Hot Cocoa Hearts Read online

  Our stop at Kalustyan’s had been fascinating. We’d spent a good hour exploring the three stories of spices, dried chilies, nuts, and herbs. I’d bought a packet of loose herbs so that I could make Nyssa homemade tea sachets as my next Secret Santa gift to her. I’d heard her saying to one of her friends that she needed to stock up on tea before the glee holiday concert. Apparently, she drank it before each show to soothe her voice. And Alex assured me that Kalustyan’s herbs were one of a kind.

  The store was so cool. Its wonderful fusion of zesty scents had left behind traces that I still imagined smelling on the brisk winter wind. The shop’s dark wooden shelves and endless aisles were full of every cooking ingredient imaginable, and it was amazing to watch Señor Perez and Alex deftly navigate the maze to find exactly what they needed. I was surprised to see Alex as confident as his grandpa in selecting perfect peppers, and I could tell he enjoyed the process just as much. He was as knowledgeable about the store as any tour guide, explaining the different uses for the spices in hot chocolate and how they altered the taste in subtle ways.

  It was while in the store that something strange had happened. We were whispering as we smelled a jar of vanilla beans. But all the spices must have muddled my senses, because suddenly, I wasn’t focused on the beans. I was looking at Alex’s mouth, at how soft and full his lips looked. And then a thought flashed through my head. What might it be like to kiss Alex? It freaked me out enough to jerk back, knocking my head against the shelves behind me.

  “Whoa,” he said, laughing. “It’s vanilla. It won’t bite.”

  “I—I know,” I stammered, trying to recover from what was obviously some bizarre hallucination. Of course I’d never kiss Alex. The only boy I’d ever wanted to kiss was Sawyer. I didn’t even understand where that thought had come from, but I was going to forget it.

  But now as Alex heaved the bag of gifts onto his shoulder and started down the sidewalk, motioning me to follow, I felt stirrings of unease again.

  We turned right onto Fifty-Ninth Street, then stopped half a block down in front of the Families Together Shelter. I followed Alex up a short set of stairs and into the brick building, where a woman behind the check-in counter greeted him by name.

  “You’ve been here before?” I whispered.

  Alex nodded. “Abuelo and I stop here every time we’re in the city. We always try to bring something, even if it’s small.” He handed me my visitor pass, and then I followed him down the hallway and into a large rec room where dozens of children were busy eating and playing.

  “Look,” one little boy of four or five cried happily. “It’s Alex!” He slammed his little body into Alex’s in a fierce hug.

  “Hey, Ty!” Alex kneeled down and opened the bag, digging through it until he pulled out a present with Ty’s name on it. “I brought something special for you today, bud. Merry Christmas!”

  Ty’s eyes lit up as he ripped off the paper to reveal a toy bulldozer. That was all it took. Within seconds, the rest of the children swarmed around us, jumping up and down for their presents, too.

  Alex turned to me and, before I could protest, settled a load of presents into my arms.

  “Better get started,” he said. “Or they might mob you.”

  I glanced at the presents, hesitating. “I’m not great at this kind of thing,” I started, remembering my unfortunate interactions with the kids at the mall, and the little girl, Sophie, at the Holly Jolly House. “Besides, wouldn’t it be better to donate food or clothing? That’s what these kids need more than anything.”

  Alex looked out at the expectant faces peering up at us, then at me. “Sometimes it’s not about need. It’s about being a kid. Just playing … not worrying about adult problems.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “You can do this. Give it a try.”

  “Okay,” I said warily. “But if there are tears, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

  Alex shook his head, smiling and handing out gifts. “Sounds good.”

  I took a present from the top of my pile and read the name out loud. “Anna.”

  Within seconds, a knee-high girl with springy black curls was tugging at my shirt for her gift. She opened it and gave a gleeful shriek. “A Chatty Sally doll! She moves her arms and legs and”—she giggled, her eyes glowing with happiness—“even wets her diapers for real.”

  I laughed. The girl was so cute, and her enthusiasm contagious. “That’s great.” Who knew a bed-wetting doll was some girls’ dream come true?

