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Weeks flew by. One. Two. A sense of excitement swirled in the air on the city streets. Day by day, Rose would make the usual ride to work, seeing small shops and big chain malls preparing for the festive events, getting you excited for the up-and-coming holidays.
It was nearing Thanksgiving, everyone making queries, friends, colleagues, salespeople.
Where are you gonna be? What will you be doing?
Beth was riding the five-hour drive with the three siblings back to their hometown, leaving Melinda behind to catch a plane a day later for her father's. Meredith was skipping the holiday, choosing to 'Netflix and chill' alone in her apartment, fixing an eight-thousand-piece puzzle, and avoiding all contact with people. Same was with Mike. He was British and had no history with the celebration.
And then there was Alexander.
The man she had close to daily encounters in the mornings as his mother's building opened its doors for the workers and the public. He always had work to pick up or deliver and afterward he was leaving for the company he was working full-time on. It was a miracle he was able to juggle everything; a true workaholic, as his mother had put it.
...
She stood outside of the gallery, movers blocking the door with seasonal deliveries. Huge boxes were carried by groaning men, the green ends of an artificial pine tree stabbing out of every one. Rose feared for the size of it when it would be brought together. The smaller, printed with 'fragile' in capital letters, were taken with great care, Stacy screaming at an almost collision with the metal case of the entrance.
"I believe that is the first delivery of many." He said, standing next to her.
Rose took her eyes off the boxes to land them on baby blues. "Where will all of those fit? There is only so much space."
"You underestimate my mother. The Christmas gala is one of her opportunities to shine and show off."
Μeredith had mentioned the celebration held at their workplace on the twenty-fourth. All chic dressing and expensive catering. Everything her senior hated. But the decoration is out of a fairytale ball. I despise how much it makes me swoon. She had admitted.
"I may have heard something of that kind." She chucked.
"Every year she somehow surpasses herself."
A strong wind and her hands were shivering in the velvety pockets. She lowered her stare to the pavement, eyes watering from the cold. Her collarbone hunched even more and when she looked at the cracks separating the tiles again, they were a background, tips of brown castor shoes shadowing them before a warm feeling wrapped around her neck.
She lifted her lashes, the scarf hanging over his coat gone. Her face burned, gladly hidden by the material that raised over her ears. "No, you don't need to do that." She breathed.
