“Don't apologize to me. I'm the one who is embarrassed. Who’s mortified. I don't want you to tell anyone about this. I am so ashamed that I didn't take better care of the accounting. Once I took over granny's house, I should have kept a better eye on things. I was just hoping the grant would work and I’ve been living in denial. The last thing I want is Granny Charlene's memory to be tarnished. Granny was the best person I know. She took me in when I was a little girl and raised me. I’m just really sorry I'm putting you out of work.”

  I know Isaiah will land on two feet, but Jody, she's going to have to find some other business that will hire her.

  Isaiah clears his throat. “I don't have much, but I probably have about $8,000 that I could give the soup kitchen. It could keep it open for another couple of months. Maybe three?”

  “Isaiah, I so appreciate it, but I'd never ask you for that. That's money you earned and money you need but thank you. It means a lot to me and I know it would mean a lot to Granny.”

  Jody clears her throat, her hands wrapping around her coffee mug. “Don't worry about me and Layla. I could get a job at her school. They always need help there and maybe I could work in the lunchroom. I have experience with food,” she says with a smile as she looks around the kitchen. “But Maple, don't beat yourself up. Things happen. What you've been doing here and what your granny did here is something you should be proud of. So, let's end this month strong. Let's make the best soup we can and serve people in need. How about it?”

  I nod, appreciating her enthusiasm and brave face as well as Isaiah’s generosity.

  “I’m so lucky to have you two,” I tell them as they give me a hug.

  “We're lucky to have you too, Boss,” Isaiah says.

  Later, I head home, my feet aching and my hands raw from washing so many dishes. I put in an eight-hour shift and didn't leave until every last dish was clean. Now though, I come to the house on Jingle Bell Lane and see Filson working out front.

  He’s scraping peeling paint off the front steps and everything about him makes my heart pound. He’s a real man, no doubt about it. His thick beard, the way his pants hug his butt, and the way he moves as if he knows exactly what he’s doing… all of it makes me want to drag him up to my bedroom and climb on top of him.

  Instead, the closer I get to him, the more nervous I become.

  “Wow,” I manage to say. “This looks amazing.”

  He stands with a paint scraper in hand and turns to me. It's dusk and the sky is a watercolor painting of purples and blues and his pine green eyes seem to glow. I step toward him wanting something from him. Anything. Some indication that maybe this isn't over before it began.

  “I wasn't sure if you'd come today,” I tell him.

  He frowns. “I gave you my word, Maple, and it's not something I tend to break.”

  “Of course, I didn’t mean you would…” I stumble over myself, hating the way I sound. Why can’t I just say, “I want you even if you don’t love me”?

  Because that would be a lie. I want Filson Barre to love me unequivocally.

  “It's fine,” he says, setting down his gear and wiping his hands on his work pants. “I’m about done for the day.”

  My heart falls. There will be no round two tonight.

  “You need to go inside using the back door, okay?” he tells me, cleaning up his supplies. “Otherwise you’ll drag peeled paint in the house.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” My voice is clipped but I’m so emotionally drained. Still, I don’t want the day to end like this. “Did you want to come in? I could make you some dinner. I haven’t eaten myself.”

  I bite my bottom lip wanting him to say, “Yes, of course, I'll come in. Yes, of course, I'll stay,” but instead he just gives me a sad smile.

  “Sammy, she needs me home. I’ve gotta feed her. The old dog is my ball and chain. Right? Otherwise, I would, Maple.”

  “Of course,” I say, feigning a lighthearted smile. Inside though, my heart feels more than cold. It feels empty.

  And for the first time in my life, I wish it wasn’t the holidays. Because this year I have no Christmas cheer.

  Filson

  All day long, I tried to get the nerve to ask her out — properly. A shitty night of sleep, tossing and turning, told me all I needed to know — I needed to fight for this girl.

  My girl.

  We started all wrong. And now I am going to fix it.

  But then she showed up at the house while I was working, looking like a goddamn angel and all my self-doubt rose to the surface. These demons need to be buried though, or I’ll lose my one and only.

  So, in the morning, I take care of my morning wood in the shower, dreaming of Maple pressed against me. Imagining her perfect, round tits bouncing as I take her the way she deserves. I get off, and then I’m nice and ready for a long day of work.

  Once on Jingle Bell Lane, I see her with several neighbors out on the street. I run a hand over my beard already knowing what they’re discussing. The upcoming festival this lane hosts each year.

  I wanna steer clear of it. I’m not exactly a party planner. I live in the woods for a reason. But Maple waves me over and reintroduces me to the people who live around her.

  “Good to meet you again,” I say stiffly.

  “I hear you are helping Maple get her place fixed up. Guess there has been a lapse in maintenance these last few years,” a woman named Carol says.

  “Right,” Maple claps her hands together. “Speaking of, I have somethings I need to talk to Filson about back at the house. We’ll catch up later,” she says, leading me away by the elbow.

  “What about him, Maple?” another woman says. “He’d fit the part better than Asher Martin ever would have.”

  “Oh, no, Filson would never agree,” she says. “We’ll figure something out.”