  “Me next!” a boy called out, clapping his hands. “I’m Gerry.”

  “Gerry, okay …” I rummaged through the presents, looking for his, and soon I was busy handing out gift after gift, watching, fascinated, as the kids ripped open their packages and wrapping paper flew helter-skelter around the room. It was joy-infused chaos, and the expressions on the kids’ faces were priceless—pure and candid.

  Once my presents were all passed out, I grabbed my camera and, before I really understood what I was doing, started snapping photos. They weren’t anything like the pictures I usually took. But it didn’t matter. The smiles I caught on camera were just as genuine as any frowns or tears I’d ever captured on film. I swung my lens around the room, snapping away, then suddenly froze on one face.

  Alex’s. Wintry sunlight poured in from one of the windows, giving his espresso eyes a golden glow. His smile was bright, his tan face full of warmth. In an instant, looking through the lens, I saw him the way a stranger might’ve. I always thought of him as boyish, but in this light, as he interacted with the kids around him, he looked older and—shocker—kind of handsome. My heart sped up confusedly. What was going on with me today? I lowered the lens and glanced at him again, then saw to my relief that the old Alex was back.

  But my cheeks were still heated when he caught my eye and walked over.

  “That smile looks great on you,” he said. “You should wear it more often.”

  “I wasn’t smiling,” I protested.

  “Oh no?” Alex raised an eyebrow. “Well, in that case, that freaky thing you’ve been doing with your lips has been going on for a solid hour. You should really have it checked out by a doctor. Could be serious.”

  “Shut up.” I tried to give him the evil eye, but ended up laughing instead.

  “Time to go,” he said, stuffing the empty red bag into his backpack. “I have some very important research to do on Sixtieth Street.”

  “This is your important research?” I asked. I sat at the small table with Alex, staring in awe at the enormous cup of frozen hot chocolate and the sundae the waitress had set down in front of us.

  In the rainbow light cast by the dozen or so Tiffany lamps hanging randomly about the cheery café, I could see that every table at Serendipity 3 was packed with customers. Most of them were enjoying shakes, hot chocolates, or desserts that matched or even exceeded ours in size.

  “Absolutely,” Alex said, sticking two straws into the whipped cream peaks of our drink. “Abuelo likes to keep an eye on our competitors, and Serendipity 3 is famous for its frozen hot chocolate. We haven’t tried anything like it at Cocoa Cravings yet.” He leaned forward to whisper, “I wanted to do some reconnaissance first.”

  “There’s no way you can drink all that,” I challenged.

  “You’re right.” He smiled. “You’re going to help. Go ahead. Take a swig. If you like it, I won’t take it personally. I promise.”

  “Okay, but then you let me off the hook to enjoy my sundae. Right?” He nodded, and I reached for the cup. As I did, my hand brushed against his, and a sudden bolt of electricity shot through me. Our eyes locked for a split second, and a strange expression flitted over Alex’s face, like he’d felt the zing, too.

  “Sorry,” I blustered, dropping my eyes even as I felt him studying my face for another awkward few seconds.

  Moments like this had been happening all day, but they were all wrong. If Sawyer was right for me, and he was, then whatever this was with Alex had to be wrong. So I was goi
ng to stop letting it affect me, no matter what. I shook my head to clear it, and focused on the frozen hot chocolate in front of me.

  I took a sip and immediately shook my head. The drink was sweet but—“It goes against nature, drinking something that cold in the dead of winter.”

  “Clearly the finer points of great hot chocolate are lost on you. Hands off!” He playfully slapped my hands away and took possession of the hot chocolate again, taking a long, satisfying swig. “Ah. I have to say I’m glad Serendipity 3 is a whole state away from Cocoa Cravings. Otherwise, we might be in some serious trouble.” He nodded toward my sundae. “What do you think?”

