a big gulp to prove I like it. “I do know my wines but I’m not a snob. One day, I’d like to open a bar à vins somewhere. Maybe in Harbour Blue.”
Keiran nods. “I was thinking of doing that in the store. There’s a room in the back I could transform into a cozy, intimate spot. Our town needs something elevated, somewhere nice to relax besides the sports pub on Main Street, where the TV is always on at full volume.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“So, you’d move back here one day?”
“One day,” I say. “I’m only in France because that’s where I got my first job. I’ve built a solid resume and career in Europe. When I’m ready to call it quits, I’ll come home.”
“That makes me happy to hear. I had to come back. I quit my job as a biology teacher to run the store after Dad died.”
“Didn’t want to sell the shop?”
“Couldn’t do that to Dad.” Keiran takes a drink of his wine. “He put his heart and soul into the store. His father handed the business down to him and he felt like it was his duty to keep it in the family. Although he never put any pressure on me or Judy to take it over.” Keiran shifts in his chair. “Harbour Blue is not very big. Less than three thousand people, so you get to know your customers. I like the community aspect of the shop, talking to people, keeping an eye on their health, being involved in their lives. It might pale compared to your fast-paced city life but it keeps me busy. Although it’s not something I thought I’d be doing at thirty-nine.” He gives me a wide grin.
He looks so handsome…and so young.
I automatically put a hand up to my chin, to smooth out the crinkles in my neck. What if he thinks I’m some sort of cougar?
“It must be late,” I say abruptly, standing up and letting the blanket drop to the porch floor. “I’ve got lots to do tomorrow.”
Keiran frowns, then stands, too. He holds his wine glass awkwardly in front of him. “Tamzin?”
“Yes?”
“Ah, never mind. Have a good night.”
“You, too.”
He disappears into the darkness, moving around the side of the house.
I go into the bright kitchen.
It was an absolutely lovely evening but I have to watch myself. I’m beginning to like this man.
Keiran is kind, caring and hot, and not at all age-appropriate. Plus, there’s a “honey” in the picture.
Maybe he’s taking pity on me. I’m like an elderly aunt he feels the need to look after.
Oh, well. Bedtime for me.
I fall asleep and dream about hulking steel tractors moving down a highway. Every bit of my life revolves around my job. I never get a moment away from it.
•
As per usual, I work all day. Throughout the hours of staring at my computer screen and online conference calls, I peek at Keiran’s profile photo.
“Stop it!” I warn myself.
I wish he’d drop by. Hey! I could order more groceries.
I quickly decide I need coffee beans. I order them from Cho’s store and wait for the cute delivery man.
When my doorbell rings, I run to open the door with a large smile for…a teenage girl.
“Keiran’s not doing deliveries today?” I ask her.
“It’s Saturday,” the girl says, off-loading the bags onto the step. “He doesn’t work on weekends.”
Of course. He’s probably got lots of other things going on. He has a life. Perhaps he’s taking Honey to a Christmas party.
If I had been in Paris today, I might have gone out for a festive cocktail with a friend. It would be a quick one. I always have deadlines pushing me and negotiations to conquer. My to-do list never goes down and my managing director has added to it in the last hour.
I’ll need a strong coffee to douse the flames of panic flaring in my chest.
•
Sunday is like Saturday, although it’s not like I have time to realize it.
Mid-afternoon and mired in figures, I hear the doorbell ring.
Keiran!
No, it’s my sweet parents dropping by.
“We bought you some treats,” Dad says, handing me a large tin with Rudolph’s picture on it. “Your favourite Christmas cookies.”
“Shortbread!” I say. “Thanks. I’ll enjoy one at my desk.”
“Oh, dear,” Mom says. “Can’t you take breaks?”
“That’s what I’m doing now!”
“Okay.” She nods. “We’ll leave you to it. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I call out after them.
I shut the door, whip the lid off the tin and dig into the cookies. The blonde shortbread melts in my mouth.
I’m biting into my second treat when there’s a knock at the door.
Mom and Dad must have forgotten something.
I swing the door open wide.
It’s Keiran.
The sight of him in his navy peacoat and tight jeans takes my breath away.
“Hib.” I cough, my mouth full of cookies.
“Hi! You have crumbs all over your face.” Keiran laughs, gesturing at me.
