The Geek Who Saved Christmas

by Annabeth Albert

Typo

“Gideon.” Her pragmatic tone was just this side of scolding. “Paul Frost is a tree you can’t climb.” “Not planning on trying,” I lied. I’d blaze his Yule in a heartbeat if I thought he was interested, but he was most decidedly not.

Even Cheryl’s experienced eyes went wide at that. Grumpy Mr. Frost had a heart? For late-running high school students, no less?

But for all he could be cultured and charming to others, he was always skittish around me. His fumbling for words and nervous gestures made it seem like he expected me to whip out a tire iron any moment.

even with all his polish, the guy still managed to get rattled by my existence as if I was about to make off with the silver any minute.

There was nothing inherently magical about December. These days it was just another month on the calendar for me and not worth all this fuss.

Kwanza

Typo; this spelling means something else

He means well, my mom would have said.

ex and her wife.

Brandon might be a bona fide genius, but I had no idea what past he was remembering or what personality transplant he assumed I’d had.

You always calm me down.”

Turning, I touched his sleeve, but he quickly stepped away.

“Growing up, my parents fought constantly. Then they divorced. The one constant was Christmas at Holiday House in this very neighborhood. I looked forward to my grandparents’ big celebration all year, and my grandfather would take me walking to see the neighborhood lights. Away from all the bickering, it really did feel like a magical wonderland. I want to be that feeling for others who might need the lights this time of year.”

my bossy ways tended to chase potential partners off.

Add another turn-on to my list because men who could expertly wield box cutters apparently did it for me. “Nice tool.”

Making out with him was such a joyous thing, all that optimism and humor he walked around with coming out in kisses that felt like basking in the spring sun.

Gideon’s little roller skate of a car.

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.

“Paul is impressive with a budget. Fake syrup probably meant more science fairs for you.” I kept my voice easy, but I gave Brandon a pointed look. He was a great guy and no doubt as smart as advertised, but he was also remarkably clueless to all Paul had given up for him. The photo from Elaine had been thoughtful, but a few lines of poetry weren’t the same as truly appreciating Paul’s sacrifices on a meaningful level.

Brandon damn well better name a phenomenon for him. He deserved it.

Putting one’s heart on the line was a risk worse than skydiving if you asked me.

That was why I’d returned home rather than linger after the cleaning was through. Walking away was going to hurt regardless, but better to get it over with, and certainly better than having to wait for them to start dropping subtle hints.

A braver man would call out to him, offer him a hot beverage to warm up, let things inevitably turn sexy from there. A truly courageous person would try talking to Paul. I wasn’t brave. Not like that. But I wanted to be.

Huh. I’d been operating on the assumption that Gideon had had the same realization as me, that we were accidentally dating. I’d let my own dislike of awkward conversations keep me from putting into words that which I’d presumed was obvious.

“Not a pushover. No one’s weaseling their way into my life if I don’t want it. If you trapped me, I wanted to be caught.”

I was so bogged down by old fears that I hadn’t let myself hope for what I wanted most.

Morrison house was more lit up than usual, but it was the two large shipping containers out front that truly interested me.

What I was hoping for