Day 1

"People do this for fun?" Lacey grouses, crossing her arms over her chest as Gold drags the tree into the street where the Cadillac is parallel parked. She frowns down at her hands, gummy with resin and smelling of pine, and smears strands of sap onto her leggings.

Now that they're engaged—becoming a family, Shaw says—he's insisting on a holly jolly holiday, wanting to create new traditions with bells and bows and mistletoe. Lacey is still getting used to the idea of being in love and part of "a family," whatever that means. The concept of a happy Christmas is completely overwhelming, but it's hard to admit those fears, even to her fiancé.

For years after Momma died, it was only Lacey, her father, and his best pal—cheap booze. Then alcohol poisoning stole Daddy from her, too, and there was no one to keep her company during the frigid, snowy Maine Christmases. A few times Ruby had asked her over for Jell-O shots in her room at Granny's Bed & Breakfast, but Lacey declined so often that even those slapdash invites stopped coming. Other than keeping her father's tradition of drinking herself into oblivion on Christmas Eve, she preferred to sit at home and pretend Christmas didn't exist at all. As the years passed, the holiday season came to mean little more to her than a few extra bucks in tips at the nail salon and $5 peppermint mochas at Sleepy's Coffee Bar.

Lacey shakes off the doldrums and forces a smile. She's not alone anymore.

Gold flashes a toothy grin and hefts the nine-foot evergreen onto the roof of the sedan. Her heart flip-flops and to mask her childish delight, she balls her hands into fists and shoves them in her coat pockets. Whistling "Jingle Bells," he wraps a length of red string around the tree trunk, then weaves it around the grab handles inside the car doors with remarkable dexterity.

"Do we need such a mammoth tree?" she wonders aloud. "For just the two of us?"

"This is a Frasier Fir. The Cadillac of trees."

Apparently that settles the matter. She's gone from nothing to a Cadillac in no time at all.

"Can't we, you know, have it delivered?" She gestures at the volunteers manning the tree lot. They are milling around a trash can fire and sipping steaming liquid out of paper cups. Probably vodka-spiked tea, she thought. Maybe that's how they make it through the season. I'll need it to survive this tree-decorating session.

"Where's your spirit of adventure, lass?" Shaw seems undeterred by her sour mood, now humming "Joy to the World" as he ushers her into the car and pulls out of the tree lot onto the slushy streets.

Lacey eyes him askance and shifts on the leather seat of his actual Cadillac. Christmas trees, sugar cookies, brightly wrapped presents…she'd left all of those holiday trappings behind long ago.

"Oh, it's adventure you want, is it, Gold?" She waggles her eyebrows. "Let's get out of here, then. Whaddaya say to Christmas in Vegas?"

Gold pulls up to a garland-wrapped stoplight and waves to Sherriff Swan who's cruising up Main Street in her patrol car. Lacey grits her teeth at the friendly smiles that pass between them. Screw good will toward men—she despises that woman.

"Las Vegas? No, thank you." He points back toward the tree lot where Leroy and his friends are still clowning around instead of working. "If I wanted to see a Christmastime Elvis impersonator, I would head down to the Rabbit Hole to watch Leroy slip into his cups."

"True." Her bright idea blown to bits, Lacey grimaces, but her ire thaws at the look on his face. The angular planes are softened by a lopsided grin, reminding her of an overgrown puppy. He's as earnest and excited as a child awaiting Santa's arrival, his chocolate eyes sparkling with merriment. How could she be grouchy with him for even a moment?

Her heart tightens in her chest, constricting with the force of her feelings. She loves him so much it terrifies her. She gasps softly as the pang of sentiment climbs into her throat.

"What's wrong?" he asks, turning right when the stoplight turns green.

She loves how attuned he is to her moods, yet sometimes wishes he wasn't quite so observant. Wiping the pained look off her face, she holds out her hand for his inspection. "I have sticky stuff on my engagement ring," she complains, wriggling her fingers so the black and white diamonds glitter and sparkle in the afternoon sunshine.

"Never mind that." He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses the sticky, sweet spots on her fingers, ending with a chaste but lingering kiss to her ring, the symbol of all that has grown and flourished between them. "That will come right off with a bit of soap and water. Now what's really wrong?"

