𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇 // 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Connor woke up from his slumber on the couch. On the coffee table right in front of him stood a chaotically decorated gingerbread house, making a smile spread on his lips. He had been tired the night before, and Eila had been an absolute treasure to spend time with. She had taken care of the construction of the house, letting Connor take part of the carefree and mindless decorating. He chuckled, picking up the tray where the house was standing, placing it on the center shelf above his T.V, knowing it was a place where it would be safe, at the same time as it would get the rightful views and attention.

Not for his sake, but for Eila's sake.

With a sigh, he headed to the kitchen, taking one look at his coffee-maker. "Screw this," Connor groaned. "I still don't know how to use you." He turned, walking into his bedroom, to get dressed, plugging his phone in the charger while he got ready. Having a day off, he had only given Eila one demand ahead of their day together; the fact that he needed to, and wanted to sleep in ( to which she had confirmed she wouldn't be waking up at sunrise herself ).

Still shirtless, Connor decided to brush his teeth, though it was cut short as he heard a knock on his door. He opened, seeing Eila there. "Oh, hey there," he smiled, stepping aside to let her in. "Did you sleep well?"

Connor was completely oblivious to Eila checking him out, though she was quick to avert her gaze somewhere else when he turned, a small smile on his lips. "I had to move the gingerbread house — if Will and Natalie show up here with Owen, something I doubt they'd do, but I can't really be sure, you know — then it would be living a dangerous life on the coffee table." Connor shrugged, motioning towards the shelf above the T.V.

"The chaotic decorations are kind of going against the clean style of your apartment, but it doesn't look too bad," Eila rolled her eyes, though grinned as she glanced at Connor, who was still standing with his toothbrush in his hand. "Hey, I don't mean to push or anything, but do you, by any chance have some coffee? I want to run by the plan for the day with you."

"Yeah, sure — if you can make my coffee-machine work, you have free access whatever in my kitchen really, as long as you want it," Connor chuckled, before heading back to his bathroom.

Eila couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his offer, though shrugged it off as he left the room, choosing to have a look at his coffee-machine. Truth was, she had been working as a barista in her years of studying, leaving no coffee-machine to be true challenge; however, she had never encountered a fancy machine where the owner had no control of a user manual ( and though she considered herself to be his friend, she was far from comfortable sneaking around his cupboards to find it ). With a sigh, she studied it, shortly after being able to find the user manual, following a quick Google-search.

"How's it going? I swear to God, I cannot figure that machine out for the life of me. I've been trying for over a year — and yes, I know I could have just gotten a new one, but," he paused, sighing heavily. "People know me as the son of Cornelius Rhodes. They see my face, and they see the money. They don't see the person, they don't see me."

"I do." Eila spoke quickly, making Connor raise his eyebrows a little, his blue eyes keeping a steady hold on her brown ones. "I do see the person, Connor. To be honest, the money? I couldn't care less. Give me rags and riches, and the person will mean just as much to me as someone with diamonds and a private jet."

"I'm happy to hear that, Eila, I really am." Connor spoke softly, lowering his gaze as a shy smile spread on his lips. "However," he cleared his throat, adjusting his black sweater, before nodding towards the coffee-machine. "How is the coffee-machine fighting back?"

"You know, Connor, user manuals are usually a good thing to keep around," Eila rolled her eyes. "Don't worry — I found it online, and everything should be working as normal now. Only thing that's missing are the cups." She stretched to the cupboards above the kitchen counter, quickly finding the one where Connor kept his coffee-cups. She was, however, disappointed to see he only owned two cups. "Connor, you have something to explain now. Only two cups? What do you do with guests?"

The surgeon smiled sheepishly as he sought to words to form an answer, scratching the back of his neck. "To be fair with you, I don't really do guests?"

"Screw any plan I had for the day," Eila shook her head. "We should fill these cupboards up, and when doing so, we should find you the perfect Christmas-cup." She grinned, though brought the two, plain white cups that Connor owned out of the cupboard, filling them with the freshly brewed coffee.

"Thank you," Connor smiled gratefully, accepting a cup from her, before returning to his position, leaning against the kitchen island. "Tell me, Eila — what got you to love Christmas?"

"The long story, or the short story?" Eila sighed, though smiled at Connor, who simply tilted his head in curiosity. "I come from, well — not a large family. Every year, for as long as I can remember, we have all come together on Christmas Eve to share the joy and love with each other. My dad, who couldn't stand his mother-in-law, put his hatred aside for one evening, and he would joke and laugh with her, just the same way he would with his own brother. When you're a kid, I don't think you really value the importance of those moments — the moments when things seem perfect, and you don't realize it, until it's too late. I was about fourteen, maybe fifteen, when my grandmother passed away. Sad, and it was the kind of expected, though unexpected passings, if you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do," Connor breathed out, motioning for her to follow him to the couch.

"She had been sick for a long time, but she was getting better; she ate well, got her excersise, remembered more, and one morning, merely two weeks before Christmas, we got the message that she had passed away," Eila paused, wrapping her hands around the warm cup of coffee, so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even realize the surface of the cup was burning against the sensitive skin of her palm.

Not until Connor reached across, placing a hand on hers. His touch, though of the softest and most careful kind Eila had ever experienced, caused her to flinch, and for a brief second, she was sure she could have seen a flicker of confusion, hurt and sadness in Connor's eyes.

"Four years later I lost a friend in a car accident. She was driving home for Christmas, and — I don't know what happened, but she was dead before the paramedics arrived. If I have to answer your questions, I would say those two things really changed my view of Christmas. They showed me how crap life can be, how important it is to share love and to share joy. Life is short, and during the one month where people might be at their saddest, I want to show them the happiness."

It had never occurred to Connor that she had taken the responsibilty of being the apartment building's very own Christmas miracle, to push away her own feelings of sadness and grief. His heart felt heavy as he sat beside her, his hand still on hers, as he was unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do. In that moment, maybe him just sitting there, his hand on hers, was everything she needed. All Connor knew, was that he wanted to show her he was fully committed to his month of Christmas with her, and for that day, it would start with shopping for a perfect Christmas-cup.