Winter Wonderland

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By Sarah Durand
By Sarah Durand

 

It was winter break, but Dev Patel was stuck working extra shifts at Active Culture instead of skiing like his friends. He rolled his eyes as “Winter Wonderland” played over the speakers for the seventh time that day.

That’s when she came into the cafe. He watched her swirl a mountain of vanilla yogurt into her cup and dot it with raspberries. She ate it in slow spoonfuls, head buried in a book.

She didn’t look like the Laguna girls who rolled into the shop with their sandy feet and sun-bleached hair. Her dark hair was clipped short around a freckled, ethereal face. Her slender, pale arms jutted out from a black tank. Battered checkerboard Vans covered her feet.

Dev went over to wipe tables nearby.

“Nice kicks.” He waived his own foot in her direction, then quickly turned back to scrubbing melting sprinkles off the tabletop.

“Good taste.” She rewarded his advance with a smile, seeing his identical Vans.

“You go to LBHS?”

“I will.” She set down her book. “When school starts after New Year’s. We just moved here.”

“Where from?”

“The cold. Chicago.”

“Cool. You’ll like it here.” He faltered. “I mean, at least you’ll like the weather.” He looked out at the blue sky.

“Hope so.” Her smile faded as she grabbed the book.

Dev furiously wiped the table until his heartbeat slowed to normal.

She came back the next day.

She sheepishly shrugged as he weighed her yogurt. “I like yogurt…I can walk here from my house,” she explained, as if apologizing for showing up again.

Dev searched for the right response, but she was on the patio before any words left his mouth.

On Thursday, he showered before heading to work, ignoring his mom’s surprised look.

He was cutting up fruit in the back, craning his neck to see the door every time a customer walked in. He almost lost a fingertip when she finally appeared.

He watched as she filled her cup, this time with pumpkin, a holiday favorite.

“How are you?” he tried to keep his voice steady, running his fingers through his dark curly hair.

“You weren’t here yesterday,” she said simply.

“Yeah, I don’t work Wednesdays.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” her eyes glinted mischievously. She grabbed her yogurt and walked to the patio.

“Dude!” Tucker, who was behind the register, kicked him. “Take your break and get out there.”

Dev pulled off his apron and hightailed it out the door.

She was staring at the ocean, her yogurt on the table. He pulled over a chair and straddled it, facing her.

“I’m Dev.” He put out his hand.

“Ivy.”

He felt the blood pulsing through his arm as he grasped her hand.

“What grade are you in?” he asked, realizing that she could be older, killing any hope of anything beyond a customer/yogurt store guy relationship.

“Tenth.”

“Me too.” Dev exhaled.

Her grin matched his relief. “Honestly, you’re the first person my age I’ve met here. It’s hard to just show up and be a part of that.” She tilted her head at a table full of chattering girls.

“I know.” Dev halfheartedly waived as a fellow sophomore wearing a Santa hat skateboarded by the cafe. “It’s not the easiest place to break in. Most kids here have known each other since preschool.”

“Beautiful, though.” Ivy looked back out at the ocean.

“Do you miss Chicago?”

“I miss the weather. You can feel the holidays there.”

Dev swallowed hard. “I can show you snow in Laguna…”

Ivy giggled, “Oh, really?”

“Yep. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Skiing, apparently,” she teased.

Dev laughed. “Meet me at the entrance to the Sawdust at 8.”

“I’m in! I’ll dress warm.” Ivy winked.

Dev couldn’t help but hum along to “Winter Wonderland” as he finished his shift.

Sarah Durand lives in Laguna Beach with her Vans soul mate and their three kids. She eats more yogurt than she cares to admit and seeks out real snow whenever she can.

 

Hospitality Night

By Susan Jacob

It was the first night of Christmas, our Holiday Faire.

The year has been trying, some say decisive and the world cruel and unfair.

Our traditional tree was lost to a blight.

Santa drones were banished harming others in flight.

Laguna is resilient and made things right.

The town’s protection was evident all night.

Santa returned to his tiny house by the sea.

Children awaited his gleam with glee.

Our newly appointed ancient tree was lighted with flair.

The old tree was honored for its years of making holidays glow.

Others hoped to divide us by the food that we eat.

Hundreds lined up for our traditional tamale treat.

The draught has abated, our world by the sea is more than a dream.

Music, dance and food and drink was all free.

Electronics’ were missing, as far as I could see.

The Laguna stores glittered with every art that could be.

The community dressed for a holiday night.

We laughed and we frolicked under our beautiful new light.

 

The author is a local resident.

 

 

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