  As we walk to the back of the house, I find myself frowning. “What was that about?” I ask once we’re inside the cozy kitchen.

  “Nothing,” Maple says. “You’re already doing enough.” She reaches for a pad of paper on the kitchen table — the very one we sat at as little kids, drinking milk and tea, dunking our cookies and laughing. “This is the list of things I need to have done to the house.”

  “Look,” I say, ignoring the list. “I volunteered,” I remind her. “I want to be here.”

  She snaps her eyes to mine. “Do you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “You couldn’t seem to leave fast enough the other night.”

  “My dog needed dinner, Maple.”

  “Or the night before,” she presses.

  “If I remember correctly, it was you who bolted for the shower, not me.”

  “I only did that because you seemed to regret what we shared.”

  Her words cut through the kitchen and we’re both left speechless. How does one say everything at once without scaring someone away?

  “I don’t regret anything we shared. I only regret pulling back as I did. You deserve better, Maple.”

  She studies me for a long moment. “Filson, why did you drop out of high school?”

  My eyes widen. “Wasn’t expecting that question.”

  “My Granny had her speculations. That your dad was too drunk to go to the construction sites and that you picked up his tool belt to pay the bills.”

  I run a hand over my beard. “Sounds about right.”

  “But why didn’t you ask for help? Why didn’t you—”

  “You really want to do this, Maple? I know I messed up a hundred times. Do you just want to keep driving that point home?”

  She isn’t hurt. She’s angry. “I’m not driving anything anywhere, Filson. I’m trying to understand why it’s so hard for you to let anyone in. To let me in.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “I’ve missed you. For ten years I’ve missed you. You left school and left me behind.”

  “We were hardly two peas in a pod, Maple. You had your cheerleading friends and the jocks who wanted to carry your books. I had a rusted-out Chevy and failing grades. You did fine without me.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t get it, do you? I didn’t want any of them, Filson. I just wanted you.”

  “I’m not that same boy anymore, Maple.”

  She steps toward me, eyes ablaze and full of yearning. “I know. Now you’re a man. So, let me ask you this, Filson Barre, what do you want now?”

  “You,” I tell her plainly. Her eyes sparkle with hope and pride blossoms in my chest — I made her feel good and that is the kind of feeling I’d love to bottle up, to keep in a flask in my jacket pocket so I’d always have it on the ready. “But I don’t want it to be like the other night.”

  Her eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to give us a real chance, Maple St. Claire. That means we go slow. One date at a time.”

  “You’re asking me on a date?” Her cheeks turn pink and she breaks into a smile.

  “I am. Tonight, you and me. Let’s try and do this for real.”

  “Okay. The sounds really nice.”

  “I know you think I’m a grinch but let me try to be a gentleman.”’

  She hands me the notepad. “Then I guess we should both get to work.”

  “Why are you doing all this work this time of year? It’s not exactly conducive to cleaning out the gutters.”

  “I know. Most of everything is indoors.” She points to the list in her hand. Leaky faucet, recaulking a shower, pantry doorknob needs to be replaced.

  “This won’t take me long.”

  “Good,” she says, exhaling. “The sooner the better.”

  “Why are you so intent on fixing the house up? Aren’t the holidays a busy enough time already?”

  She just grabs her purse and coat. “I’m not asking you why Asher Martin was at your house and you don’t need to ask me about this, okay?”

  “Fine,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. To be honest, I don’t care what her motivation is because it’s giving me an excuse to get close to her. “But you better be here at six for our date.”

  “Bossy, are we?” She smirks as she cinches her pink coat across her waist.

  “You like bossy?”

  She licks her lips. “I like you.”

  With that, she turns away and heads out the back door. Leaving my cock twitching and my hope soaring. I might just get the girl.

  Maple

  When I get back from the soup kitchen, it's after six o'clock. I had a heck of a time with Foodsellers, Inc., promising them I'd send payment as soon as I could, but it was a rough blow to learn that they weren't going to be delivering any more food. That meant me going back to my books and trying to see if I'd have enough cash to get us through the rest of the month.

  I promised Foodsellers, Inc., that I'd have their payment come January. I’ll sell the house come hell or high water. Just as soon as Filson checks the boxes off the to-do list. Sounded like it wouldn't take him long and if we could get a buyer and by we, I mean if I could get a buyer, that might mean the house could sell even sooner than I anticipated.

  Shame burns in my heart as I walk home, hating the state of my financial affairs, wishing I hadn't taken so much on and had come clean with the bank sooner. Asked for a loan, figured out something.

  There are churches in town and organizations that help feed the homeless, but all of the money seems to be going beyond the reaches of Snowy Valley, and the truth is it's not just the homeless population that needs help and a little tender loving care. There are veterans and single parents, victims of domestic violence. and the families who are just a few months behind on rent They all could use extra assistance that the city doesn't offer.

  My granny's mission was never to take on all the social justice issues in the town, but she did think if she put in a few long farm tables with a few benches in a low rent building and served soup to those who need it, that maybe, just maybe, someone wouldn't go hungry.

  I don't know how Granny did it for so long, except she had a big, generous heart and always gave more than she had. Quite literally. She gave everything to run the soup kitchen and it is her legacy. It’s what propels me now to make the best of the situation.

