Snow in Love by Aimee Friedman (2)

“Did you ever notice something?” Maxine Silver said into her phone as she strode down Columbus Avenue, passing shops blasting holiday hits at full volume. Each time a bag-laden customer emerged from a store, a snippet of some Christmas song would float out toward Maxine on the crisp December air:

“Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me …”

“Jingle bell time is a swell time …”

“All I want for Christmas is …”

“What?” Maxine’s best friend, Tara Sullivan, asked on the other end, her mouth full of what Maxine guessed were gingerbread cookies.

“There’s a severe shortage of Hanukkah songs,” Maxine replied, using her free hand to tug her burgundy scarf higher up her chin. Her teeth chattered as she darted across West 76th Street, a yellow taxicab honking in her wake. She wished she’d remembered to put a hat on over her shaggy-short dark hair when leaving her apartment. Though who could blame her for rushing to escape the embarrassment of her mom and new stepdad, who’d spent the morning frying latkes and inventing pet names for each other? Maxine had been home on winter break for only three days, but she was pretty much ready to go back to college.

“How about, um, the dreidel one?” Tara offered, her voice as sweet as gingerbread itself.

Maxine grinned, picturing Tara standing in the kitchen of her grandparents’ house, auburn hair tied back in a ponytail and fair skin flushed with concern. Maxine and Tara had been fused at the hip from the first week of ninth grade on, but since starting their respective freshman years in September—Maxine at Wesleyan, Tara at the University of Chicago—the two girls had only seen each other twice, over Thanksgiving weekend. Tara and her family were spending Christmas in Oregon, so Maxine was all but living for New Year’s Eve, when her other half would return to throw her annual gold-and-white-themed party at her apartment.

“You know what I mean,” Tara added, and, to Maxine’s growing amusement, shifted into slightly off-key singing. There was a reason the girl had been the drummer, and not the lead singer, of The Torn Skirts, their short-lived high school band. “Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it out of—”

“My point exactly, Tar,” Maxine said, passing a row of fresh green trees stacked outside a corner grocery. Stray pine needles crunched beneath the soles of her boots. “‘I made it out of clay’? Couldn’t it at least be a more interesting material?” She rolled her big brown eyes.

Tara’s warm laugh bubbled down the line. “Max, I’m sorry. I know you think Hanukkah always gets the shaft.”

Maxine sighed and came to a stop in front of a tiny, trendy boutique. “I’ve gotten used to it after eighteen years. It’s like when I was in grade school—somehow, I believed in Santa Claus, but I figured he didn’t believe in me.”

The two girls broke into laughter again, but then Maxine bit her lip. For all her teasing, she did get a little bummed around Christmastime. How could she not? What with the mammoth tree glimmering in Rockefeller Center, Starbucks hawking their eggnog lattes, and 90 percent of her friends celebrating elsewhere, Maxine couldn’t help feeling left out of the fun. True, she had once loved Hanukkah—the flickering candles in the menorah, the chocolate coins wrapped in bright foil, the plastic top spinning between her fingers—but that was back when her family had still been seminormal.

“New Year’s will lift your spirits,” Tara assured her. “Have you made any headway toward getting The Dress?”

“I’m drooling over it as we speak,” Maxine replied, gazing at the boutique’s window display. Amid boughs of holly and twinkling fairy lights, a mannequin modeled the impossibly perfect dress that Maxine had spied two days ago, and to which she now made regular pilgrimages. Pale gold and floaty, with spaghetti straps and a full, gauzy skirt, The Dress was Maxine’s style exactly.

That first day, she’d bounded inside to try it on, fingers tightly crossed; Maxine was so petite (“pixie-esque,” Tara liked to call it, while Maxine preferred the more economical “shrimpy”) that she often had to buy children’s sizes. But, as she’d observed in the fitting room mirror, this very grown-up dress fit her just right. And its color was ideal for Tara’s party—to which her best friend was inviting their entire high school class.

Including Heath Barton.

Gorgeous, deep-voiced, cooler-than-thou Heath Barton, whom Maxine had spent the better part of high school lusting after. And even though she’d kissed two boys in college, the thought of Heath, whom Maxine had never really talked to, let alone kissed, still sent tingles down her limbs. She hoped that at Tara’s party—emboldened by The Dress—she’d finally have the chance to at least try flirting with him.

Then Maxine had glanced at the square tag hanging from the bodice and her stomach had dropped. Were the gods of fashion mocking her? How could a dress so clearly designed for her be so out of her price range?

After a whole crazy, fun, stressful semester of buying art history textbooks and late-night pizzas, Maxine had gained a new understanding of the term flat broke. The fact that it was Hanukkah—that evening would mark the fourth night of the holiday—was no help. Maxine’s family followed the “one big present” rather than the “eight big-ish gifts” philosophy. And since Maxine had already received her gift—a hardcover biography of Johann Sebastian Bach (her mom and stepdad’s idea of a “fun read”)—it was too late to ask for The Dress. Maxine was criminally behind on her own gift-shopping; that afternoon, she was headed to the Columbus Circle holiday market in search of some cheap-but-respectable presents.

“At this point,” Maxine mused aloud to Tara, “the only reasonable thing for me to do would be to get a job.” She turned away from the boutique and continued southward on Columbus. The grand white facade, dancing fountains, and brilliantly lit tree of Lincoln Center came into view. Maxine’s mom and stepdad were both cellists in the New York Philharmonic, and for one insane instant, Maxine wondered if they could snare her a position there as well—not that her talent for playing bass guitar would get her very far. Maxine was passionate about music but, to her mother’s chagrin, her tastes ran toward indie bands and garage rock.

“Well, you could just look for another dress,” Tara was suggesting. Then she paused at the sound of raised voices in the background. “Oh, crap, Max, I have to go. My grandfather needs help fastening our giant inflatable Santa to the roof.”

“I’ll text you later,” Maxine promised.

As she hurried toward the red-and-white-striped booths of the holiday market, Tara’s parting advice echoed in her head. Maxine knew her friend had a point. But a stubbornness—a determination—had bloomed in Maxine at the sight of that gold dress. And, as she wandered the crowded aisles of the market, past displays of necklaces, gloves, and fat, scented candles, she wondered if a winter-break job might be the only solution. After all, she reasoned, her home life was driving her nuts, and her social life would be laughable until New Year’s. If only she had the slightest idea where to find work. She cast a glance at a nearby stall selling ugly winter hats, as if a HELP WANTED sign might be hanging there.

A sudden, near-arctic wind tore through the market, rattling a display of glass bowls. “Damn, it’s cold!” someone cried—a tourist, Maxine guessed, who’d been under the mistaken impression that New York City would be balmy on December 17. Shivering, and cursing herself again for forgetting her hat at home, Maxine hurried over to the hat stand. She selected a fuzzy leopard-print number with earflaps. I’d rather look like a weirdo than die of hypothermia, she reasoned. She was trying on the hat when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Madeline? Madeline Silverman?”

Oh, God. Can it be—

Turning very slowly, her stomach tightening in disbelief, Maxine found herself staring into the bright hazel eyes of Heath Barton.

Yes, Heath Barton. Here he was, standing smack in the middle of the holiday market. His jet-black hair blew across his dark eyebrows and a smile played on his full lips. Maxine noticed that his leather jacket hung open, revealing a black turtleneck and black jeans ripped at the knees. Dazedly, she wondered why he wasn’t freezing, until she realized that his own out-of-this-world hotness must have been keeping him nice and toasty. Maxine felt her body temperature climbing by the second.

“Madeline,” Heath repeated with utter assurance, his square-jawed face now breaking into a wide grin. “From high school. You remember me, right?”

You could say that.

“Oh … sure,” Maxine said, doing her best imitation of breeziness. She cocked her head to one side, studying him. “Heath … Barton, is it?” As he nodded, eyes glinting, she added, “And it’s not Madeline, by the way. I’m Maxine. Maxine Silver.”

Not that she necessarily expected Heath Barton to remember her name. Back in high school, he’d been the ringleader of the rich-boy slackers and always had some pouty girlfriend—Maxine had nicknamed them “Heathies”—on his arm. Ensconced in her artsy circle of friends, Maxine had outwardly mocked Heath and his ilk but, as Tara well knew, went all jelly-kneed at the sight of him. And there’d been certain moments—right after she’d won first prize in the talent contest for her guitar performance of a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah song, for instance—that Maxine had caught Heath shooting her inquisitive glances that had clearly meant Hmm … maybe sometime. Maxine had been counting on New Year’s, but maybe the time was, well, right now.

Or could have been now, had she not been wearing the leopard-print hat with earflaps.

Just as Maxine’s hands were reaching up to remove the unfortunate accessory, Heath stepped forward, eliminating the space between them. “Maxine—that’s right,” he said, laughing softly. “My bad. I was close though, huh?”

He was certainly getting close. Maxine barely had time to notice that Heath smelled like wood smoke and cider and spice—and that he’d somehow become even hotter since high school—before he plucked the ridiculous hat off her head, his fingers brushing her sideswept bangs. As he set the hat down on the counter beside them, Maxine frantically tried to mash her post-hat hair back into some semblance of place.

“Don’t do that.” Heath chuckled. “You’re ruining the cuteness effect.”

Oh no. Maxine wasn’t a big blusher, but now she felt an unavoidable warmth stealing up her neck. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, grinning back at Heath even as her heart drummed like mad. Tara, wait until I text you now!

“So catch me up, Maxine Silver,” Heath drawled, resting one elbow on the counter as his eyes held hers. “College adventures, crimes, scandals, holiday plans?”