"I don't…like Christmas. It never works out for me." She blows out a breath with the confession. "But I do love you. And for you, I'll try."

His smile is sympathetic and grateful. "You're so brave, lass."

Soon they pull the car into the driveway and hurry inside out of the cold. At once Shaw stokes the fire to roaring while Lacey snuggles into the quilt that had become "her" blanket soon after she officially moved in. Outside, fresh snow is falling, collecting on the windowsills in fluffy little piles. Gold delivers twin mugs of hot chocolate to the den and removes his jacket and waistcoat to begin stringing lights around the massive conifer.

His suit is still pristine, and she marvels that he not only selected and paid almost $200 for a towering tree, but then tied it to the car, drove it home, and set it up in the stand without a wrinkle or a drop of sap in sight. She smiles in spite of herself; would this man ever cease to amaze her?

Lacey settles into the sofa and dumps a healthy draught of peppermint schnapps into her mug, flattening the pouf of whipped cream adorning the top. She should help—she wants to help—but she can't get the sound of breaking glass or the image of sputtering lights out of her head from the last time Daddy had careened into the tree and toppled it, blinded by liquor.

It's been too many years to count since she's decorated a Christmas tree.

"Why don't you look through those bins of ornaments?" Shaw's voice carries through the branches; he's sandwiched between the tree and the wall, connecting extension cords.

"Uh, ok." She drags herself down to the carpet and wrinkles her nose at the musty odor wafting from the crisp tissue paper. Lacey fingers a glass ball. "They're kind of old."

"Antique," he jokes. "Like me. And yes, they were my mother's. All I have left of her, really."

Lacey squeezes her eyes shut, trying to remember her own mother's voice, her scent, her laughter. But there's nothing.

Gold comes out from behind the tree and uses his cane as leverage to come down to one knee beside her. He lifts a glass teardrop shaped ornament in vibrant blue, holding it up to the light.

"Hanging ornaments is like displaying memories. Each year, you pull them out and as you trim the tree, you reminisce about happy times."

Lacey bites her lip as her eyes well up with tears. "But I don't have…"

"I know. But you will. We will," he amends, fishing behind his back. With a smile, he dangles a shiny new bauble in front of her. Eager to please him, she reaches for it, the weight of it cool and heavy in her warm palm. It's a round sterling bell, etched with a delicate ivy pattern and emblazoned with a single word: BELIEVE. When Lacey shakes it, the sphere gives a delightfully musical tinkle.

Shaw wraps his arms around her, covering her in his love. She slips her arms around his neck, holding both him and the ornament tight in her grip.

"We're going to have a wonderful Christmas, Lacey." He kisses the top of her head, then hauls her to her feet and hands her another ornament. He nods toward the tree. "Go on, lass."

Hesitant, Lacey approaches the tree, and with shaking fingers, she hangs the first ornament at eye level. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the silver ball, and though it's distorted, she realizes that she's actually smiling. With a deep breath, she gingerly hangs a second new memory.

Day 2

"Our tree looks spectacular in the morning light, doesn't it?"

Lacey flushes and jumps. Shaw has caught her staring at the tree again. Feigning nonchalance, she repositions one of the glass snowflake ornaments in front of a twinkling white light and steps back to strike a pseudo-critical pose. He might be on to her, but she won't go down without a fight. Christmas? Bah! Humbug. Scrooge's infamous epitaph rings in her ears, and she can't help but laugh at herself.

"What's funny?" Shaw comes up behind her and snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

"Nothing. It does look pretty," Lacey agrees reluctantly, sniffing peanut butter on his breath as she turns to accept his kiss. "Mmmm. You taste delicious." She pulls back and narrows her eyes. "Don't tell me we're baking Christmas cookies next."

He blinks at her. "Yes, I have several dozen varieties planned."

She pushes playfully against his chest and groans. "Do you have several dozen varieties of wine I can drink during the drudgery?"

He laughs. "I'm teasing, Lace. Although maybe we can try making one batch? The peanut butter ones with the chocolate centers are rather easy. You could wear your leather apron."

"Mmmmm. Don't tempt the temptress, Gold." She kisses him again, the intoxicating flavor of him mingling with the cookies he's been munching. "You've been sampling the ones Ruby gave us already."