  Still, a little financial guidance could've gone a long way for my granny and for me too, and if I ever am in a position where I'm going to run my own business in the future, I am definitely going to get an accountant.

  All of this is weighing heavily on my mind as I walk home. The sky is clear and there is no snow falling but the air is cold and brisk. I walk quickly wanting to get into the warmth of my own home. When I see the house on Jingle Bell Lane, I smile, taking a minute to remember how much I have to be grateful for because even if I'm going to say goodbye to this house at the end of the month, I still have so many memories here. And more memories are being made every day.

  Filson stands out front on the steps, a big smile on his raggedy, handsome, bearded face. I've never seen him so happy and I wonder if in part that has to do with me. He calls out hello and I bound up the steps that are freshly peeled and washed.

  “You look beautiful,” he tells me.

  “Oh, stop,” I say laughing. “I look like I've been working all day.”

  “I like it on you.”

  “Well, thanks,” I say, finally accepting the compliment. “You look like you've been working all day too.” I look him up and down; work pants and a flannel shirt rolled to his elbows.

  I want to stand on my tippy toes and run my hands through his beard. Pull him in for a kiss. But he said he wanted to take this slow and so I'll let him take the lead.

  “So I realized,” he says, coughing into his hand. “That I wanted to take you out, but I didn't exactly plan for it. I didn't bring a change of clothes and I'm all dusty and greasy from working today.”

  “That's okay,” I say. “We can figure something to eat here.” I bite my lip as something else dawns on me. “Or was this your way of getting out of the date?”

  He shakes his head. “No, God no. Actually, I talked to your neighbor. Elsie?”

  “Yeah,” I say skeptically. “What did you talk to her about?” She’s the gossip in town and I wonder what she'd be saying to Filson.

  “She said there was a wreath-making class tonight down at the community center. Wreaths to give to the families who signed up for donations for their kids’ Christmas gifts. I thought maybe we could go?”

  I can’t help but smile. “Are you asking me to go to a craft class with you?”

  “Why? Is that a bad idea?” he asks. “I just thought I wouldn't have to dress up for it.”

  “No, it's perfect. It's exactly the kind of date I would want to go on.” We stand there looking at one another with goofy smiles on our faces. Finally, I speak when my stomach begins to growl. “All right. I suppose we could have a quick bite to eat before we head out. I could make us some grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup?”

  Not too long later, our tummies are full and we're back in our coats and hats and walking down the street toward the community center. Filson reaches out and takes my hand and my stomach flip-flops with butterflies. It's like we’re finding love for the first time.

  He notices. “What's got you in such a good mood?”

  Feeling safe with our hands linked, I tell him what I’m feeling, “I was just thinking how nice it is to hold your hand and how you and I are one another’s firsts. First everything,” I say. “It makes me feel really special.”

  Filson pauses on the sidewalk where the streetlamp glows, high above us the stars are out, the moon hangs in this night sky. He wraps his arms around me and tilts my chin up with his forefinger, making me feel light and lovely as I bask in his smile.

  He leans down and kisses me gently. It's soft and it's slow and it makes my heart flutter. When he pulls back, my eyes are closed.

  “That was perfect,” I whisper, wanting to hold on to the moment a little bit longer.

  Filson groans. “God, I like kissing you.” He says it so simply and yet it’s so true. I hold onto it.

  I’m surprised that such a tender moment could be shared with this man who's always seemed so rugged and cold and set apart. “When you kiss me,” I tell him, “it's like I see a softer version of you. Does that make sense?”

  Filson nods. “I get what you mean. When I kiss you. I feel like I could do anything, even take over the world.”

  “We don't need to take over the world,” I say, his hand back in mine as we walk down the street. “Tonight, we're just going to take over the community center with our wreath-making skills.”

  He laughs. “I’m not exactly skilled at making wreaths.”

  “I'll teach you.”

  The room at the community center is practically empty. There are only about six of us. The other people in attendance are retired women who realize the importance of making things for others. I wouldn’t expect for Filson to know the women here, but the moment he walks into the room, several of them perk up and walk over to give him handshakes and hugs.

  I lift my eyebrows, listening as Shelly from down the road thanks Filson for shoveling her driveway after the first snow of the year. And Nan hugs him, telling him that her fireplace is working better than ever thanks to him clearing out the chimney.

  “What’s that all about?” I ask, sidling up to him.

  He shrugs his shoulders, running a hand over his beard. “It’s nothing. Just helping people out when I can.”

  “Doesn’t seem like nothing to them,” I say, as Trudy comes over and thanks Filson for fixing her rain gutters this fall.

  “And this man wouldn’t even let me pay him,” Trudy tells me. “He’s a generous one. A keeper for sure,” she says, giving me a wink.

  After a brief how-to lesson by a local nurse named Carla, we get to work. Each of us is given a pair of sheers and a bundle of wire and she explains how to wrap the garlands together and how to attach boughs of holly to the center of each wreath and then how to wrap a red velvet ribbon to the center.

  It takes us a bit but after a while, we get the hang of it and soon enough we've each made two wreaths.