I brush the shortbread off my chin. I know I’m blushing and it’s not because I’m embarrassed.
“Got any tea to go with those?” asks Keiran.
“Coffee?”
“Sounds good. I’ve got my mug in the van. I’ll meet you out back.”
I close the door and do a little jump in the air with the cookies in my hands. He’s here!
While I brew coffee, I put on Keiran’s coat and his mother’s boots. I get a tray together with the coffee essentials and the cookies. I head outside into the fresh ocean air.
“What a view,” Keiran says, pointing to the lively Atlantic. “If I lived in this house, I’d never get any work done.”
“I hardly ever remember to look outside.”
“What?” Keiran shakes his head. He plunks down into a chair. “What is so fantastic about your job that you can’t take a couple of minutes to enjoy the scenery?”
“When I’m retired, that’s when I’ll enjoy the view.” I sit down. “From my wine bar.”
“We all need money to live,” Keiran says, “but it shouldn’t be everything.”
“I’m wired this way.” I pour steaming coffee into the mugs. “It makes me proud when I know I’ve done a good job on a tough proposal.”
“Take it from me,” Keiran says. “You think you have tons of time but you might not. My Dad thought he had years and years ahead of him.” He stares at the ocean.
The waves hit the rocks, sending spray high into the air. A seagull hovers over the beach, suspended in time, before soaring off into the horizon.
“My Dad was a great father and I never wanted for anything—clothes, food, attention,” Keiran says. “But as I grew up, I realized his whole life revolved around the business. He rarely took vacations and was always in the store stocking shelves and helping customers. Dad had a proverb he always spouted to me and Judy. He’d say, ‘You must sleep before you can dream.’ A couple of months before Dad died, I asked him what that really meant to him. He told me he was reminding us that things don’t just happen. You have to work for them. He said he was going to retire next year, at seventy-three, and take my mother to Australia, somewhere she’s always wanted to go.” Keiran’s chin drops to his chest. “Now it’s too late,” he whispers, lost in thought.
I let silence fall over us. I sit back in my chair and wait for him to come back to me.
“Dad’s death taught me to enjoy life at every moment,” Keiran says, turning my way. We shouldn’t be waiting for the right time.”
“I can’t escape my nature. I’m constantly driven to succeed.”
“There’s a difference between being driven and being a workaholic.” Keiran sips from his mug.
“I guess I haven’t learned the difference.”
“I’ll teach you,” Keiran says. “I’ll stop by every day at two-thirty. I’ll sit out here and enjoy this beautiful nature. You can choose to join me or not. It’s up to you.”
“Is this a challenge?”
“I guess so. It’s also how good habits are formed. Do something every day and eventually, it becomes routine.”
“You’re on,” I say. “Now, have a cookie.”
“You left me some?” Keiran chuckles.
I laugh too. We spend twenty minutes talking and joking. With every word he says, I find myself falling deeper and deeper for him. I tell myself that I’m simply developing a solid friendship. That’s it. That’s all it can be.
•
True to his word, Keiran stops by at two-thirty the next day, and the next day, and the next.
The coffee break is good for me. When I return to work, I find nothing has blown up and the world is still going round. I’m not as tense or stressed and I’m sleeping better. Maybe this not working so hard stuff is a good thing.
Talking to Keiran helps me relax. We have things in common, like our distaste for cooked carrots and a love for bad mystery novels. We trade ideas for “our” wine bar and we agree we want to feature local wine. We are aligned on many levels.
Each time he waves goodbye to me, I curb the urge to yell after him and ask him to stay longer.
I can’t figure out why he’s wasting his time with me. Why is he investing energy in little old me? What is he expecting?
Halfway through my isolation, on December 17th, Keiran brings over an outdoor speaker and plays Christmas carols for us. He croons Silent Night off-key from his chair on the porch. He stops singing and leans toward me. “I’d dance with you if it wasn’t against health regulations.”
“Only seven more days and you can!” I turn beet red. “I mean, you don’t have to. You don’t have to see me after I get out.”
Keiran’s brow furrows. “Huh?”
“I figured you’re visiting me because you feel sorry for the spinster who works all the time and is all alone during the holidays and needs someone to make sure she hasn’t fallen down the stairs.”
“Tamzin, that’s not why I’m here.”
“It’s okay,” I continue. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
Keiran’s phone buzzes. He picks it up.
