“Thanks, man,” Caleb says. “Give me the tag and I’ll pay for it.”

Luis shakes his head. “No, we got this one.”

Caleb looks at me, but I have no idea what’s going on.

“Some of the baseball guys, they think it’s cool what you’re doing,” Luis says. “And so do I. We figured we could kick in a few bucks from our tips and buy this one.”

I nudge Caleb with my shoulder. His good deeds are becoming contagious.

Luis looks at me, a little nervous. “Don’t worry, we didn’t use the employee discount.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t worry about that,” I say.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The day before Christmas Eve, Heather picks up Abby and brings her to the lot. Abby has been bugging Caleb to see if she can help me out because, apparently, she’s wanted to work on a tree lot since she was a kid. Even if that’s an exaggeration, I’m happy to indulge her.

At the far end of the Bigtop we set up two sawhorses and lay a plywood piece the size of a door across them. We pile that high with tree clippings, and the three of us stuff the trimmings into paper bags and let customers take them home. People love to decorate table settings and windowsills with these before their families come over. The bags are going almost as fast as we can fill them.

“What’s this secret you got Devon for Christmas?” I ask. “My bet’s on a Christmas sweater.”

“Well, I did think about that,” Heather says, “but I went with something better. Wait here.”

She runs back to the counter to where she left her purse. Abby and I look at each other and shrug. On her way back, Heather proudly holds up a two-foot-long, slightly twisted red and green… scarf?

“My mom’s been showing me how to knit,” she says.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Christmas is in two days, Heather.”

She looks at the scarf, defeated. “I had no idea it would take this long. But I figure after I leave here, I’ll lock myself in my room and watch kitten videos for however many hours it takes to finish.”

“If nothing else,” I say, “it’s the perfect way to ascertain his love.”

Abby stops filling a bag. “I forget, what’s ascertain?”

Heather and I both crack up.

“What I think it means,” Heather says, stuffing the scarf in her pocket, “is if Devon really loves me, he’ll wear this crappy scarf like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever received.”

“That’s what it means,” I say, “but that’s not really a fair test.”

“You’d wear it if I gave it to you,” Heather says, and she’s right. “If he can’t give me that same devotion, he doesn’t deserve his real gift.”

“Which is what?” Abby asks.

“Tickets to a comedy festival,” she says.

“Much better,” I tell her.

Heather tells Abby about the perfect day Devon gave her as an early Christmas present. One day, Abby says, she wants a boyfriend who’ll carry a picnic to the top of Cardinals Peak for her.

Heather smiles while stuffing her next bag. “It’s not like he didn’t enjoy himself up there.”

I throw a handful of tree trimmings at her. She does not need to expand on that with Caleb’s little sister right here.

Once Abby’s mom picks her up, the conversation turns to my love life. “It feels like there’s so much left for us here, but I’m leaving way too soon.”

“And next year’s still up in the air?” she asks.

“Not very high in the air,” I say. “In fact, it’s highly doubtful. I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t see you next winter.”

“It won’t feel like Christmas, that’s for sure,” Heather says.

“My whole life, I’ve wondered what it would be like to stay home after Thanksgiving,” I say. “To have the chance of a white Christmas and experience things normal people do over the break. But to be honest, wondering about it is not the same as wanting it.”

By now, Heather and I have stopped filling bags.

“Have you discussed this with Caleb?”

“It’s been hanging over us the entire time.”

“What about spring break?” Heather asks. “You don’t have to wait forever to see him again.”

“He’ll be at his dad’s,” I say. I think about the winter formal tickets I hid behind our picture. To give him those, I would need to know for certain where we stand. I’d have to know what we both want. It would mean leaving here, but bringing the promise of him with me.

“If Devon and I can figure it out,” Heather says, “so can you and Caleb.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” I say. “You get to be together while you do it.”

After we close for the year on Christmas Eve, my parents and I have dinner in the Airstream. The roast beef has simmered in the Crock-Pot all day, so the entire trailer smells delicious. Heather’s dad made and delivered corn bread. From across the tiny table, Dad asks for my thoughts concerning not coming back next year.

I break my corn bread in half. “It’s out of my control,” I say. “Every time we close on Christmas Eve, this is where we sit and eat. The only thing different is that question.”

“That’s from your perspective,” Mom says. “From this side of the table, every year looks different.”

I pull off a piece of my corn bread and slowly chew it.

“You’ve got a lot of people wanting the best for you,” Dad says. “In here, in this town, back home…”

Mom leans across the table and takes my hand. “I’m sure it feels like we’re all pulling you in different directions, but that’s because we all care. If nothing else, I hope this year has shown you that.”

Dad being Dad, he has to say, “Even if it ends up breaking your heart.”

Mom nudges Dad in the shoulder. “In high school, Mr. Cynical—your father—spent his summer at baseball camp here after meeting me the winter before.”

“I got to know you very well in that time,” Dad says.

“How well could you have known me in a few weeks?” Mom asks.

“Pretty well,” I say. “Trust me.”

Dad places his hand on top of mine and Mom’s. “We’re proud of you, honey. Whatever changes happen to the family business, we’ll make it work as a family. And whatever you decide with Caleb, we… you know… we can…”

“We support you,” Mom says.