Maxine shrugged, not wanting to spoil the enchanted moment with either generic college stories or her litany of winter-break woes. “You know, the usual, I guess,” she replied, hoping the conversation would steer its way back to the subject of her supposed cuteness.

“I’m stoked to be out of New Haven,” Heath confessed with a world-weary sigh, running a hand through his floppy hair. “There’s nothing like winter in the city—chilling with my boys, helping out my dad at his store—” Heath paused meaningfully, and raised an eyebrow at Maxine. “Oh—I’m not sure if you know who my dad—I mean—” He ducked his head.

Maxine nodded. “I know,” she whispered. Everyone knew who Heath’s father was: Cecil Barton III, owner of Barton’s, the sumptuous jewel box of a department store on Fifth Avenue. Maxine remembered the buzz Mr. Barton, in his bow tie and bowler hat, had created at their graduation alongside Heath’s mother, who was an equally famous—and stunning—Japanese former supermodel.

“I’m actually here for my dad today,” Heath was saying. “Doing market research—to check out the competition and all.” With a slight air of distaste, he gestured to the packed stalls around them. “Technically I’m supposed to be on my lunch break but we’re so swamped at the store that I’ve got to mix business with pleasure.” Maxine was forcing herself not to fixate on the word pleasure coming out of Heath’s mouth when he rolled his long-lashed eyes and went on. “It’s madness over there—one of our salespeople quit this morning so the manager wasn’t giving me a moment’s rest. I was all like, ‘Mr. Perry, can I at least grab a latte?’ and he was like—”

“Wait.” The word had escaped Maxine’s lips almost without her realizing it. Swamped at the store. Salesperson quit. She felt inspiration flood through her body, making her skin prickle and her breath catch. She found she couldn’t move. “There’s—there’s an opening at Barton’s?” she asked. Furiously, her mind fought to process this incredible piece of information. An opening, just when she most needed a job? An opening at the very place where Heath Barton himself was working?

It was a freaking Hanukkah miracle.

“Uh-huh,” Heath said distractedly, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out his phone. Then he lifted his head and met Maxine’s gaze, which she knew must have been wild-eyed and borderline manic. She tried to compose her features into a mask of glamorous sophistication, but then Heath’s own eyes widened, and his lips parted. “Maxine, are you interested?” he murmured. He tilted his head to one side, clearly sizing her up—though for what, Maxine wasn’t sure. Then Heath spoke again, sending all the blood rushing to her face.

“You’d be perfect” was what Heath Barton said. “Perfect for the position.”

The flattery roared in Maxine’s ears, half drowning out the rest of what Heath was saying—something about how she should go see Mr. Perry now if she was seriously interested, because those types of positions were usually snatched up right away.

“I can totally stop by Barton’s now,” Maxine exclaimed. She almost burst into laughter over her unexpectedly sweet fortune. “Want to walk back with me?” she added casually, as if the thought of an afternoon stroll with Heath wasn’t making her belly flip over.

“I’d love to, Maxine,” Heath replied, knitting his brows together, while Maxine decided that she could never tire of hearing her name in his deep voice. “Only I still need to run a couple of errands for my dad. But hey—” He took another step closer, rested a hand on the sleeve of her corduroy jacket, and gave her arm a small squeeze. “Good luck, okay? If you get the position, maybe I’ll see you at the store tomorrow?”

Forget maybe. Maxine Silver was going for the gold.

She could still feel the warmth of Heath’s hand on her arm moments later, as she flew down Central Park South, passing the Essex House and the Plaza, unable to stop grinning. Working at Barton’s! Visions of free makeup, marked-down jeans, and, most tantalizing of all, daily doses of Heath Barton danced in her head. Maybe while she was folding cashmere sweaters, Heath would swing by and suggest they mix business and pleasure together. Maxine giggled out loud at the thought, prompting a curious glance from a family waiting in line for a horse-and-carriage ride. Normally Maxine would have ignored them, but she was so suffused with goodwill that she waved a mittened hand at the pigtailed little girl.

Her scarf streaming behind her like a victory flag, Maxine rounded onto Fifth Avenue, where a giant, sparkling white snowflake hung overhead, as it did every holiday season. Panting and a little sweaty from her impromptu workout, Maxine paused on the corner of 58th Street and stared up at the snowflake as if it were her personal good-luck pendant. Please, please let me get the job, she prayed silently.

Then she pulled her compact out of her bag and did a scan of her flushed face. Her hands unsteady, she brushed the powder puff over her upturned nose and across her red cheeks, and made one last attempt at flattening her unruly hair. She was as ready as she’d ever be. You can rock this, she told herself, imagining the pep talk Tara would have given her had she been there. Tossing her head back, Maxine whirled around and pulled open the heavy double doors of Barton’s.

Ah.

Classical music filtered down past the soft white globes dangling from the arched ceiling. The walls were painted a creamy color, except for the farthest one, which was dominated by a black-and-pink mural of a high-heeled woman walking a poodle in London. That poodle, Maxine knew, was Barton’s logo—the image that appeared on every shopping bag, gift box, and advertisement. It was a little bizarre to associate the poodle with Heath Barton, and Maxine pressed her lips together to keep from snorting. Remain elegant, she told herself, drifting inside.

Maxine hadn’t been to Barton’s in years, and now she breathed in everything anew. A long glass perfume counter, dotted with crimson poinsettias, rippled through the center of the store like a clear river. Behind the counter, chic salespeople murmured to one another as they sprayed customers’ wrists with designer scents. I could work there, Maxine realized. But then there was the makeup counter across the store, where white-jacketed men and women wielded gold-plated eyebrow pencils. Maxine figured she could be a quick study when it came to doing makeovers.

And then, toward the back of the store, the luckiest of salespeople flitted through racks of clothes like fairies in a colorful forest. Sighing with appreciation, Maxine let her fingers dance over velvet jackets, silky dresses, and fuzzy cardigans. As she advanced toward the back office, where Heath had told her to go, she passed two winding staircases, and noticed that one led down to a cavernous space devoted solely to shoes. And that’s where I want to be stationed, Maxine decided with a smile, reaching the slightly ajar door to the manager’s office.

Maxine knocked once and then pushed the door all the way open to reveal a skinny young man with a goatee, wearing a button-down shirt, necktie, and burgundy-framed glasses. He was sitting at a cluttered desk, frantically typing something on a laptop in between taking bites of a Krispy Kreme doughnut. A jar full of candy canes sat on the windowsill, the only nod to the season. This image didn’t quite jibe with Barton’s high fashion vibe, but Maxine didn’t care—she’d made it to the inner sanctum.

“Mr. Perry?” Maxine ventured, and the man glanced up from his laptop, lifting his glasses to his forehead and squinting at Maxine.

“You lost, honey?” he asked. “The fitting rooms are downstairs, with the shoes—”

“Mr. Perry, Heath Barton told me to come see you,” Maxine interjected hurriedly. She felt a small glow of pride at being able to toss that powerful name around.

But to Maxine’s surprise, Mr. Perry only sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Did he? Enlighten me. What could the ever-helpful young heir have sent you here for?” Then Mr. Perry shook his head and feigned a look of horror. “But shhh. We can’t be caught talking like that about the boss’s son.” As he spoke, Mr. Perry pointed over his shoulder to a framed painting on the wall of Cecil Barton III himself, who gazed down imperiously in his ever-present bow tie and bowler hat. “I think the old man’s bugged the office, to tell you the truth.”

Despite herself, Maxine felt her lips twitch. She couldn’t help but like Mr. Perry.

“Well,” Maxine began, casting a look at the paperwork on Mr. Perry’s desk and realizing with a sinking sensation that she should have brought her resume. And references. And—oh, God—how could she have been so stupid, dashing over here on a whim? Suddenly Maxine understood how glaringly unprepared she was for this job. She had no experience in retail. She was filled with the urge to turn around and walk out as surely as she’d come in. They’d never take her at Barton’s.

“Yeah?” Mr. Perry prompted, still squinting at Maxine as if she were an oversized insect who’d fluttered her way into his office.

Figuring she had nothing to lose, Maxine took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Heath told me that there was an opening for a salesperson, and that he thought I’d be—”

Mr. Perry’s jaw dropped and he shifted his glasses back into place, staring at Maxine. “Perfect,” he finished for her, and Maxine felt a chill race down her spine. The exact same word Heath had used. “God, yes,” Mr. Perry went on, his face lighting up with wonder. “Maybe that kid isn’t totally useless. Come in, come in—what’s your name?” Mr. Perry asked, motioning for Maxine to take a seat in the chair across from him.

In a matter of minutes, to Maxine’s amazement, everything was squared away: Mr. Perry, all excitement, informed her of the pay (which was higher than Maxine had expected) and told her that the position was a temporary one, only running until December 24. Maxine took this as good news, since she’d be returning to college in January. After she had eagerly agreed to Mr. Perry’s request that she start tomorrow at nine A.M. sharp, the manager ceremoniously handed her a few forms to fill out, and that was that.

“You just need to try on your costume, and then we’ll be set,” Mr. Perry said, getting to his feet and heading toward the wardrobe in the corner. “I’m sure it will fit fine, but it might need to be taken in here and there.”

Maxine, who had been hastily signing her name on a dotted line, glanced up, startled. Costume? Mr. Perry must have been referring to the white-jacketed uniform Maxine had seen on the makeup people. She was about to ask him if she could get a lesson in applying foundation when Mr. Perry turned toward her with a dramatic “Voilà!”

But Mr. Perry wasn’t holding up a starched white jacket.

No.

He was holding up a bright-green long-sleeved leotard, a red cotton drawstring miniskirt, green-and-white-striped tights, and a plastic headband with enormous, pointy, green plastic ears on either end.

It was an elf costume.