“Great timing.” He stomps his foot. “I’ve got to go.” He strides off the porch.
I hear him say, “Hi, Honey.”
The red-haired woman, his girlfriend, must be looking for him. For the first time in a very long while, I feel alone. I’m an independent woman who makes her own cash and is not afraid of silence. I do not need a man to complete me, nor do I believe in that malarky. However, I can’t ignore the hole that has just been torn in my heart.
I turn off the festive songs and listen to the ocean instead. Above the crashing waves, seagulls call to each other. Their cries are mournful and no matter how hard I try to keep the tears at bay, I find myself sobbing into the cuff of the parka.
Keiran’s parka.
I yank off the puffy coat and throw it inside. My sadness turns to rage. I stomp on the jacket and then kick off the boots and leave them in a pile by the door.
I’ll wear my own clothing, thank you very much.
I sink to the floor.
This is all my own fault. I should have stuck with what I know best—work. I will not let myself be swayed from my schedule again. I will not be someone’s pet project.
Now where was I?
Right. At my desk.
•
After burning the midnight oil, the next day dawns too early for me.
“Nothing that some coffee can’t fix,” I say to myself, resisting re-setting my alarm for an hour later.
As usual, caffeine does the trick. I’m a maniac today, negotiating a great deal on delivering an oil rig from Alberta to a major energy company in Europe. My managing director sends another big equipment problem for me to solve by the end of the week. Getting a ten-ton, all-terrain crane from Newfoundland to Argentina. Our business never slows down, not even during Christmas, and I’m vital to its success.
My parents drop by with some groceries and I take a couple of minutes to say hello. I scarf down the lunch they made me without tasting any of the delicious homemade pasta and spicy tomato sauce.
I’m on a call when I hear something at the back of the house. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s two-thirty.
Keiran must be outside. Waiting for me.
“Stay,” says my head.
“Go,” says my heart.
My head wins. Kind of.
Hmmm. If I lean to the right, I can see out of the den to the kitchen window and spot a slice of the back porch, and maybe Keiran. I’m at a ninety-degree angle and my chair is almost at the tipping point.
Damn that man!
Despite being annoyed at my feelings for him, I can’t help but want to rush outside to see him. If this call wraps up in a few minutes, I’ll go.
An hour later, I’m still trying to get a crane from Point A to Point B. My brain is humming with stress and my neck is a rigid as a candy cane. I massage one shoulder at a time to ease the tension.
My muscles are still taut when I go to bed several hours later.
•
I can’t sleep. I keep having nightmares about tractors falling off bridges. Honey, Keiran’s red-haired girlfriend, tells me it’s all my fault.
I wake up sweaty, cold and wired. It’s no use trying to go back to bed so I dress and head down to the den.
It’s three a.m. when I sit in front of my laptop to work.
Around noon, my stomach growls. I leave my spreadsheet to heat some canned soup and make coffee. I bring my meal back to the den and put it beside my computer. I’m chilly so I take a minute to build a roaring fire in the fireplace.
The heat from the flames makes me drowsy. “I’ll sit on the sofa and shut my eyes for a couple of seconds,” I tell myself as I drift off. “Just a couple of seconds…”
I wake up to darkness. I look at my phone. It’s just after five p.m. I have missed many calls, texts and emails.
I groan. I also missed Keiran’s visit, and not on purpose this time.
I walk into the kitchen and bend to pick up his coat by the back door, still sitting where I had left it the other night. I notice something pale gleaming on the porch in the December moonlight.
I turn on the light and see an envelope propped up against a bottle of rosé, on the patio table.
I hurry out and grab them. Back at my desk, I open the card.
Tamzin, I was hoping to see you. You must be incredibly busy. Fingers crossed it’s not because you find me too charming. Here’s an early Christmas present. I found this rosé the other day. It’s from a local vintner in the Gaspereau Valley. Let me know your opinion. If you like it, I’ll put it on the list for our wine bar.
From, Keiran
“From?” I say aloud. You put “from” on notes to your dentist. That “from” puts it all into perspective. He’s being friendly despite me being a cantankerous old lady.
Might as well open this bottle and gave him my opinion on it tomorrow.
It’s actually a great wine. Floral on the nose, with hints of strawberries. It’s dry and a bit fuller-bodied than I expected. It goes well with my microwavable chicken dish. I could finish the whole bottle but I know if I do, I’ll be toast tonight.