“Right.” Dad sits back and puts his arm around Mom. “We trust you.”

I move over to their side of the table and lean into a family hug. I can feel Dad crane his neck to look at Mom.

When I return to my seat, Mom excuses herself. She goes to their room to gather the small handful of gifts we brought with us. The least patient one of us is Dad—he’s a lot like Caleb that way—so he tears into his gift first.

He holds the box at arm’s length. “An Elf on the Shelf?” He scrunches his nose. “Are you serious?”

Mom and I nearly die laughing. Dad complains about that toy doll every year, swearing he will never buy in to it. Since he spends December in a trailer away from home, he assumed he wouldn’t have to.

“The plan was,” Mom says, “Sierra and I would hide it at home when you left for California.”

“And then,” I say, leaning forward for maximum effect, “you’d spend the entire month thinking about it, wondering where it was.”

“That would drive me crazy,” Dad says. He pulls out the elf and hangs it upside down by one foot. “You outdid yourselves this year.”

“I guess if there is a silver lining,” I say, “now you may get to look for it every day at home.”

“There’s another example,” Dad says, “of not always needing a silver lining.”

“Okay, my turn,” Mom says.

Every year, she wants to be surprised with a different scented body lotion. While she thankfully loves the smell of Christmas trees, after being immersed in them for a month, she wants to smell like something else in the new year.

She unwraps this year’s bottle and turns it around to read the label. “Cucumber licorice? How in the world did you find this?”

“It’s your two favorite scents,” I remind her.

She pops open the top, smells it, and then squirts a drop onto her palm. “This stuff is incredible!” she says, and she rubs it around her hands.

Dad hands me a small silver gift box.

I shimmy the box open and lift out a bit of cotton. A car key practically glistens beneath it. “You bought me a car!”

“Technically, it’s Uncle Bruce’s truck,” Mom says, “but we’ll have the insides reupholstered in whatever colors you want.”

“It may not be sensible for long drives,” Dad says, “but it’s great for the farm and getting around town.”

“Do you mind that it’s his?” Mom asks. “We couldn’t afford what you—”

“Thank you,” I say. I turn the box over so the key falls into my hand. After feeling its weight for several seconds, I launch from my seat again and hug them both so hard. “This is incredible.”

For tradition’s sake, after the dirty dishes are piled into the sink, we climb into my parents’ bed and watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas on my laptop. As usual, Mom and Dad are fast asleep by the time the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes that day. I’m wide awake, my stomach in a million knots because it’s now time to get ready for the candlelight service with Caleb.

Tonight there’s no need to try on a bunch of outfits. Before I even move from their bed, I settle on my simple black skirt and a white blouse. In the tiny bathroom, I flatiron my hair. When I’m carefully applying makeup, I see Mom’s reflection smile behind me in the mirror. She holds up a new pink cashmere sweater.

“In case it gets cold out,” she says.

I spin around. “Where did you get this?”

“It was your father’s idea,” she says. “He wanted you to have something new for tonight.”

I hold up the sweater. “Dad picked this out?”

Mom laughs. “Of course not. And thank your lucky stars, because if he did it’d probably cover more than a snowsuit,” she says. “He asked me to get you something while you girls were putting trimmings in the bags.”

I look in the mirror and hold the sweater up to myself. “Tell him I love it.”

She smiles at our reflections. “If I can wake him up after you leave, we’re going to pop some popcorn and watch White Christmas.”

They do that every year, usually with me cuddled between them. “I’ve always admired that you and Dad never got jaded about Christmas,” I say.

“Honey, if we ever felt that way,” she says, “we’d sell the farm and do something else. What we do is special. And it’s nice to know Caleb appreciates that.”

There’s a soft knock at the door. My heart pounds as Mom helps me pull the sweater over my head without messing up my hair. Before I can give her one last hug, she walks to her room and closes the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I open the door expecting to be overwhelmed at the sight of my handsome Christmas Eve date. Instead, Caleb wears a too-tight sweater of Rudolph’s huge face, pulled over a purple button-down and khakis. I cover my mouth and shake my head.

He opens his arms. “Well?”

“Tell me you didn’t borrow that from Heather’s mom,” I say.

“I did!” he says. “I really did. It was one of the few that she had with sleeves on it.”

“Okay, while I love your spirit, I will not be able to focus on the service if you’re wearing that.”

Arms held wide, he looks down at his sweater.

“You apparently have no idea why Heather’s mom owns that,” I say.

He sighs and then reluctantly tugs the sweater over his chest, but it gets stuck at his ears and I have to yank it the rest of the way off. Now he is dressed like my handsome date.

It’s a crisp winter evening. Many of the houses along the way kept their Christmas lights on late. Some look like their roofs are ringed in glowing icicles. Some have white-lit reindeer grazing on their lawns. My favorites are the homes that glimmer with many colors.

“You look beautiful,” Caleb says. He lifts my hand as we walk and touches his lips to each finger.

“Thank you,” I say. “So do you.”

“See? You’re getting better at taking compliments,” he says.

I look over at him and smile. Blue and white lights from the nearest house reflect off his cheeks.