A Pocketful of Miracles

By Lillie Bell, Alicia Blade, and Kaitlyn Fall

Chapter Four

Serena left the antique store humming "Merry Little Christmas" to herself, the glossy red shopping bag dangling from her wrist. All of her holiday shopping was officially done and now all she had to do was relax and drink hot cocoa and enjoy the festivities. Oh—and figure out what she was going to wear to Andrew's party, of course. Perhaps she should use this extra time to pick out a new outfit? Something pretty and flirty, something that would turn heads, something that might make Darien noti—

She rolled her eyes at her own hopelessness. Who was she kidding? Darien seeing her as anything other than a ditzy klutz was about as likely as waking up to two feet of snow on Christmas morning.

She sighed, her murmured Christmas carol dying away somewhere around "let your heart be light."

"But," she said aloud, shaking off the fleeting bout of defeatism, "that doesn't mean it's impossible. Right? Right." With a firm nod, she took off down the crowded corridor again.

She'd just determined that a cute new dress was definitely in order when her eyes caught on a gorgeous display in the florist's window before her—crimson poinsettias and delicate paper whites, towering narcissus and festive holly berries, bundles of lush roses and, overhanging it all, a cloud of mistletoe sprigs dangling from gold ribbons.

She beamed, hope blossoming in her chest once more. "No, that is definitely in order!"

She would buy a sprig of mistletoe and hang it up in the arcade. So long as Mina and Lita didn't hog it all night, it should be easy for her to catch Darien under it and, well, even he couldn't argue with tradition, right?

A gleeful giggle escaped her as she skipped into the florist shop, straight to the display window. She reached up and untied one of the bright green branches. While the plant may not get her a confession of undying love, she would just have to be satisfied with a Christmas kiss. A blush crept up her cheeks. The arcade lights would be dim and sparkling softly. Christmas music would be humming in the background. She and Darien would be having a nice, civil conversation for once and then one of the girls, probably Mina, would whistle at them and say, "Oooh, look who's under the mistletoe!" She and Darien would both blush, but as she looked up, heart thumping, their eyes would meet. He would inch toward her. Reaching up, he would tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his fingertips tentatively brushing her cheek. She would hold her breath, the world fading in the background as he slowly . . . slowly . . .

"Please tell me you're not thinking about Andrew right now."

She jumped and spun around, clutching the mistletoe to her pounding heart. Her cheeks were already burning and she sensed them growing warmer as she met Darien's sardonic gaze.

He glanced down at the mistletoe then rolled his eyes. "Yuck."

"What?" she said, immediately defensive. "It's traditional!"

"Did you know that most mistletoe is spread by bird feces?"

Her brow knit as she slowly digested this little factoid. "You," she said, "are very good at ruining things for a person, you know that?"

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, as if she'd just complimented him. "We both know you just want to catch Andrew under one of those."

Her stomach churned with a mix of anger and mortification. "For your information, I was not thinking about Andrew. I'm buying the mistletoe for . . . for Raye! She has a crush on a coworker of hers, so I'm just trying to help things along." The lie came easily, as they usually did when she was talking to Darien. You're such a jerk. I can't stand you. I never want to see you again.

"How convenient."

"Oh, shut up, Darien. I don't even like Andrew like that. Mina and Lita might, but to me, he's just a friend." She marched past him toward the cashier and slammed the mistletoe down on the counter before she accidentally crushed it in her fist.

"Okay, then who were you thinking about when you went all googly-eyed a second ago?" Darien said from behind her.

"None of your business!" Serena struggled to calm her writhing thoughts as the cashier scanned the mistletoe. "Besides, you can't tell me there isn't anyone you wouldn't mind catching under the mistletoe . . . um, can you?"

"Sure I can," said Darien. "Mistletoe is for desperate people who don't have the guts to come right out and tell a person they like them."

Serena bristled, her eyes locked on the cashier's hands as she wrapped the mistletoe in tissue paper. Pursing her lips, she turned back to him, arms crossed over her chest. "Well bah humbug. You don't have a speck of Christmas spiri—what's that?" She gaped at the potted amaryllis in Darien's hands, the potted amaryllis that had not been there a minute ago. The flower was beautiful, with pale pink and ivory petals and an elegant stem that was at least two feet tall.

"A plant," Darien said, setting the terra cotta pot down on the counter.

"Who's it for?"

A haughty smile crept over his lips. "None of your business."

Her jaw clenched. Realizing that the cashier was holding her change out for her, she snatched it away and shoved it into her purse.

"Do you think she'll like it?"

Her breath hitched and she couldn't help but look at Darien again, unable to hide her stricken expression. "She?"

He shrugged nonchalantly and fingered the pink petals. "I'm not very good at this gift-giving thing. What do you think?"

She gulped, her throat constricting, and stared at the amaryllis. That ugly, horrible, no-good plant. Sucking in a steadying breath, she tilted her head back and looked down her nose at the hateful gift. "I prefer roses myself," she said, each word forced from between her teeth.

"Roses," Darien said, scratching his chin. He glanced over his shoulder at the case of multi-colored roses in the corner. "That's not a bad idea."

That was when Serena felt the first threatening prick of tears. Tensing, she grabbed her little bag of mistletoe from the counter and turned to leave, calling over her shoulder, "Well, I hope she appreciates it!"

"Hey, Serena, wait a second."

She ordered her feet to ignore him, to keep walking, to run if they had to—anything to keep him from knowing how much he'd just upset her. But her feet ignored her, paused, and turned back to face him. He stepped forward, leaving the amaryllis alone on the counter.

"Actually, do you have any other ideas?" he said, lowering his voice and appearing suddenly serious . . . which was about a million times worse than his teasing.

Because if he was serious, it meant he was maybe, possibly, serious about her. Whoever she was.

"Ideas for what?" she said, refusing to encourage the conversation in any manner.

"For a gift. I was kind of stumped . . . but, well . . . for example, what would you like for Christmas?"

She scrunched up the mistletoe's bag in one hand and the handle of the poor antique-store bag in the other and eased her face into serene indifference. "Who's it for? Your girlfriend?" She almost choked on the last word but barely managed to stay neutral.

Darien did look momentarily surprised. And then—horrors!—he looked momentarily flustered! Serena could feel her jaw begin to tremble and squeezed her teeth shut.

"N-no. Just a girl."

A girl that you're in love with? she wanted to scream at him. She felt betrayed. Crushed. How dare he allow her to become so infatuated with him while all the while he was thinking about some other girl?

That jerk! He was ruining Christmas!

"It's not a trick question, Meatball Head," he said, tapping his foot. "What would you like for Christmas?"

"Absolutely nothing," she spat. "All I want is for it to snow, so you're going to have to go grill some other girl to give you ideas for your—"

"Oh, give me a break! It's not going to snow, Serena. There must be something else you want?"

"Look," she said, louder than she'd meant to, as the last thread of patience snapped. "I'm not stupid. I realize it would take a miracle at this point, okay? But really, Darien, what's—" She had to pause as her voice quivered. She stomped her foot and forced herself to continue. "What's so wrong with believing in miracles?"

Gaze blurring, she turned and fled from the florist shop.

Darien stood, rooted to the floor, his jaw slack as he watched her pigtails and wool scarf fluttering behind her. "Miracles?" he murmured. With a groan, he smacked his hand to his forehead. "Miracles! Why didn't I think of that before?"

…

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