Maxine’s stomach lurched. “Um—I—I think—” I think there’s been a mistake, she wanted to say, but she was too stunned to force the words from her throat.

“You can change in there,” Mr. Perry told her. He gestured to an adjoining room, oblivious to the color rapidly draining from Maxine’s face. “It’s the employee dressing room.”

“But—” Maxine’s voice came out raspy, and she coughed. “Where am I supposed to wear that?” she whispered hoarsely. Maybe trying on the costume was part of some weird Barton’s initiation ceremony. She cast a glance up at Cecil Barton III, who glared back at her.

Mr. Perry furrowed his brow. “Upstairs. In our Christmas Corner? Didn’t Heath tell you? Our second floor is devoted to all things Christmas this time of year. That’s why, when our only elf quit on us, we needed a replacement so badly.”

Maxine felt the pen slip out from between her fingers. It fell to the floor with a clatter.

You have got to be kidding me.

Maxine glanced down at her signature on the paper, her body going numb. Getting to her feet and running from the office seemed like the best possible plan, but Maxine also knew that would be the cowardly way out. Heath had gone to the trouble of telling her about this position, Mr. Perry seemed so hopeful to have her on board, and she’d already signed all the forms … The least she could do was try on the stupid costume. The get-up probably wouldn’t even fit, or it would look so howlingly awful on her that Mr. Perry would assign her to some other post in the store.

Feeling as if she were moving through molasses, Maxine walked over to Mr. Perry to accept the clothes. Maxine started toward the dressing room, when, as if from a great distance, she heard the manager speak again.

“We can’t forget the shoes,” he said, holding out a pair of green satin slip-ons with toes that curled up at the tips. “Without them, the outfit doesn’t really work, you know?”

Inside the cramped changing room, as she stripped off her jeans and hoodie, Maxine had a flashback to the fitting room where she’d tried on The Dress. Only now she wasn’t wriggling into a luscious gold confection, but a pair of thick tights and a stretchy, itchy leotard. Kill me. She was careful not to face the mirror, even when she adjusted the faux ears over her own, securing them in place with the plastic headband that went over her hair. Next came the shoes, into which Maxine’s size-five feet slid with surprising ease. Right as she was bracing herself to turn and survey the damage, Mr. Perry knocked.

“Ready?” he asked and Maxine opened the door for him. “Oh, wow,” he gasped, his eyes growing round behind his glasses. “Look at you!”

Cringing, Maxine turned to face her reflection—and her heart sank. Because, in that instant, she understood why everyone had thought her so “perfect” for the job. She looked like an elf, the pointy ears emphasizing her delicate features and close-cropped hair, the striped tights and upturned shoes somehow working on her tiny frame. As much as it pained Maxine to admit it, the entire costume fit as if it had been made specifically for her.

And, glancing at Mr. Perry’s rapt expression, Maxine knew there was no way she could turn and run out of his office now. She was in too deep. Besides, she reminded herself, she did need a job. And maybe she wouldn’t have to wear the elf costume constantly. Maybe she could change out of it for her lunch breaks, and hide from Heath the rest of the time.

Facing her new boss, Maxine held her breath and gave Mr. Perry a quick nod.

Yes, sir, I’d love to be subjected to public humiliation.

Mr. Perry smiled and extended a hand toward her, message clearly received. “Welcome to Barton’s,” he said. “And merry Christmas!”

“Happy Hanukkah!” Maxine heard her stepdad, Scott Levy, call as she dragged herself into her apartment that evening. The strains of her mother’s cello drifted toward her, along with the rich scent of potato pancakes. Maxine’s stomach growled; after the insane events of that afternoon, she was mentally and physically drained.

“Happy happy,” Maxine muttered in response, kicking off her boots in the foyer. Her mind still on elves, Mr. Perry, and Heath Barton, she headed into the cozy living room, where her mother sat on a low stool, her curly black hair falling into her eyes as she practiced. Scott’s own cello was propped up in the corner, beside the oak bookshelves. Scott himself stood at the dining room table, holding a box of Hanukkah candles in one hand. The family’s menorah was perched before him with four candles in place, waiting to be lit.

“Why so glum, Max?” Scott inquired, shooting Maxine a boyish grin. It wasn’t all that difficult for Maxine’s stepdad to look boyish—because he was only twenty-nine years old. As in: eleven years older than Maxine, and many more years younger than Maxine’s mother. Scott’s age made it all the harder for Maxine to remotely see him as anything parental.

“I got a job today,” Maxine replied over the cello music, reaching for the plate of latkes on the table. “At a department store.” For obvious reasons, she didn’t feel like elaborating. She could just imagine Scott doing some lame Will-Ferrell-in-Elf impersonation. Studying the menorah and the latkes before her, Maxine couldn’t quite believe that in a matter of hours she’d be dressed as one of Santa’s helpers and selling Christmas tree ornaments. Talk about culture shock.

“Mazel tov, Max—that’s so cool!” Scott exclaimed, his expression bright and earnest. As always, Maxine felt a pinch of guilt for how she treated Scott—he wasn’t a bad guy, but she wished he’d stop trying so hard to be her BFF. At the same time, she didn’t want him playing the Dad role, either. Maxine already had a father—who, at the moment, just happened to be living on a kibbutz in Israel. That was where he’d run off to three years ago, when he’d decided that being an attorney was destroying his hippie soul.

“What’s this about a job?” Maxine’s mother called. She stopped playing and hurried over to the table, the bell sleeves of her floaty black dress swinging back and forth. Rather than wait for Maxine’s response, she snuggled up to Scott, sliding her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his light-brown hair. “I missed you, Shmoopy,” she whispered.

I’m going to be ill, Maxine thought, dropping her half-eaten latke on a napkin. “You missed him from all the way across the room?” she couldn’t help but ask, rolling her eyes.

“Maxine, please drop the sarcasm for one night,” her mother snapped, giving Maxine a quick, dismissive glance before turning her attention back to Shmoopy.

Maxine managed to keep the rest of her comments to herself as Scott lit the menorah and recited the Hebrew blessing. Although it was her second Hanukkah with Scott there, Maxine didn’t think she’d ever get used to seeing him in the role that had once been her father’s. As the small, teardrop-shaped flames wavered on the candles and Maxine half-heartedly joined in singing “Rock of Ages,” her throat tightened. Not just because she was feeling nostalgic for Hanukkahs past, but because, watching her mom and Scott hold hands, she felt a pang of longing. Suddenly Maxine wished she were spending this sweet, warm holiday not with her mom and stepdad—or even her real dad—but with someone sweet and warm, an adorable guy who would actually care about the job she’d gotten that day, and want to hold her hand while singing.

Heath. Glancing down, Maxine smiled to herself as anticipation rippled through her. Despite her ten thousand qualms about working in the Christmas Corner, the plain fact remained: She’d be seeing Heath Barton tomorrow—and every single day for the next week. And that, Maxine hoped, might just be worth the epic mortification of those pointy ears.

At nine twenty the next morning, Maxine, in all her elfin glory, anxiously ascended the winding staircase to Barton’s Christmas Corner. She was about to meet her direct supervisor, Sandy Teasdale, whom Mr. Perry had explained would be waiting for Maxine upstairs. When Maxine had come to his office to pick up her costume, the manager had told her that though she needed to be there early for her first day, the other salespeople didn’t show up until nine thirty because the store opened to the public at ten. Placing one curly-toed foot on the second-floor landing, Maxine wondered when Heath got in, and her heart leaped.

“Elf?” a brusque voice demanded, and Maxine gave a start, glancing up.

In the middle of a red-and-green-painted space crammed to the hilt with Christmas stockings, reindeer figurines, life-size candy canes, and countless other sparkly objects, stood a tall, unsmiling woman in her mid-forties. She wore a high-necked green tweed suit and green pumps, and her wavy red hair tumbled out from beneath a velvet Santa hat. She was holding a clipboard and scowling at Maxine.

“Sandy?” Maxine guessed.

Sandy didn’t look up from her clipboard as she fired off a stern monologue. “As a Christmas Corner employee, you are responsible for assisting our customers in their quest for the perfect Christmas-oriented item, be it a handmade Advent calendar, a ruby Rudolph nose, or a blown-glass angel. Apart from a half-hour lunch break, you must constantly be on hand to offer purchasing advice, wrap gifts, and spread holiday cheer. Do I make myself clear?”

Maxine gulped. “Um, could you clarify the ‘holiday cheer’ part?” she asked.

Sandy nodded briskly. “Once a day, whenever I give the signal, you and the other Christmas Corner employees will gather over there”—she pointed toward a spot near a display of chocolate snowmen—“and break into a song of my choosing.” Sandy cleared her throat and consulted the clipboard. “Today’s is ‘Winter Wonderland.’”

Maxine wondered if she was being punished for a crime committed in a former life. “The other employees?” she repeated, since it was easier to focus on that than the song issue. Until now, Maxine hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of costumed coworkers who would share in her misery.

Sandy lifted her chin and pointed over Maxine’s shoulder. “Here they come now.”

Turning around, Maxine watched with mingled trepidation and curiosity as two guys and a girl—all about her age—trooped over. The girl was gorgeous, with dark-brown skin, a long neck, and a straight, graceful carriage. She wore her curly brown hair pinned up in a bun, upon which rested a silver tiara. With a stab of jealousy, Maxine took in the rest of her costume: a white top with wings attached to the back, and a pale pink tutu. Maxine wished she’d been lucky enough to snag the pretty ballet costume. Then she turned her attention to the guys. One of them, who had straight blond hair and freckles, wore a scarlet military-style suit complete with epaulets and gold buttons, and carried a black box-shaped hat under his arm. At his side was a short, pale guy with shoulder-length brown hair. He wore a red jogging suit and black boots, and a Santa hat swung casually from his hand.