"So let's make more." He nuzzles her neck, a move that usually can get Lacey to agree to his every whim.

"No. No baking today, please? Shaw, I never thought I'd say this, but can we please go to work? Don't you have some inventory for me to update at the shop?" she wheedles. "All this Christmas cheer is giving me a migraine."

He shrugs and winks. "As you wish, lass."

xoxo

Lacey drums her manicured nails impatiently on the keyboard. She'd begged to come into work, but she can't concentrate on her software update—not with Shaw stringing yet another strand of white twinkling lights in the front window.

In all the holiday seasons she'd walked past his store, she had never seen such a sight. Part of her delights at the realization that he's doing all this to please her. She's not the only person surprised, either. People are stopping on the street to gawk, mouths dropped open in surprise to see the grumpy pawnbroker – err… antiques dealer hanging Christmas lights. Undeterred, Shaw waves and flashes his dimples at the rubbernecking passersby, then carries on with his duties.

Tonight at home, Lacey is going to pull back his hair for a peek at his ears to make sure he's not part elf.

"Have you always been such a fan of the holidays?" she asks when he prepares a cup of tea and stirs it with a candy cane.

"Not really, no." He looks up from polishing a set of brass candlesticks, and Lacey glances around suspiciously, looking for an Advent wreath.

She opens her mouth to ask him what's so different about this year, but customers begin trickling in to hunt down perfect gifts for the special people in their lives, and there's a steady stream of business until lunchtime.

As Lacey wraps a set of gold knot cufflinks for Mary Margaret Nolan to give to her husband, Gold disappears, muttering a vague excuse about needing to be somewhere. Lacey's stomach complains while she ties a glittery red bow on Mrs. Nolan's package. Hopefully Shaw's errands will include picking up lunch. A club sandwich with thick, peppery bacon would taste amazing right now.

"Merry Christmas, Lacey," Mary Margaret calls, swinging the bag carrying her gift.

Gift.

Lacey moans, unable to believe her stupidity. "Great going, Lacey," she mumbles under her breath. Maybe banging her head on the display case will knock some sense into her idiot brain.

Counting today, there are only six days until Christmas, and she doesn't have a single present for the man she loves. If they are going through with this "real Christmas" business, she needs to get him a gift that he will remember—one worthy of their first holiday together. She discards all the usual suspects—lingerie, a deluxe pedicure from her days at the salon, a Brazilian wax. No, this can't be any run-of-the-mill present. Gold can buy and sell the entire town three times over. There is nothing he needs or wants that his money could not or had not already purchased.

Judging from the tree, the decorating, and the Christmas carols he's been blasting out of every stereo, this holiday is important to him. A gift for their first Christmas together needs to be special. Something from the heart. But what?

Flustered, she flips the sign in the front window to "Closed" and stomps her heeled boots down the snowy street in the direction of Granny's Diner. A hearty meal and a cup of strong coffee will help her think.

She kicks the snow off her boots and skids to the counter to place a to-go order of a club sandwich and black coffee. Granny is leaning against the counter opposite the cash register, working two hooked needles through a ball of yarn in between customers. The older woman's wrinkled yet nimble fingers move deftly, the shape of a sock beginning to form as the needles work their magic. That doesn't look too difficult, Lacey thinks, chewing on her bottom lip.

A flash of a long-buried memory enters her consciousness. Sundays with her mother were nothing less than perfect. Lacey would spend hours reading her newest book in the family parlour while her mother sat opposite her, crocheting exquisite doilies and linens. Whole afternoons ambled by in easy silence, a girl and her mother each indulging in her favorite hobby, completely at ease and without a single word needing to be spoken.

Memory gives way to inspiration, and Lacey forgets her lunch and growling belly and makes a beeline for the exit. She's decided on her present for Shaw: a scarf crocheted by her own hands. How hard can it be to choose a pattern and make a simple scarf? Surely she would recall a trick or a technique from those times spent with her mother. How-to videos from YouTube will fill in the gaps. While she's never done any actual stitching of her own before, she's good with her hands and a quick study.

Yes, crocheting a scarf is almost too perfect an idea, and Lacey slips and slides down the sidewalk, intent on reaching Storybrooke's lone department store to stock up on supplies.

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Part 2 will be posted Tuesday.