  I cast a doubtful glance at my Strawberry Fields Sundae, which sat before me in pink-and-white glory. “Normally I’d never go for anything so sweet, but in honor of my favorite Beatles song and the great John Lennon, I’m going to give it a shot.” I dug into the sundae and pulled out a towering spoonful of cheesecake and strawberry ice cream, then took a big bite. The lemony tartness of the cheesecake tempered the sugary sweetness of the ice cream just enough to make my mouth pucker. “Not too shabby.”

  “So ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ is your favorite song,” Alex said as I offered him a bite of the sundae. “I could see that, with all the nonconformist lyrics. ‘Living is easy with eyes closed. Misunderstanding all you see.’ ”

  The surprise on my face must have shown, because he laughed, shrugging. “What? I’m a Beatles fan, too.”

  “I love those lines,” I said. “People going through the motions every day, not thinking about why they’re doing what they’re doing. If it means anything to them.”

  “Like what people do during the holidays?” he suggested.

  “Exactly!” I cried. “Buying presents, singing the carols, blah blah blah. Maybe they’re only doing it because it’s what they’ve always done. They’re used to it, and they’re afraid to change.”

  “Or maybe because they truly do love what it means,” he said. “Maybe it’s not them misunderstanding. Maybe it’s—”

  “Me?” I finished for him. “I’m the one who’s misunderstanding other people?”

  Alex stared into his drink, seeming to have an internal debate about whether or not to keep going. “All I’m saying is that you’re so stuck on proving how insincere people are. Maybe you’re missing out on moments that are real.” His eyes settled on my face, without a trace of their usual lightness, and I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. “I saw you with those kids at the shelter,” he said quietly. “When you let your guard down, you were different.”

  “You’re reading into it,” I said defensively, even though I had had a great time with the kids. “I’m no ice queen whose heart is going to suddenly melt after handing out a few presents.” I blew out a frustrated breath and put down my spoon, losing my appetite. “Can we drop it? Please?” I said. “I don’t want to argue.”

  He hesitated, then looked up at me with a small, measured smile. “You’re right. We have the rest of the afternoon to have fun in the city, and you have to make some serious headway on your sundae. Let’s forget about it. Okay?”

  I nodded in relief. “Okay.”

  We finished our treats and started the walk downtown toward Rockefeller Center. Even though it was only late afternoon, heavy snow clouds loomed over the skyscrapers, casting the sidewalks in shadowy twilight. Within a few minutes, flurries were spiraling down, coating the tips of my eyelashes. We walked west to Fifth Avenue. Sleigh bells were jingling from the horse-drawn carriages plodding around the outskirts of Central Park, and the smell of roasted nuts drifted in smoky, toffee-scented wisps on the wind. We passed FAO Schwarz, where the windows overflowed with giant wooden soldiers, nutcrackers, dolls, and every toy a child could want. The whole avenue was jam-packed with people admiring the elaborate holiday window displays in the fancy department stores.

  When we reached Fifty-First Street, and Alex started to round the corner toward Rockefeller Center, I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

  “Look,” I started, my heart skittering. “I’m tinseled out. Maybe we could skip the Rockefeller Center tree?”

  Alex’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But that’s where we’re supposed to meet Abuelo. Come on. You’ve survived the last nine blocks, you can survive one more.”

  “Alex, wait—” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him why I felt dread creeping up my spine, why the idea of seeing that enormous tree standing proud and tall above the ice skating rink made a knot tighten around my stomach. But he was already walking ahead, assuming I was behind him.

  I sighed and burrowed my chin farther down into the collar of my coat, focusing on the sidewalk in front of me, thinking maybe if I kept my head down, I could avoid seeing the tree. As the skyscrapers opened onto the large square, with its flags rippling in the wind and the ice rink packed with happy skaters, the thousands of sparkling lights from the tree glimmered in the corner of my vision. Even though I didn’t want to look, I knew I had to, so I slowly raised my eyes.

  There was the tree, as glorious as I remembered it being when I was little, reaching toward the sky, its limbs aglow with rainbows of dazzling colors. Memories washed over me as I stretched my neck upward, feeling just as small and awestruck as I had so many years before, and before I could stop it, my eyes filled with tears.