“Meet the Sugarplum Fairy, the Nutcracker Prince, and Santa Claus,” Sandy told Maxine in her flat, hard monotone. Pursing her lips at Santa Claus, she added, “Where on earth is your beard?”

Santa’s mouth dropped open and his dreamy eyes widened. “Oh, dude. I knew I forgot something.” Scratching his head, he turned and headed back downstairs as Maxine watched him, fighting the urge to crack up.

“Nutcracker, please fill Elf in on the rest,” Sandy was saying. “I need to set up the register before we open.”

Feeling new-girl-at-school-ish, Maxine turned to face her two colleagues, and raised her eyebrows at them, twisting her hands behind her back.

Nutcracker grinned, his blue-gray eyes dancing. “The first thing I should tell you is that, believe it or not, we all have real names. This is Claudette Lambert,” he explained, gesturing to the Fairy, who gave Maxine a welcoming smile. “Santa’s Daniel Matheson, and I’m Avery Prince.”

“Prince?” Maxine felt a wry smile tug on her lips. “For real? So you just swapped ‘Avery’ for ‘Nutcracker’ to get this job?” Maxine hoped she wasn’t offending the guy; her mom often chided her about not thinking before she spoke.

But Nutcracker—or, rather, Avery—only shook his head, still smiling. “One of those lucky coincidences, I guess,” he replied cheerily.

Oh God. Maxine groaned inwardly. Mr. Blond Sunshine was clearly lacking in the humor department.

When Santa/Daniel returned, hat cockeyed on his head and frothy white beard covering his chin, Maxine hurriedly introduced herself to the trio, accepting the fact that, like it or not, she was one of them now.

Then Avery gave her another aw-shucks smile. “Let me show you our wrapping station,” he said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. As Maxine reluctantly turned to follow him, her curly-toed slipper made contact with a stack of yule logs, and she tripped, stumbling forward a few paces. Great. Not like Claudette’s prima-ballerina presence wasn’t already making her feel like the biggest klutz alive. At least Heath wasn’t around to witness her smooth moves.

“Easy there, Ms. Elf,” Daniel said, taking hold of Maxine’s shoulder. “You cool?” Maxine couldn’t make out Daniel’s mouth behind the beard but his brown eyes were smiling, and she smiled back. She suspected that Slacker Santa’s chill vibe might make her time at the Christmas Corner slightly more bearable.

“I’m grand,” Maxine replied. “I mean, who doesn’t enjoy strolling in elf shoes?” Daniel and Claudette glanced at each other, chuckling.

“Well, our last elf, for one,” Avery chimed in with predictable earnestness. He motioned for Maxine to join him at a counter that was strewn with tubes of red, gold, and green wrapping paper.

“Yeah, why did she quit?” Maxine asked, feeling a prickle of intrigue. “Or was it death by embarrassment?”

Claudette shook her head. “She got a job at the fry station at Burger Heaven.”

Maxine nodded, her worst fears confirmed. So dunking your gloved hands into vats of hot oil was preferable to working the elf gig at Barton’s.

Maxine walked—carefully—over to Avery at the gift wrap counter.

“Wrapping gifts, in my humble opinion, is the second-best part of our job,” Avery was saying, resting his boxy hat on the counter. “People are so grateful, when all you’ve really done is slap on some paper and Scotch tape—”

“Um, sorry,” Maxine cut in, annoyed beyond belief by Avery’s ode to gift wrapping. “There’s a first best part to our job? Like what, leaving for the day?”

Avery glanced at Maxine, furrowing his brow. “Wow. Are you always this cynical?” he asked, his tone matter-of-fact.

Maxine rolled her eyes. She was a native New Yorker, for God’s sake—she was allowed a little cynicism now and then. Meanwhile, she’d bet anything that Nutcracker Prince wasn’t from here. He’d probably grown up in a ranch house, called his dad “Pop,” and got really into Christmas.

“My favorite part is the kids,” Avery was saying, fastening his black hat on over his blond head. “You’ll see—they get so psyched about the smallest things and—”

“I can imagine,” Maxine said, picturing a screaming brood of five-year-olds fighting over the display of gourmet candy apples.

On cue, she heard a cacophony of excited voices streaming up the staircase, along with a boy whining, “Mom, can I get a toy sleigh this year, please, can I, can I?” Glancing at the clock above the cash register, Maxine’s stomach sank. It was ten o’clock. Barton’s was open for business. No turning back now.

“Well, here we go,” Avery said, tipping the brim of his soldier’s hat to Maxine and flashing her a grin. “Good luck, Maxine.”

As Avery marched off, Maxine scanned the faces of the people swarming upstairs, hoping to catch sight of her crush’s messy black hair and sly smile. But Heath was nowhere to be seen, and soon the entire space was so flooded with customers that Maxine had no time to dwell on finding him.

Haggard-looking parents, grandparents, and nannies—with grabby toddlers in tow—descended upon Maxine at once. Where are the hand-painted Belgian eggnog ladles? Is that Christmas tree for sale? Do you carry faux-fur stockings? “Um, it’s my first day,” Maxine replied, breaking out in a sweat and searching for some colleague to come to her aid. But Sandy was at the register, Claudette was pirouetting around the snow globe display, Daniel was half dozing behind the gift wrap counter, and Avery was good-naturedly posing for a photo with a pack of little boys. Maxine tried to answer the storm of questions as they came, but she was distracted by countless elbows in her ribs and a random baby yanking on her elf ears each time he passed by in his father’s arms. The fact that she made it through the morning without getting trampled seemed a small triumph.

Lunch, Maxine learned, consisted of egg salad sandwiches provided by Sandy, and Maxine wolfed hers down while sitting alone on a carton in the back storage room. So much for changing out of her elf costume and meeting Heath; the half hour barely allowed her time to finish chewing her food and to tug up her striped tights, which were bunching around the knees.

By three o’clock, the mad rush had trickled down enough for Maxine to do a quick spin around the Corner, mentally taking note of where the Belgian eggnog ladles and various other items were kept. When an elderly woman cradling a Chihuahua demanded that Maxine find her the priciest tree ornament in the shop, Maxine produced a Swarovski-crystal-encrusted star in five seconds flat, and couldn’t help feeling a flush of pride. But just as Maxine was handing over the ornament, she heard Sandy calling her and the others over to the chocolate snowmen display.

The singing portion of the afternoon, Maxine realized. Dread gripped her as she watched Sandy set up speakers. Daniel, Avery, and Claudette gathered in a semicircle. Her palms clammy, Maxine headed over, positioned herself between Avery and Claudette, and accepted the sheet of lyrics from Sandy. As the opening chords of “Winter Wonderland” filled the Christmas Corner, Sandy stood before her four employees and held her arms out on either side like a conductor. Maxine wondered how her mom and stepdad, the music snobs, would react to this moment. Some customers reacted by stopping and staring, while others continued milling about, indifferent to or perhaps familiar with this act of lunacy.

“One, two, three … Sleigh bells ring!” Sandy sang at the top of her lungs, swooping her arms in and out.

“Are you listening?” Claudette, Avery, and Daniel chimed right in, singing in loud unison over the backup track pouring out of the speakers. “In the lane, snow is glistening …”

Maxine remained frozen in horror.

Avery lightly nudged her with his elbow, indicating that she should add her voice to the chorus, and Maxine felt a spark of irritation. What a kiss-up, she thought, glancing over at him; true to form, he was singing with abandon, not even referring to the lyrics in his hand. Meanwhile Claudette was trilling in a beautiful soprano, practically auditioning for the opera. But thankfully Daniel was stumbling over the words—“in the snowman we can build a meadow”—and when Maxine caught his eye, he made a face. Feeling a little better, Maxine started singing along, realizing she was familiar with the lyrics. After all, Christmas music played on a near-constant loop inside every store and taxicab the minute Thanksgiving ended; over the years, something had clearly sunken in.

Out in the crowd, a nanny and her young charge joined in the singing, and someone else cheered. Maxine felt a laugh building in her. Somehow the moment was so ludicrous that it was almost … fun. She’d forgotten the pure pleasure that came with singing; sometimes it didn’t matter what the music was. As long as no one she actually knew was watching—

Oh no.

Maxine was belting out the part about your nose getting a “chilling” when she spotted a face in the crowd that made her voice catch. Heath Barton was standing a few feet away, a Starbucks venti cup in one hand and sunglasses hiding his hazel eyes. As the corner of his mouth lifted in a teasing grin, he raised his cup toward Maxine in greeting, and her face turned so hot she was sure it matched Daniel’s Santa suit.

“Congrats,” Heath said, strolling over to Maxine a few minutes later, once all the customers had dutifully applauded.

“You mean on surviving that?” Maxine asked, out of breath. Heath’s nearness was making her pulse accelerate. She brushed her sweaty bangs off her forehead, wondering if she could duck behind the Christmas tree and pull herself together. Her elf ears felt like they might be askew.

“On getting the job, silly,” Heath replied, taking a sip from his cup. “Having a good morning so far?”

Maxine blinked up at him in confusion. “Heath, it’s like three thirty.”

“Is it?” Heath removed his shades and checked his phone. “Oh, man, whenever I wake up at noon, it throws my whole day off.” He glanced over as Claudette, Avery, and Daniel passed by. “’Sup, Claudette?” he called. “Heard you got the lead in Swan Lake. Nice.” He shot her a winning smile and then looked back at Maxine. “She’s a dancer at Juilliard,” he explained, lowering his voice.

