This chapter is dedicated to my good friend Trisha, who is beautiful on the inside and out. Her stories are gorgeous, and her writing is amazing, so if you want to read really amazing stories, you should read hers.

❝Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.❞

-Marcel Proust

________________________

Deep colored coffee reflected my anxious features as I stared down at my untouched drink.

The wait seemed excruciatingly longer today than the other snowy days, and my hands were damp with nervous anticipation.

I bit my lip as the bell gave a soft jingling, the signs of another form entering the coffee shop. My heart hammered in my chest and my stomach jump into my throat, fluttering sensations taking over my senses until I was lightheaded.

I let out an audible sigh and slouched over when it was someone I didn't recognize.

I flipped my phone over and checked the time, my eyes repeatedly scanning the numbers.

8:13

I had two minutes to prepare myself, although it won't be anywhere near enough time since I had been trying to all morning.

Was I supposed to talk to him first or would he come to me?

I assumed that we were now on speaking terms, the fleeting memory of last nights off behavior lingered for a moment before I succumbed it to the corner of my mind.

The bell rang again, and this time, before the person rounded the corner, I knew who it was.

I took a sip of my coffee to make it seem as if I wasn't aware of his presence, and to make it look as if I was preoccupied with my actions.

After a few moments, I felt the pressure of his gaze, and looked down at my lap.

My mom jeans were very interesting.

The chair across from me squeaked in protest and my gaze shot up. Max sat across from me in his normal attire, a gray beanie resting on his head.

He have me a cheeky grin as he placed his coffee down on the table, inches from my own.

"Hi."

I looked at him in awe, still not processing that he was talking to me. But when I did, I felt like an idiot for gawking.

I cleared my throat. "Hi."

"I feel like yesterday was my fault, and I want to make it up to you." He gazed at me with sincerity as he brought his drink to his lips.

Maybe that explains the way he was acting yesterday after my accident. It was sweet of him to worry, but it was far from being his fault, and I didn't like that he put that on himself.

I studied him. "You think my bloody nose was your fault?" He nodded.

With a grimace at the memory I spoke again. "It was definitely someone's fault, but it wasn't yours Max."

He nodded slowly but looked as if he rethought it and voiced himself. "We are all entitled to our own opinions Loni."

The unexpected sound of my name falling from his lips momentarily distracted me.

He continued. "You have yours and I have mine. Regardless of what you think about the situation, I still feel like I need to make it up to you."

He smiled again and clasped his hands together, placing them on the small table separating us.

"So," he started again when he concluded that I was at a loss of words. "What do you want to do?"

I pondered all of the possible things to do in town, swallowing small amounts of my exquisite drink.

"What do you propose we do?" I asked after a comfortable silence full of unspoken words.

"I was thinking about going down to the record shop after I left here, because the Christmas ones are priceless."

Eagerness took over my being as I gave Max a toothy grin. "Let's do that. I love records."

He nodded in contentment and we continued to drink and chat until we had both finished and got up to leave. When he slipped his satchel back over his head, I noticed a number written on his hand in black marker.

"Sixteen?" I asked and pointed once I saw his confused look.

He quickly placed that same hand in his pocket, the number hidden behind black corduroy.

I glanced at him puzzlement, but disregarded it and walked out of the store.

I slipped on my mittens and pulled my hat into place, finishing with my scarf. I looked to Max I see if he was ready and he smiled.

We began walking down the snow covered street, dodging hustling pedestrians trying to take care of last minute Christmas shopping.

The speakers throughout the town player old timey Christmas music that you couldn't help but enjoy.

We walked a couple of blocks before entering into the old town record shop.

The smell of cinnamon assaulted my nose, and I took a deep breath as it wafted up around me, relaxing my muscles.

"C'mon, I'll show you where the jackpot is," Max grabbed my mitten clad hand and pulled me up one of the isles of the store.

My gaze locked on our connected hands, the warmth from his fingers seeping through the fuzzy material of my gloves and warming my heart.

A light blush bloomed across my cheeks, probably matching the color of my nose from the nippy cold.

Dean Martin's A Winter Romance caught my eye, and I quickly picked it up.

"No way," I breathed out in wonder. I turned back to Max who was watching me. "My dad used to play his version of Baby It's Cold Outside all the time when I was younger."

I bounced on the balls of my feet as I turned the record over in my hands. Holding it felt right, and I was surprised when Max took it from my fingers.

"What are you doing?" I asked quickly, my eyes never leaving it.

"Buying it for you," he turned and started on his way to the cashier.

"Nineteen ninety-five," the employee said in a bored tone.

I found it ironic that she was wearing a Santa hat and was dressed like a cheerful elf when she acted as if she had received coal in her stocking.

I looked to Max, worried. "Max, you really don't have to do this."

He took my hand and squeezed it gently within his own. "I know, but I want to."

The smile that lit up his face has me captivated as we exited the store.

The smell of cinnamon following us for a few seconds, until the door of the record shop closed and we were once again in the crisp cold.

"Where to next?" Max asked me, still holding onto my hand as he looked around him at the different stores.

A sign caught my eye in the same direction of my beloved coffee shop. I gripped his hand, grabbing his attention. "Let's go make apple cider!"

He beamed and tugged me forward as we both ran enthusiastically towards the tea shop.

I never noticed that there was a tea shop so close to the coffee one, but here it was, two stores down.

When we entered the atmosphere was home like as I watched all kinds of people mingling, low jazz music playing in the background.

The smell of freshly baked bread and tea bags floated through the air, inviting and enticing more and more people through the door.

It was a quaint little boutique, one that was subtly attractive to the eye.

I grinned at Max who looked in wonder at the commotion going on in the store. "Let's get started shall we?"

_______________________

Ala on the side!

Thank you all so much for the support on Plain Janes, it warms my heart.

Xoxo,

Jean margaret