The Geek Who Saved Christmas

by Annabeth Albert

I had waited years for Paul Frost to need something. A cup of sugar. A spare fan. An extra chair. He probably had me beat in the tool department, but I did have a drill I was rather fond of. And I would have let him use it. But this, this was even better.

“Making me a list is a mental exercise?” Paul pursed his mouth like he didn’t quite believe me. And oh, how cute that he thought I’d leave him with a list and no help executing it.

I crouched next to him, struggling to keep my voice even as he revealed the tidy collection of treasures inside the box. In my head, I could hear my grandmother’s voice as she unwrapped a particular ornament, telling me where it had come from and why.

I’d do battle for his right to be as sentimental as he wanted. Hell, I’d trade almost all of my loaded down storage totes if it meant keeping his precious memories safe.

It was the first time in several hours he’d been short with me. Wait. We had been at this all afternoon. The light was starting to fade. I probably needed to feed him again.

I’d seen holiday lights every season, but they hadn’t been mine in so very long that I’d forgotten about the magic, the fluttery feeling as something so familiar became something so precious and beautiful. The house looked…hopeful.

But now here it was, stretching skyward, each white bulb a tiny lighthouse waiting to chase away the darkness and welcome someone home. Home.

Somehow, I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I waited up for Gideon. He deserved someone watching out for him, someone to leave a light on, and if he’d let it be me, well, I liked that. It also terrified me. But not enough to dampen how much I wanted to be someone for him.

Because Paul didn’t actually need me playing host to ensure things went well, it was nice to simply hang out, no requirement to be quick with a joke. With certain friend circles, I always felt this pressure to perform. Be witty. Be the one with the tastiest dish, the funniest one-liner, earn a repeat invitation.

Putting one’s heart on the line was a risk worse than skydiving if you asked me. No thank you. Even secondhand, the terror had been palpable. But then she’d said yes, and he’d smiled, and maybe, for an instant, I had wanted…something. I still wasn’t sure, only that Paul’s hand in mine had been the only thing keeping me from shattering from the emotional jolt. Even now, I felt rather fragile, a coffee cup repaired too many times. Not to be trusted.