Of course, Maxine thought, glancing at Claudette, who returned Heath’s smile and said something to Avery and Daniel. Maxine noticed that all three of them were watching her and Heath with interest. She knew her coworkers must have been curious about Maxine’s connection to Barton’s heir.

“I need to jet—I’m having lunch with my dad’s accountant,” Heath was saying, touching Maxine’s shoulder to get her attention. “Lately I’ve been more involved with the business side of the store,” he added, and motioned to the cash register. “It all comes down to bills, bills, bills in the end. You know what I mean?”

“I guess,” Maxine replied, thinking that actually it all came down to Heath’s hand on her shoulder right then.

“Speaking of,” Heath went on, sliding his hand from Maxine’s shoulder down to her arm, making her stomach jump. “We should do lunch sometime.”

Maxine nodded, trying to keep a poker face. “But I’ve only got half an hour,” she explained. “Maybe instead we could—” She paused, wondering if it would be too forward to ask about nighttime plans. She pictured herself and Heath, hands linked, strolling along Fifth Avenue and gazing into the glowing window displays as snow drifted down on them. They would stop to watch the ice skaters at Rockefeller Center and …

“No worries,” Heath said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I’ll talk to Mr. Perry, pull some strings to get you more free time.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink, slowly removed his hand from her arm, and turned to go while Maxine watched him, melting. “And, hey, Maxine?” Heath added, glancing back at her before he descended the staircase. “You make some elf.”

Before Sandy could scold her for standing around doing nothing, Maxine hurried toward the gift wrap counter, her heart racing. She was dying to text Tara to confer about whether or not You make some elf was code for I love you.

That week at Barton’s, Heath gave Maxine endless fodder for texts, since he visited the Christmas Corner daily, always delivering a flirtatious remark (“Hot tights, Silver”), and, once, a kiss on the cheek. The kiss came after a disastrous group rendition of “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing,” so when Heath unexpectedly leaned close, whispered, “Nice work,” and pressed his warm lips to Maxine’s skin, it felt like a reward. Maxine took a step back and grinned up at him. Daniel, Claudette, and Avery were lingering nearby, but Maxine was barely aware of her coworkers, or the rest of the Christmas Corner crush around her.

“I’m sorry I haven’t made good on that lunch date,” Heath said, his hand lightly brushing the spot he had kissed as he moved a strand of hair off Maxine’s face. “I promise I’ll talk to Mr. Perry once my schedule has calmed down a little.”

“You do that,” Maxine replied, although she wasn’t sure what exactly was keeping him so busy. After only a few days at Barton’s, she’d realized that Heath didn’t technically “work”—he floated, drifting from one part of the store to the other, coming and going at odd hours to conduct “market research,” and chatting up the girls who worked at the perfume counter to “assess employee satisfaction.” But Maxine couldn’t quibble; their flirtations by the Christmas tree, however brief, were still delicious oases in the midst of all those giant candy canes and shrieking children.

Though it turned out that Heath Barton wasn’t the only bright spot in her existence as an elf. Those shrieking children, for instance, could actually be pretty darn cute. On her second day, Maxine had a bonding moment with a wide-eyed little girl who tugged on her hand and asked if she really worked in Santa’s toy shop. “Yes, and I’ll make some extras for you this year!” Maxine had replied, startled by the sweetness of her own response. As the girl’s face lit up, Maxine wondered if Avery hadn’t been so off base after all. And though Maxine wasn’t in love with gift wrapping just yet, helping frantic customers could be weirdly rewarding. Once she’d familiarized herself with the layout of the store, Maxine became something of an expert at digging up obscure items—from extra-large Santa suits to the last remaining Prancer figurine—and presenting them to people who were near tears. “Ask Maxine” became a catchphrase among her coworkers, and hearing those words gave Maxine a warm rush of pride.

Maxine’s coworkers had turned out to be another not-so-bad aspect of the job. Despite her predilection for doing tour jetés across the Christmas Corner, Claudette was as sweet as her job title promised; during lunch, she and Maxine sometimes snuck downstairs to ooh and ahh over new clothing shipments. Even Avery’s boundless enthusiasm, which had irked Maxine from the start, could be refreshing at times, especially when he volunteered to take over cleanup duty at the end of a long, grueling day. And Daniel’s whatever-dude philosophy proved as comforting as Maxine had predicted, though his tendency to take naps under the Christmas tree got annoying.

Mostly, though, Maxine was glad to have compatriots under Sandy’s tyrannical rule. One sleet-drenched morning, when Sandy was stuck in traffic and running late, Avery offered to head out to the corner café and pick up mochas for everyone. With some time to kill before ten, the foursome gathered around the register with their drinks and swapped stories about what had brought them to Barton’s.

“Houston,” Claudette sighed in her tinkly voice, cupping her chin in her hands and gazing off into the distance. “I just need to afford a plane ticket home to Houston for Christmas, and then everything will be okay.”

“How so?” Maxine asked, sipping her mocha. As usual, Daniel and Avery were staring at Claudette in utter, silent devotion, as if every word she breathed were gospel.

Claudette lifted her shoulders, her wings fluttering behind her. “Lance,” she explained. “My love. He’s there, waiting for me. It’s not really Christmas if we’re not together.”

Maxine fought the urge to roll her eyes while Daniel and Avery both looked crestfallen at this news.

“I’m feeling you on the plane ticket front,” Daniel spoke up, fiddling with his Santa beard. “Otherwise, I’ll need to hitch a ride to San Diego. My parents will—no joke—assassinate me if I’m not home for Christmas. My family’s nuts.”

Maxine nodded, thinking that she could relate to that. Meanwhile, Avery asked Daniel if that was why he moved out east in the first place.

“Not really,” Daniel replied, shifting his beard back into place. “I’m a film student at The New School. I took this job because I want to make a documentary about department-store Santas. It’s gonna be, like, Oscar-worthy. When I get around to doing it, that is.”

“Cool,” Avery replied. Glancing at Maxine, he bit his lower lip and a dimple appeared in his left cheek. Maxine wondered if, like her, he was trying not to laugh. It was odd to share a moment of connection with Avery, but then Maxine brushed the feeling aside. He may have been good-looking—in a generic, vanilla sort of way—but he was so not someone Maxine would even be friends with outside this job.

“What about you?” Maxine asked Avery, breaking their gaze and focusing on her mocha. “Why Barton’s?”

“I’m studying acting at Tisch—you know, New York University?” Avery explained. “I figured this job would be good practice for an aspiring actor. And I’m from Illinois, so—”

“Illinois?” Maxine repeated, grinning, and Avery nodded, taking a sip of his mocha. Bingo! she thought. Her Midwesterner radar never failed her.

Next it was Maxine’s turn, but she couldn’t very well say that she’d taken the position to spend time with Heath Barton. So she went the bald-faced-lie route and explained that she’d wanted a job that involved singing, since she was into music. She also mumbled something about wanting to afford a certain dress, but that reason didn’t seem quite as noble as making it home for Christmas.

But at closing time on December 23, Maxine didn’t care about being noble. Because that evening—the evening before their last official day—Sandy was handing out paychecks. As soon as Maxine received the flat envelope, she bid her coworkers good night and tore downstairs into the employee changing room. She had two clear goals, and they flashed before her like road signs: Bank. Dress. Bank. Dress. The boutique was still open for another thirty minutes. She was going to make this happen; she hadn’t suffered for six days in vain.

The downstairs salespeople were quietly organizing stacks of handbags as Maxine thundered past them, her burnt-orange peacoat flapping behind her. She was zeroing in on the double doors when Heath Barton suddenly appeared and blocked her way.

“You can’t leave now,” Heath told her, holding up the palm of one hand and smiling devilishly. “I forbid you.”

Maxine hadn’t seen Heath yet that day and normally would have welcomed any excuse to return his playful banter. But tonight was an exception. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Heath, stop it. I have to be somewhere.”

“Not in those ears you don’t,” Heath shot back, his grin deepening.

“Wha—?” Maxine touched the sides of her head to confirm, and sure enough, her pointy friends were still in place. Trying not to blush, Maxine yanked them off and crammed them into her messenger bag. She could well imagine the sight she would have made.

Citywide police alert! There’s a fugitive elf running up Fifth Avenue!

“Listen, Maxine,” Heath said, and he moved in close to her, so close that she could feel the warmth coming off him and smell his smoke-and-cider scent. Maxine’s pulse had already been going nuts from her mad dash through Barton’s; now it shot up to an emergency-room rate. “I talked to Mr. Perry today, so we’re on for lunch tomorrow,” Heath continued, his voice deep and private. “I’ll come pick you up around noon?”

Finally! Maxine felt a swell of anticipation as she met Heath’s gaze. What a glorious way to celebrate her last day at Barton’s. She hoped they’d go someplace cozy and low-lit, maybe with a fireplace and waiters serving something gross-but-fancy, like caviar on toast. It would be, quite simply, the best lunch of Maxine Silver’s life. “Sounds good,” she told Heath, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Heath nodded, and a look of gratitude passed over his handsome face. “Terrific,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time, and, well—” He smiled and pushed a hand through his black hair. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

Oh … my … God. Maybe it was because The Dress was mere heartbeats away, but suddenly Maxine knew what Heath wanted to ask her. “Is it about New Year’s?” she whispered. It all made sense, didn’t it? Heath hadn’t brought up Tara’s party before, so he was clearly waiting for the two of them to be alone … so he could ask Maxine to be his date. Maxine felt dizzy with luck and surprise. Everything she had worked toward this week was coming together in one moment of pure joy.

Heath’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “I guess, in part,” he replied mysteriously. “Hey, look,” he added before Maxine could press him further, and he glanced up at the doorframe under which they stood. “Mistletoe.”