  “Em?” Alex said softly, glancing at my face in surprise and confusion. “What’s wrong?”

  “Forget it,” I snapped, sniffing angrily and swiping at my eyes. “I told you I didn’t want to come here!”

  Alex frowned. “I thought you’d like to see the tree. I guess I pushed too hard …” His face, which had been so enthusiastic only a minute before, deflated into disappointment, and suddenly, I knew I couldn’t stay angry at him.

  “It’s not your fault.” I sighed, plunking down on one of the benches on the observation deck. “It’s mine. I should have told you before, only … I don’t like to talk about it.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the photo and handed it to Alex as he sat down beside me.

  “That’s me and my grandma,” I said quietly. “In front of the Rockefeller Christmas Tree. Four years ago.”

  Alex looked at the photo for a long minute. “You look so happy.”

  “I was. She used to bring me into the city every year to see the tree. It was our special day. We’d go see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular first, and then afterward, we’d eat roasted peanuts sitting right here, under the lights of the tree.” I smiled, despite my trembling lips. “Christmas was her favorite time of year. She loved it more than anyone I’ve ever known, besides my dad. That’s one of the reasons he puts up the Holly Jolly House each year. In honor of her memory.”

  Alex handed the photo back to me, and I stared at it, the sharpness of missing Grandma needling my heart. “So … what happened?”

  “She got sick. Around Thanksgiving, when I was nine.” I shook my head, tucking the photo back into my bag. “That was the year I wrote the shortest letter to Santa ever. I only asked for one thing. For him to make her better for Christmas.” A hard laugh popped out of me. “Well, you can guess what happened. Or didn’t happen.”

  “She never got better.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  I nodded. “That was the year I stopped believing in Santa. Or caring about Christmas.” I sighed. “It’s kind of funny. I’ve never admitted that out loud before. Not to anyone.” I shrugged awkwardly, hoping to downplay the whole thing. Alex didn’t buy the act, though.

  His eyes were soft with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Em.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair, pausing over his next words. “But you have to know there probably wasn’t anything anyone could do—”

  “Sure. I know that now. But back then, no one could convince me of that. And afterward, it seemed like pretending to keep on believing was, well, a waste of time.”

  He shook his head. “There are other things to believe in this time of year. Family, kindness, love—”

  “
Don’t you see? Those are things people should remember all year, not just when the commercials and holiday cards tell them to.” I sighed. “If it only happens when it’s forced, how genuine can it possibly be?”

  “I don’t think it’s forced,” Alex said. “I think it’s more like a reminder, of all that’s good that we forget about in the craziness of everyday life.” His cell phone dinged then, and he checked it, then stood up. “That’s Abuelo. He’s waiting with the car on Forty-Eighth Street.”

  I nodded and stood up with a sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said as we walked to the car, giving me a concerned glance. “I should’ve listened when you tried to tell me you didn’t want to come here—”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said honestly. “It doesn’t change anything, but”—I cast one last look back at the tree, elegant in its shimmering gown of lights—“I’m glad I saw it. It was nice to talk about my grandma again. Thank you.”

  He smiled as he opened the car door for me. “Anytime.”

  My trip into the city shadowed me for the rest of the weekend. I’d been thinking a lot more about Grandma since I’d talked about her to Alex, and the memories left me feeling vulnerable and touchier than usual.

  On Sunday while working at the North Pole Wonderland, I noticed Alex looking worriedly my way across the concourse. I’d given him my usual roll of the eyes as I nodded toward the line of whining kids, trying to send him a silent message that I was fine. But we were both so busy with nonstop customers that we didn’t get a chance to talk all day.

  I was in such a funk that I even turned Jez down when she called to see if I wanted to watch a movie at her house Sunday night. When she asked what was wrong, I told her I didn’t want to talk about it. But I knew Jez wouldn’t give up so easily, so it was no surprise when I saw her standing sentinel at my locker first thing Monday morning, with a mischievous grin on her face.

  “You’re about to be de-funkified,” she said. “Open your locker.”