The Psychology of Falling in Love

XXIII. December 15th

AN: ya girl fxcked up the time line so I fixed it. Nothing changed in the previous section except the date.

There is a certain place in hell for the people who wait until the middle of December to do their holiday shopping.

I grumbled to myself as I sat, car idling, in traffic. While Westwood was relatively small in size the traffic could be intense. A wonderful sight, a car's reverse lights, caused me to wiggle in the driver's seat. Once that car was out of their parking spot, I gave my attempt at parallel parking.

Without even checking, I cut off my car and slowly stepped out, careful not to stand too close to the slowly lurching vehicles beside me. A snort ripped from my nostrils and caused me to giggle. That's definitely too far away, I said to myself as I inspected my heinous parking.

I marched onward, my sights set on the metalsmith shop a few yards down the street. Snow was falling gently around me, slightly muffling the sound of a hammer striking metal. The front of the smithy was open for the patrons to watch— an element of magic and wonder for the children, especially. More often than not the partition between the street and the dangerous, hot metalwork was lined with children on their tiptoes.

Sadly, it did not garner much attention over the spring and summer months. But once a chill settled in the air their hammers got to work once more.

I entered the shop, taken aback by the temperature change. The smell of hot metal perforated my taste buds and settled at my wisdom teeth, coppery and aggressive. Behind the counter was a child, hands covered in soot, coal marks on their nose and cheeks, almost like they stepped out of Charles Dickens London.

"Aria!" The soot gremlin cried out, their mouth upturning in a terrific smile.

I squinted as I looked them up and down. Sandy brown hair cropped short, sky blue eyes, their ears look familiar. Scotty's daughter? "Amelia!"

She giggled. "You couldn't tell who I was, huh?"

"You cut your hair, kiddo," I shrugged. "And you've grown like 5 feet. You're not the same 6 year old girl I babysat."

"I haven't grown 5 feet!"

The door leading to the outside forge creaked open. Heavy-booted footsteps thudded against the floor. My eyes cast over and found Scotty Jones, a bearded-beast of a man with rosy cheeks and cheerful eyes. He ruffled Amelia's hair before turning to me.

"What can I help you with, Aria?"

I grinned sheepishly and rubbed my hands on the front of my jeans. "I know it's super last minute, but I was wondering if I could get some jewelry made and engraved for a Christmas present."

His bushy eyebrows raised. "I mean, it is pretty last notice..." He trailed off.

My shoulders slumped and I nodded. "Understood."

"I'm screwing with you, Erickson," he guffawed. "For you? I could forge 100 pieces."

"You a—" I cut myself off, reminding myself about the 9 year old next to him. "Thank you, Scotty."

"So, give me the details," he said with a grin, leaning against the counter.

♥

There is yet another place in hell, a separate one, for people who need to go to the mall 2 weeks before Christmas.

At least I'll be warm, I grumbled to myself as I trudged towards the mall from the furthest parking spot known to man. Instead of cars, I parked next to dunes of snow. The ground was barely salted this far back, so the slushy ice was deadly.