Maxine followed his gaze and, sure enough, there it was, a slender green sprig tied with a red bow, hanging innocently over the Barton’s entrance. On all her trips in and out of the store, Maxine had never noticed it, but then again, the boy she was dying to kiss had never been standing directly underneath it. “Oh,” Maxine managed, feeling her cheeks color. Suddenly, making it to The Dress in time was the last thing on her mind.

“We must obey the mistletoe, right?” Heath asked teasingly. Putting one hand on Maxine’s waist, he drew her close, angled his face down toward hers, and kissed her on the lips. His mouth tasted like apples and coffee. Then Heath pulled back, grinning at her. “Sorry—you were rushing off somewhere?” he asked, and then stepped out of the way.

Face burning, heart thudding, Maxine staggered outside. The sharp night wind, carrying the scent of roasted chestnuts, whipped at her, pedestrians pushed past her, and a street musician made his saxophone wail, but Maxine noticed none of it. All she could feel was the tingling of her own lips and the heat of her skin. God, it was almost torturous to have gotten such a small taste of Heath’s kisses. Maybe at lunch tomorrow, after telling her how he felt about her and asking her to Tara’s party, he’d lean over the caviar on toast and kiss her again. And then there’d be New Year’s Eve: champagne corks popping, white and gold balloons, Heath in a suit, his hand on her lower back, his lips against hers …

Now all she needed was the outfit that would make that night complete.

Maxine floated over to the nearest bank branch, deposited her check in the ATM, and then flew up Columbus Avenue to the boutique, where the dress waited, glowing, in the window. Maxine grabbed eagerly for the door handle, but a frosty blonde young woman—my sister in sales, Maxine thought with a flash of sympathy—began locking the door from the inside, firmly shaking her head.

“Oh, come on!” Maxine cried, hopping up and down. “Two seconds!” Once one had sung Christmas carols while wearing elf tights, she realized, shame wasn’t really such an issue in life anymore.

Rolling her eyes, the salesgirl cracked open the door for Maxine, who rushed in and made straight for the corner rack, where—whew—her size was still available. She paid for the dress with her debit card, relishing the knowledge that she now had more than enough in her account to cover it. Hell, she finally had enough to buy holiday gifts for everyone. Tomorrow, she’d put her Barton’s discount to good use and get perfume for her mom, cuff links for Scott, and something extra-special-fancy for Tara.

“Okay, start over!” Tara exclaimed on the phone that night. Maxine had called her, giddy and babbling, as soon as she’d left the boutique, but Tara had been hanging holly and had had to call back. Now, she’d caught Maxine just as she was modeling The Dress in front of her mirror.

“What do you want to hear about first—Heath or The Dress?” Maxine teased, peeking at herself over one shoulder. Her clothes from the day were strewn across her bed, and her Spotify playlist was on at full volume, drowning out her mom’s and Scott’s cello playing in the living room. They were rehearsing for their upcoming concert again.

“Duh.” Tara laughed. “So he kissed you, and then he said—”

“No, first he said he had something to ask me, possibly related to New Year’s, and then …” Maxine trailed off, beaming.

“Max.” Tara’s voice was quivery with excitement. “You know what this means, don’t you? Heath likes you. This is huge. You’re going to date Heath Barton!”

“I’m going to date Heath Barton,” Maxine repeated softly, smiling at herself in the mirror as a thrill raced through her. “Tar, I know—can you believe it?”

“Well, I’ll get to see it at my party.” Tara laughed, and Maxine pictured her friend sitting on her grandparents’ window seat, her chin on her knees as she watched the snow fall. Though it had been blizzarding in Oregon, it hadn’t snowed in New York even once this winter. “And now you have The Dress,” Tara went on. “So is your life complete?”

Is it? Maxine felt a sudden tug in the pit of her stomach. Her smile faded slightly as she studied her reflection. Was she the kind of girl who needed a dress, or shoes, or any store-bought treat to know true bliss? Since when had her winter break—her life—boiled down to the pursuit of material things? Maxine thought of the customers at Barton’s, all hunting for what they hoped would make their Christmas complete, and an unexpected sadness washed over her. Maybe Heath had been right; everything was about bills, bills, bills in the end. But Maxine was no longer sure if she wanted to be a part of all that.

Then Maxine glanced down at her dress, admiring how its pale gold sheen caught the light, and she shrugged off her moment of brooding. She’d have plenty of time for deep thoughts after Heath saw her in The Dress on New Year’s Eve. For now, she could simply revel in the glory.

“Max? You there?” Tara was asking. “Did Heath just sweep into your room and, like, propose to you?”

“Ask me that tomorrow.” Maxine laughed, flopping back on her bed. “But wait—you won’t be able to talk tomorrow night, right? It’ll be Christmas Eve.”

“Yup,” Tara said. “For the next forty-eight hours, I’ll be knee-deep in family duties like pretending to eat my grandmother’s turkey, keeping my cousins from opening their gifts early, making sure my uncle doesn’t drink too much eggnog …”

“Sounds better than my non-Christmas.” Maxine sighed. “Mom and Scott are having some of their Philharmonic friends over tomorrow night to play chamber music. Then on Christmas Day, no one is going to be around.”

Tara chuckled. “Oh, please. You’ll be so happy after your lunch with Heath that you won’t want to do anything but lie on your bed and stare dreamily into space—which I’m sure is what you’re doing right now.”

“Merry Christmas, Tar,” Maxine said, and blew a kiss into the phone.

Grinning, she stretched across the bed in her gold dress. It was almost midnight, and excitement shot through her. She was in no rush for it to be Christmas, but tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

After managing a few hours of sleep, Maxine headed to Barton’s with more energy than she’d ever had on an early work morning. But she needed every ounce of it, because that day, everyone in New York City seemed to be on a mission to buy out the Christmas Corner before nightfall. In between managing the madness and slinking away to buy her holiday gifts, Maxine was caught off guard by noon’s arrival. She had just enough time to change out of her elf gear and into her denim skirt, a mocha-colored sweater, and platform boots.

“Wow, you look great,” Heath said when they met by the chocolate snowmen. Holding his ubiquitous Starbucks cup in one hand, he put the other on Maxine’s arm and gave her a kiss on the cheek, stirring up delicious memories from last night. Maxine wished Sandy had hung some mistletoe in the Corner—it seemed to be the only Christmas decoration not present.

“But you didn’t need to change,” Heath added, pulling back. “We’re only going upstairs.”

“We are?” Maxine asked, disappointment pricking her like a needle. Upstairs was the third floor, which Sandy referred to as the “Cruise Wear” department—the section for those lucky few who traveled to warm climes in the winter. Curious, Maxine followed Heath up the winding staircase to the third level—and felt like she had landed on another planet. Maxine gazed around in wonder at sherbet-colored bikinis, sparkly flip-flops, and flowery sarongs. Unlike the level below them, this floor was hushed and empty, with nary a customer or salesperson in sight. Maxine’s breath quickened. Had Heath brought her up here so they could be utterly alone? Maybe any second he’d turn to her, wrap an arm around her waist, and whisper that ever since high school, he’d been kind of in love with—

“Ever since high school,” Heath spoke, and Maxine gave a start, “I’ve noticed that you have a great sense of style.” Before a blushing Maxine could modestly wave him off, Heath gestured to a stack of bikinis on a table and added, “So I figured you’d be the best girl to give me advice on these.”

Maxine frowned, confusion muddying her glee.

Heath lifted up a pink-and-black bikini, studying it closely. “This would look really hot on Julianne because she’s all tan and whatnot, but do you think it’s too trendy?” He shot a worried glance at Maxine. “Julianne already has a lot of designer stuff, so I wanted to get her something more unique for Christmas, you know?”

Maxine felt a coldness seep into her limbs. Who’s Julianne? she almost whispered, but she already knew. She knew, with a certainty that made her chest seize up, that Heath Barton had asked her here to help him pick out a bikini for his girlfriend. So that was what he’d been wanting to ask her for a long time. Maxine had thought she’d done away with shame but now she felt it flooding her face, consuming her completely.

“Why—um—why a bikini?” Maxine asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky to Heath as it did to her ears. She felt she had to ask something in order to beat down the other questions rising inside her. As in: Why did you act like you were into me, you jerk?

“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” Heath asked, now rifling through the bikinis and picking out a lemon-yellow one. “My parents and I always fly down to our place in Anguilla on Christmas Eve, and this year Julianne’s meeting us there. She’s flying in from Aspen, so I’m sure she won’t have bought a new bikini there.” He looked up at Maxine. “Do you like the yellow more?”

“You spend Christmas in Anguilla?” Maxine felt that as long as she kept talking, she’d manage to avoid bursting into tears of humiliation. Had she really believed—all this time—

“Family tradition,” Heath replied as he examined a zebra-print two-piece. “We stay through New Year’s too, so”—he gave her a sheepish smile—“that was the other thing I wanted to ask you. I know your friend’s having a party, and obviously I won’t be able to make it. Can you let her know? I got her invite but I think I deleted it by accident.”

A great wave of hurt crested over Maxine. She thought of The Dress, waiting in her closet, and feared that sobbing might be around the corner. “But—but Anguilla isn’t all that Christmasy,” she managed in a choked voice, when what she really wanted to say was Thanks for ruining my winter break. “I thought you guys would go to, like, London since your dad’s British and all.” She swallowed hard, willing her eyes not to tear.

Heath snorted, momentarily forgetting the bikinis. “British? He was born in Staten Island. His real name’s Charlie Barstein—oh, but don’t tell anyone, ’kay?” He turned to Maxine and held up the zebra bikini. “Too much?” he asked.