Instead, I finish some estimates before going to bed.
The rosé does put me to sleep and I don’t wake up feeling groggy or tired in the morning. I throw open the white linen curtains to a grey sky and rain. Freezing rain.
Ice is forming on the thin bare branches of the poplar trees skirting the shoreline. The trees bow under the weight.
My heart slumps, too. The roads are going to be too slippery to drive. I don’t think I’ll be seeing Keiran today.
At my laptop, I send him a message thanking him for the wine and telling him I loved it. I add, Thanks for being a friend. See you tomorrow.
I can’t help but check my inbox every couple of minutes for the first hour of work.
Eventually, my focus turns back to my tasks at hand. This is what I know. This has been my life for a long time. Just because a person is nice to me at Christmas, doesn’t mean I should change everything.
Towards midnight, my phone pings. It’s a text from Keiran.
Just saw your message. It’s been crazy at the store. A pipe burst and there’s water everywhere. Will check in with you tomorrow.
He is being a good friend.
•
It’s December 21st, day eleven of my quarantine. Christmas Day is less than a week away. I wouldn’t have known that if it wasn’t for the baking my parents drop off. They tell me the house is decorated and they have put the gifts my assistant Andre sent them under the tree. Mom and Dad can’t wait for me to come home.
I’m grateful for their happiness, not to mention the apple pie I have sitting on the kitchen counter. It brings some festive cheer to a long morning.
Around one p.m., my phone rings.
“It’s Keiran.” His voice melts my heart. “It’s the winter solstice today. Usually I’d go to the beach for a stroll but I’ve got to stay at the store and wait for the plumber. Tell me, how does the ocean look today?”
“I’ll check.” I walk out onto the porch. “Oh! The water is spectacular. It’s a deep blue, almost tropical, and seagulls are bobbing on the waves.”
“That makes me smile. Thank you.”
He makes me smile. “You’re welcome,” I say softly.
“Sometimes, it’s the little things that matter. Chat tomorrow?”
“Yep. Bye.”
I hang up and sit down. I don’t have my coat and the cold air encircles me in an icy embrace. I stay and feel the chill. I want to feel something other than the pressure of deadlines and stress tightening about my head, and the deep tiredness that my body tries to hide with coffee and more coffee.
I have money, beautiful things, and I can go anywhere in the world. Nevertheless, where is my joy? Christmas is a magical season, full of family and friends getting together, laughing together, eating together.
When I was young, I loved watching my parents open the gifts I had wrapped with care. I don’t even know what I got them this year. Andre ordered everything and signed the tags for me.
What is my reason for working long hours and never taking a vacation? No one in my office has ever said thanks. No one has ever told me to put myself first, to take a rest. I’ve been pushing myself so hard all these years and it’s finally catching up to me. I can’t keep lying to myself.
So you know what? I’m giving myself a break.
Keiran may be young but he’s wise. He has taught me more in almost two weeks than anyone else. My heart might always skip a beat when I see him but I can settle for the next best thing, being his friend. I’m lucky to have him in my life.
Back in the house, I shut down my computer. Shut off my phone. Turn on the stereo and sing my heart out to Jingle Bells while dancing around the living room. It feels great to let loose. To not be watching the clock. It’s my Christmas gift to me.
•
I start the next morning in discussions with my managing director. I ask for the next several weeks off and he begrudgingly gives them to me.
“No one deserves it more than you,” he admits.
“I know!” I say, before ending the meeting with a click of my mouse.
I drink a glorious cup of coffee, slowly, on the porch. Then I lie in a hot bath with a good mystery book, until the pages are too soggy to turn. I take my time getting dressed before heading to the kitchen.
My heart races when I think about the man who will be here at two-thirty. I’m excited to see him but I can control my emotions.
I put together a tray of festive goodies and make some tea, in time to see Keiran settling into his chair on the porch.
I wrap myself in his coat and bring the food outside.
“What’s all this?” He eyes the mound of treats.
“It’s a thank you.”
“For what?”
“For showing me that a career should not be my life. For showing me how to take a break. You’ve been a good friend these past couple of weeks.”
“You’re welcome.” Keiran stares at his hands. “But I don’t want to be your friend.”
