24 Days

December 1st, Day One (Saint)

SAINT

Fuck. I didn't mean to make it personal. I didn't even notice her shoes until her eyes dropped so quickly to her feet. Now I feel like an asshole.

"I didn't mean—" I try to say.

"Don't," she tells me softly. Her friend is watching closely, and I can feel the weight of the unspoken words between them.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. I know it's not enough. I think I've embarrassed her. It's either that or she's pissed because I've never seen her cheeks so red. I have experience with making her mad, I can see it happen in class when I know an answer she' been waiting to share or when I push the conversation in a direction she hates.

"I'm sorry too," she says. Her eyes finally reaching mine again.

She must see my confused expression.

"I'm sorry you don't know the meaning of Christmas," she says.

I can't help but laugh. "This isn't a Hallmark movie," I tell her. I'm not sure why her comment got under my skin, but I feel a small fire in my stomach, so I bite my tongue not wanting to lash out on her when she isn't the source of my resentment.

"No, because if it were a Hallmark movie, you'd be charming, and I'd be warm." She turns and head back into the house.

"Noelle," I call.

"Way to go," Justin says as I retreat.

"Noelle!" I call as I push past the party goers and rush to find her before she disappears into the crowd.

"Stop following me," she says as she rounds the counter and exchanges her empty beer can for a fresh beer.

"I can't say anything right," I say, reaching for the beer to open it for her.

I've never noticed the way she rubs her lips together spreading the sparkles from her gloss across them or how she smells like apples and cinnamon. I should have known she'd love Christmas—afterall she's named for the holiday. What she doesn't know is I am too.

"I bet you wouldn't hate Christmas so much if you leaned into it a little," she tells me as she takes the open can from my hand.

"I lean into it plenty. My Amazon account has been on fire. When I roll up to my dad and stepmom's place my gifts to them will already be there," I tell her. I don't mention that it's only because we have to make a show of every goddamn holiday since my mom passed. My stepmother is only a few years older than I am, so her shopping was easy enough.

"I bet you wouldn't be so grouchy if you stopped thinking in terms of money. Not everything in life can be bought," she tells me.

"I bet I could make you happy," I say. It slips right out as I watch her rub her lips together again. I wonder if she tastes like peppermint.

"Ok bet," she says, extending her hand across the kitchen island.

I think for moment.

"Twenty-four days. Our own little advent calendar," I tell her. "Give me twenty-four days to show you gifts are better than little adventures." I'm confident, but if I'm being honest, I already have a gift in mind. Something in me wants to take care of her. I want to give her something to show her I'm not the asshole she thinks I am.

"Twenty-four adventures under ten dollars," she tells me. "I'll show you what you've been missing with that small mind of yours."

"There's no way to objectively measure that," Stan says from beside me.

I realize we have an audience. A few of my frat brothers and of course some girls who have come in for a drink.

"I'll know," Noelle says, her eyes staring honestly into mine.

"Me too,' I say. I mean it. I would give anything to feel a little joy again so if she provides it, I'll admit defeat.

"We'll vote," Joel says. He's already collecting money. I tune him out. This house will take any opportunity to bet on something. It's not the point.

I take her hand in mine, but don't shake it. It's cold and small.

"It's December first," I tell her. "Day one."

Noelle nods her head.

"I'll be right back with the gift."

I take off upstairs to my room. My mind is already racing with ideas for her and for the first time in a long time I find myself smiling just because. I slide open my bottom drawer and retrieve a pair of very expensive gloves. I had bought them for my ex-girlfriend, but we broke up last month and they arrived the next day.

I fly down the stairs and into the kitchen, sure I've won this round. You can't tell me three-hundred-dollar name-brand gloves won't make her happy.

She studies them for a minute. Then she pulls them apart and slips one on. "Thank you," she says. They will certainly keep my hands warm."

I look around at my frat brothers and nod my head to confirm to them whoever is keeping track of the score should mark this as a win for me.

"Do you have a pen?" Noelle asks.

One makes its way through the small crowd in the kitchen. She rips a piece of the beer box off and jots something down.

"My number," she folds it and hands it to me.

"That's not an adventure," a drunk frat brother says as if he's just helped secure my win.

Only it's clear from the shift in mood that his opinion isn't supported.

"Yes, it is," I say. And I'm sure it's clear she's won this round.