Maxine shook her head, speechless. What was too much was her realization that everything about Barton’s—from its name to its owner to its hot young heir—was fake. Maxine took a step back, looking Heath up and down as if she were noticing him for the first time. In truth, the suave, sexy Heath Barton was nothing more than a spoiled rich boy with only one true love: himself. He hadn’t had a thing for her, Maxine understood. She’d been just another quick flirtation—another girl who would inflate his ego while his girlfriend was away. That was all. What a fool Maxine had been. A silly, lovestruck, elf fool.

“You kissed me,” Maxine spoke up, finding her voice and her courage at the same time. Steadier now, she met Heath’s bewildered gaze. “You kissed me, but you have a girlfriend. How is that cool?”

Heath blinked at her. “Uh, hello, Maxine—mistletoe?” He said this as if she were overlooking the world’s most obvious fact.

Mistletoe. Now it was anger that rushed through Maxine, quelling the threat of tears. She was sick of mistletoe and tinsel and all the trappings of the season. She was done with Barton’s, and with the Christmas Corner. But she’d never have even been here in the first place if it weren’t for Heath. At this realization, Maxine felt a fresh surge of fury.

“You know what?” she began, glaring at Heath. “It doesn’t matter what bikini you get Julianne, does it? Because within a year she’ll probably figure out how self-absorbed and arrogant you are, or you’ll cheat on her or something, and she’ll wind up returning all your meaningless gifts anyway.” She took a deep breath, backing up toward the staircase as Heath watched her, slack-jawed. “So now, if you’ll excuse me, I, unlike you, have a job to do.”

Fuming, Maxine whirled around and started down the staircase. Heath remained silent and immobile behind her, but just as she reached the second level, she heard him call out to her.

“Hang on,” Heath said, leaning over the banister with the bikinis still in hand. Maxine was pleased to see that he looked ruffled and out of sorts, and hoped some of what she’d said had sunk in. Then Heath spoke again. “You never told me which one you liked better.”

Maxine stared up at him in disbelief. “The zebra,” she finally replied. “It’s kind of expensive-tacky—like you.” With that, she stormed into the Christmas Corner, promptly bumping into Avery, who was carrying a stack of Santa suits to the cash register.

“Whoa, is everything all right?” Avery asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

Ugh. The last thing she needed now was Avery’s sympathy—which was probably all an act anyway. “Oh, like you care,” Maxine snapped, brushing past him without a second thought.

For the first time in her Barton’s career, Maxine was grateful to change into her elf costume. She was shaking with anger, replaying the ugly scene with Heath in her head. So it was a relief to throw herself back into work, even if that work involved tearing apart two grown women who were wrestling over a chocolate snowman, and then fumbling through a performance of “The Little Drummer Boy.”

The Corner grew more crowded as the afternoon progressed. It didn’t help that Claudette danced off early to catch her plane to Houston, hugging everyone and promising to stay in touch but clearly thrilled to be getting out of there. By the time seven o’clock—the normal closing hour—rolled around, Maxine was starving (she’d never eaten), sweaty, and ready to settle down for a long winter’s nap. When Sandy rounded up her, Daniel, and Avery for an impromptu meeting, Maxine hoped that it was to tell them they were free to leave, despite the fact that the place was still a mob scene.

But Sandy delivered the opposite news. “The word’s come down from Mr. Perry: We’re staying open until nine,” she announced grimly, peering at her employees over her clipboard. “I expect each of you to remain here and help close up.”

“Dude, no can do—I’m catching a nine-o’clock flight at JFK,” Daniel spoke up, looking more alert than Maxine had ever seen him. “I assumed we’d get off early on our last day, and—”

Before Sandy could bark at Daniel, Avery spoke up. “I can stay, but just until eight,” he offered, removing his boxy Nutcracker hat and running a hand through his blond hair. “There’s something I need to—”

“I get it, I get it,” Sandy snapped, putting one hand on her hip. “What can I expect on Christmas Eve?” She shot a glance at Maxine. “And you, Elf?”

Maxine opened her mouth, ready to invent some fib about catching a plane, train, or automobile—but then realized she didn’t want to. The truth was, she had no place to be on Christmas Eve and, in a twisted way, closing up the Corner would be preferable to enduring a lame night at home: live chamber music emanating from the living room, her mom and Scott snuggling, Maxine locked in her bedroom, seething over Heath Barton …

“I’ll stay,” Maxine said, squaring her shoulders.

“Well, it’s the least you can do considering you took a long lunch today,” Sandy replied, by way of thanking her.

“Maxine, righteous of you to stay the course,” Daniel said, giving her a good-bye kiss on the cheek and knocking fists with Avery. “We’ll be forever grateful.”

Maxine shrugged. “I’m a Hanukkah kind of girl anyway, so it’s not like I’ve got big Christmas plans,” she said. Then she waved to Daniel and headed for the gift wrap counter, where Sandy was beckoning to her and Avery.

For the next hour, as Maxine worked the Christmas Corner alongside Avery, she felt some of her fury ebbing away. She and Avery actually made a solid team, he handing her a tube of wrapping paper just when she was reaching for it, she passing him the scissors before he could ask for them. It was Avery who kept the customers calm while Maxine hunted for hard-to-find items; once, after managing to quiet a bellowing grandpa with the right snow globe, the two of them exchanged a relieved grin, and Maxine felt a pang of regret over how she’d dismissed him earlier. Avery may have been studying acting in school, but, as Maxine observed him across the store—patiently listening to a panicked dad, saluting on command for a group of giggling girls—she realized that the sparkle in his blue-gray eyes and the warmth in his smile were entirely genuine.

Maxine was kneeling beneath the gift wrap counter, retrieving a Barton’s box and wondering if she should apologize to him, when Avery leaned over the counter.

“It’s, um, almost eight,” he said awkwardly, turning his boxy Nutcracker hat around and around in his hands. “I should—you know—”

“It’s okay,” Maxine said, getting to her feet. “Have a merry—”

“So, um, I guess I’ll see you,” Avery said abruptly, lifting one hand in farewell and backing off in a hurry.

He hates me, Maxine decided, watching him go. She wished she’d at least told him that he was maybe the only guy who could pull off looking that good in a Nutcracker costume. But now, considering he was headed home to Illinois for Christmas, she’d probably never see him again. Melancholy settled over Maxine like a dusting of snow, and she focused again on the line of impatient customers.

At five to nine, Sandy finally granted Maxine her freedom and, looking as though she were in pain, thanked her for a job well done. Instead of feeling footloose and festive, though, Maxine found herself fighting down a lump in her throat. Slowly, she changed out of her elf clothes for the very last time, slipped on her coat, hat, and scarf, and scooped up her messenger bag full of holiday gifts. She made her way through the silent ground level, and the security guard locked the door behind her as she stepped outside.

Good-bye, Barton’s.

Maxine stood by herself on Fifth Avenue, breathing in the wintry air. As she drew her coat collar up, she lifted her eyes to the giant twinkling snowflake, which, in the nighttime gloom, suddenly seemed very lonely. Or maybe that’s just me, Maxine thought, swallowing hard. Rather than heading for home, she turned and began meandering down the empty avenue, past the tall designer shops. The stores’ holiday windows—white lights twined around silvery branches, elaborately designed dolls arranged in scenes from A Christmas Carol—were incongruously bright against the darkness. Maxine thought she heard laughter and the sound of glasses clinking coming from a window high above, but she couldn’t place the source of the merriment. A lone taxicab shot past, startling her; its windows were rolled down, and the song “All Alone on Christmas” blasted out into the night.

“The cold wind is blowin’ and the streets are getting dark … nobody ought to be all alone on Christmas.”

The song capped everything off; Maxine stopped in the middle of Fifth Avenue, buried her face in her mittened hands, and surrendered to the tears that had been building ever since she’d learned the truth about Heath that afternoon. As the warm, salty drops fell, Maxine, who didn’t cry all that often, let herself wallow in self-pity. She’d had an awful day, but this moment was worse than anything that had happened back at Barton’s—because she felt like the only person alive not celebrating somewhere. The shops, the decorations, and the music were not for her. Standing in the heart of her hometown—in a city packed with so many interesting and quirky people who celebrated all varieties of holidays—Maxine Silver had somehow never felt so adrift.

“I don’t think Sandy would approve.”

A voice at her side made Maxine glance up and instinctively tug her bag against her. But the person standing beside her was not a Christmas Eve mugger. It was Avery Prince.

“I mean, that’s not much holiday cheer you’re showing, is it?” Avery clarified, and though his tone was playful, concern darkened his blue-gray eyes.

“Oh, um, I guess not.” Maxine sniffled, rubbing the tears off her cheeks. She wished he hadn’t seen her crying. But what was he even doing here? Maxine blinked, noticing that Avery was holding two cups topped with whipped cream and wearing a bomber jacket over a navy-blue sweater and corduroys. It was the first time Maxine had ever seen Avery out of his Nutcracker gear and, in spite of herself, her heart skipped a beat. There had been something adorable about Avery in costume, but seeing him now, the word that came to mind was beautiful. His high cheekbones, corn-silk hair, the dimple in his left cheek when he smiled … how had Maxine never picked up on it before?

“I’m sorry if I startled you—I stopped by Barton’s first,” Avery was explaining. “But then I saw you standing down here, so …” He lifted one shoulder, his smile shy.

Maxine’s head spun as she tried to piece together what Avery was saying. “You … you were looking for me?” she stammered. “But why—I thought you were going home—”

Avery shook his head, extending one of the cups toward Maxine. “I didn’t have time to make travel arrangements this year. Flights to Chicago book up so fast.” He paused, and his eyes swept over Maxine’s face, making her breath catch a little. “Here,” he added softly. “You seem like you could use some hot cocoa.”