I freeze as I’m about to pour him some black tea. My heart and soul twist and turn and wretch themselves out of my body. They drop to the snowy ground and shrivel in the frost. I’m a fool. Of course, he wants nothing to do with me.
“Do I get any tea?” chuckles Keiran, “or are you serving salt air?”
I force myself to smile and tip the teapot towards his cup.
I can’t concentrate. Everything around me blurs.
I want him to leave. Now. Then I’ll go back to work and forget he exists.
“What’s wrong?” Keiran asks.
I put the teapot down with a clang. “What’s wrong?” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m embarrassed. You just said you don’t want to see me anymore. I get that you have a girlfriend but I thought you and I could at least be friends.”
“Girlfriend?” Keiran wrinkles his nose at me. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Yes, you do” I sit up as straight as I can in his oversized parka. “She’s called you a couple of times while you’ve been here.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, so no girlfriend could have phoned me.”
“You called her honey.”
Keiran shakes his head. He laughs and laughs. He laughs so hard, he doubles over.
“It’s not funny.”
“Honey. Honey…” gasps Keiran, “is my employee’s name. She answers phones, gets orders ready and runs the store while I’m on deliveries.”
“Who is the woman with you on your Facebook page then?”
“That’s her. If you look closely, you’ll see we’re in front of the store. It was a promotional shot.” Keiran has tears in his eyes from giggling so much. “You’re right, though. She has called while I’ve been with you. Both times she had a customer at the till and needed my help. I didn’t explain that to you because I didn’t want to waste your time.”
“Then why don’t you want to be friends with me?”
“Because I’d like to be more.”
Oh.
“I’ve had a crush on you since I was a kid,” Keiran says. “I was going to tell you that first evening on the porch but I didn’t want to weird you out.”
“It might have,” I admit.
“You were like an angry zombie the first day I delivered your groceries. I remembered how vibrant you used to be and I could see hints of the person I used to know underneath your frown. I wanted—want—you to be happy.”
“I thought you were simply checking on your sister’s old lady friend,” I say. “Seeing you made—makes—me happy.”
We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the gulls talk to the waves.
“Pretend I’m holding your hand,” Keiran says. “I know you have to go home to France, but I’m wondering if you’ll spend some time with me when you’re out of isolation.”
I glance shyly at Keiran. “How about dinner with me and my parents on December 23rd?” I ask. “Be there at noon.”
•
I blast Christmas tunes as I pack my belongings into a couple of suitcases. I have to laugh at my new Parisian boots, which didn’t make it one second in Harbour Blue. It’s the day before Christmas Eve and my parents are coming this morning to drive me home.
Keiran makes me feel something I’ve never felt before. My feet don’t touch the ground and my head is in the clouds and my heart is full of sugar and spice and all things nice.
I don’t notice my phone beeping when new emails arrive in my inbox.
“Do you need to check in with work?” asks Dad while loading the car with my stuff.
“Nope,” I say. “I’m on vacation.”
“I can’t wait to ask Keiran how he made you take a holiday,” Mom says. “Let’s go home.”
True to my parents’ words, the house is decorated from top to bottom in Christmas fare. Wreaths, bows and twinkling lights cover every surface. I start unpacking when a vehicle outside honks and honks again.
My heart soars and I run to the front door, flinging it open.
“How rude!” I shout to the handsome man climbing out of his green van.
Keiran’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m kidding.” I laugh as Keiran strolls up the verandah steps, stopping a couple of metres away from me.
“Hi,” he says.
I stare at the man standing in front of me. I’m afraid to blink in case he disappears. I can’t go another second without him. “I have something for you.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper. “Merry Christmas.”
“What’s this?” Keiran asks.
“It’s an estimate for moving my things from France to Nova Scotia. And a budget for our wine bar.”
“You’re staying in Harbour Blue?”
“I’m not good at this feelings stuff,” I say. “But I feel like I’m home when I’m with you.”
Keiran smiles and points to something green and leafy hanging from the verandah ceiling. “Mistletoe,” he says. “Get over here so I can kiss you.”
“Go,” says my head.
“Go,” says my heart.
___________________
Lea Storry (yes, that’s her real last name) is a writer who owns a memoir writing, editing and publishing business. She can also fly a plane and throw a Frisbee, but not at the same time. Lea lives with her husband in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.