“No kidding,” Maxine said gratefully, accepting the cup from Avery. She was reminded of the morning he had brought in mochas for the group; he really was a thoughtful guy. Maxine blew on the steaming surface, then took a sip. The rich, sweet liquid warmed her to the core and seemed to sate her hunger. Avery, too, was sipping his drink, and as he and Maxine looked at each other over their respective brims, Maxine could feel herself start to smile.

Without a word, the two of them turned and slowly began walking south on Fifth, their elbows touching each time they lifted their cups to their lips. Whenever this happened, Maxine felt a tingle move up her arm, and she wondered if Avery was feeling the same thing. As they walked on, with the lights from the store windows illuminating their path, they began to talk, their breath forming clouds on the air. They laughed over Sandy’s clipboard, dissected Daniel’s spaciness, and debated whether or not Claudette could ever be clumsy. Somehow discussing Barton’s with Avery made Maxine feel worlds better, and she was surprised to learn that even he had some issues with the job.

“So how did you do it?” Maxine asked him as they approached Rockefeller Center. “You always seemed so … glad to be there.”

Avery glanced at her with a half smile. “Trust me, Maxine, I had my down moments, just like you. But I try to make the best of things. I know, I know.” He laughed as Maxine wrinkled her nose. “Cue the corniness, right? But I never really minded Barton’s. After all, if I didn’t work there, I wouldn’t have met—” Avery paused and drank from his cocoa again, his face reddening.

Me? Maxine thought, her stomach giving a jump. She was still feeling too unsteady to pose such a bold question, so instead she simply nodded, clutching her cocoa cup.

“But the commercialism of this time of year does get to me,” Avery added thoughtfully, as he and Maxine turned into Rockefeller Center. The colorful flags flapped in the wind, the tree glowed, and the golden statue of Prometheus watched over the pure-white rink. Only a smattering of ice skaters were zipping around tonight. “Everyone’s so hung up on buying stuff …” As they reached the ledge that overlooked the rink, Avery gazed down at the skaters, the light from below casting shadows on his profile.

Maxine glanced at Avery, surprised that he had echoed her thoughts from the night before. Maybe they had more in common than Maxine had first thought. “So what’s the alternative?” Maxine teased, playing devil’s advocate. She gave Avery a nudge, thinking how much more relaxed she was around him, as opposed to, say, Heath Barton. “A holiday without gifts? Horrors!”

Avery turned to her, smiling and shaking his head. “Well, gifts can also be, like … moments instead of things, you know?” he asked, then bit his lip. “Does that make sense?”

Like this moment, Maxine caught herself thinking, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot cocoa spread through her body. Suddenly she felt something wet land on her cheek, and then her nose, and Maxine tilted her head up, laughing. Glistening white flakes were swirling down from the sky—the first snowfall of the year. From the skating rink below, Maxine heard people break out into cheers of appreciation.

Avery, too, looked up and laughed, and then glanced back at Maxine. “Is New York City always this postcard-perfect in the winter?” he asked, setting down his cocoa cup and attempting to catch the dancing flakes in his hands.

“We try,” Maxine replied, blinking snowflakes off her lashes, and realizing that Avery’s wide-eyed enthusiasm wasn’t getting on her nerves this time. It was actually kind of fun to experience the city with a non-native. “Wait,” Maxine added, remembering something Avery had said earlier. “If you weren’t going back to Illinois tonight, why did you have to leave early?”

“Oh.” Avery looked down abruptly, his cheeks flushing again, and Maxine felt a sudden wave of nervousness that warmed her own face. “I, um, well, now that you ask … I was going to get you something,” he said.

“You were?” Maxine asked breathlessly, and then pointed to her empty cocoa cup on the ledge. “You mean … this?”

Avery shook his head, still studying the snow-dusted ground. “Nah—I got those after the original plan didn’t work out.” Slowly, Avery raised his eyes until he met Maxine’s gaze. “I went to Lincoln Center to get us … tickets. Tickets to the New York Philharmonic’s concert next week.” He let out a big breath, looking crestfallen. “But it was sold out.”

Maxine clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to stop her burst of laughter. What were the chances? “Avery, you didn’t need to do that!” she exclaimed, feeling as dizzy and carefree as the snowflakes tumbling around her. When he shook his head politely, Maxine clarified. “No, I mean, you really didn’t have to do that. I know it’s random, but my mom and stepdad are in the Philharmonic. They’re going to play in that concert, and they can totally get us tickets.” Normally Maxine wouldn’t have been excited by the prospect of one of her mom’s concerts, but the thought of going with Avery, of seeing him again outside Barton’s, made her pulse flutter.

“That is exceptionally cool,” Avery declared, his face lighting up with relief. “You must get to hear amazing music all the time.”

“Eh,” Maxine replied, making a so-so motion with her hand. “Classical’s not my favorite.” When Avery nodded in agreement, Maxine added, “So what made you think of the Philharmonic, then?”

Avery grinned, lifting one shoulder. “Well, you mentioned once you loved music. So I figured you’d enjoy something more, I don’t know, peaceful after all that Christmas carol mishegas we had to go through.” He rolled his eyes for emphasis.

“Um … what did you just say?” Maxine asked, wondering if the snowfall had affected her hearing.

“Mishegas?” Avery repeated, grinning. “You know, it’s Yiddish. It means craziness or whatever—”

“I know,” Maxine cut him off, now thoroughly confused. “It’s my Grandma Rose’s favorite expression but—”

“My grandma’s too,” Avery said matter-of-factly, brushing his blond hair back off his forehead.

“But Avery—” Maxine sputtered as the implications of his words hit home. “I thought—don’t you celebrate Christmas?”

Avery shook his head, his eyes sparkling. “I like Christmas a lot, but I guess you’d say I’m a Hanukkah kind of guy.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Happy Hanukkah, by the way—even though it’s been over for a couple of days now.”

Maxine’s lips parted in amazement. Avery Prince was … Jewish? She thought about how isolated she’d felt in all that Christmas madness, when all along, of all people … And suddenly, it made perfect sense that Avery had met her on lonesome Fifth Avenue, and now stood with her in a quiet, sparkling Rockefeller Center. He didn’t have Christmas Eve plans, either. She wasn’t so alone after all.

“What are you thinking, Maxine Silver?” Avery asked, flashing her an intrigued smile and taking a step closer to her.

“Oh … nothing.” Maxine laughed, looking up at him. “Just that I’m never going to assume something about anyone ever again.”

Avery nodded, holding her gaze, and then his expression turned serious—intense. Through the steady snowfall, Maxine watched him study her, and her heart tapped against her ribs. “What are you thinking?” she volleyed back at him.

“Just that …” Avery reached over and brushed a snowflake off the tip of Maxine’s nose. “When you’re not dressed like an elf, you’re even more beautiful.”

Maxine felt her face grow hotter than it ever had under Heath Barton’s gaze. Heath’s compliments had been flip and fleeting, but she could sense the earnestness behind Avery’s words. And for once, Maxine was speechless. All she could do was step forward and meet Avery as he was stepping closer to her. No mistletoe was necessary; the moment alone told them what to do. Maxine let her eyes drift shut as Avery lowered his face and kissed her, soft and slow. I’m kissing the Nutcracker Prince, Maxine thought as she felt Avery’s warm lips claim hers, but instead of laughing, she kissed him back, savoring every second. The way their mouths fit together, the way Avery’s arms went around her waist right as hers went around his neck, seemed to cancel out any kiss—or any moment—she’d shared with Heath Barton.

“You idiot.” Maxine sighed when they broke apart, resting her fingers against Avery’s lips. “Why didn’t you do that days ago?”

Avery laughed, shaking his head. “Maxine, I thought you had written me off from the start. When I met you, you were so, I don’t know, sharp and funny, and that was what I liked about you, but it also made me nervous …” He glanced down, clearly embarrassed. “And then you were always talking with Heath Barton, so I figured …”

“You figured wrong,” Maxine whispered, standing on her toes to kiss Avery’s cheek. Heath seemed very far away now, and not only because he was off in Anguilla. Maxine’s crush on him felt distant, faded around the edges, like an old photograph.

Holding hands, Avery and Maxine turned and left Rockefeller Center and, as the snow continued to drift down, wound their way toward Maxine’s apartment building. When they reached the green awning on 79th Street, they lingered on the corner, far from the curious gaze of Maxine’s doorman. Avery had to head back downtown to his NYU dorm but first there were matters to discuss.

“If you’re around tomorrow,” Avery murmured, lacing his fingers through Maxine’s, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Would you be up for a movie and Chinese food?”

“Of course.” Maxine laughed. “The Jewish tradition. What else is there to do on Christmas, right?”

“Well … this, for one,” Avery whispered. Gently, he lifted Maxine’s chin and started kissing her once more. Then Maxine’s hands were in Avery’s hair, and he was clutching the back of her coat to draw her in closer. Avery—who knew? Maxine would have never guessed that someone so polite could kiss so well.

“So speaking of plans,” Maxine murmured against Avery’s lips, smiling. “If you’re around on New Year’s Eve, I know of a certain fabulous party …” Her heart soared as she thought of The Dress; now here was a boy worthy of seeing her in it.

“I’m there,” Avery replied, playfully tugging Maxine’s hat down over her eyes.

As she and Avery started kissing again, under the falling snow and the light from a lamppost, Maxine suddenly felt like the whole city—from the shimmery decorations to the Christmas carols drifting down from an apartment window—was all for her tonight. All for them. And that realization, combined with the feel of Avery’s arms around her, was as sweet and warm and satisfying as a holiday song.