A Billionaire's Mistake

52|Guru

Lincoln

With Thanksgiving and Christmas right around the corner, there's a new sense of magic in the air around the people of New York. On any other given week, if I were to have accidentally bumped into the stranger as I just did, the man in his sixties with a carnival mustache more than likely would have strung a slew of four-letter cuss words in my direction. But with the Christmas music playing from a nearby speaker and a disguised Santa Claus ringing a bell on the corner, he grunts and continues across the busy intersection.

Now that is a Christmas miracle.

Margo clutches the sleeve of my wool peacoat as we pass multiple clothing stores near Times Square. The goal of today was to snag Sienna a present, but what am I supposed to buy a woman who could get anything she wanted by herself?

Plus, we haven't talked about the holidays. With her estranged relationship with her family, would she even want to celebrate? My Mom is the biggest freak about being able to celebrate anything. Birthdays, graduations... Even my good SAT scores in high school were a cause for an elaborate party. It's just how she is, though. Any reason to spend money and show off, my mother will take hold of that chance and run wild.

"Would you hurry up?" Margo glances over her shoulder and hauls us both through a group of teenage tourists taking selfies. "God, you just get slower with each passing year."

"And here I thought finding love would make you soften up for the holidays," I reply joyfully, not letting her mood bring me down. Margo has always hated Christmas for as long as I can remember.

"What is there to like about it?" She eyes the ice skating rink with a distasteful glare. "It still smells like piss water from the sewers, the horses are being run dry from lugging around lazy tourists in carriages in bone-chilling weather, might I add, and the snow isn't even pretty. It's a slush probably concocted of shit and more piss."

Margo, my best friend, at her finest.

"Remind me again how lucky Riley is to have you," I muse.

"Save it." She pulls me into a random store I've never seen before, but I'm thankful to be surrounded by warmth. I didn't think to wear a hat, and my ears sting in silent pain.

I pull off my leather gloves as Margo strides ahead to the counter. The shop owner seems to know her, an old woman hobbling with a cane, and I'm surprised when the woman smiles at her. Margo must be fond of her.

"What are we doing here?" I ask when I approach her side. The shop doesn't give away what is sold here. There are a bunch of random boxes stacked up in the back corner, and at the front, plants line wooden shelves in the windows, and little trinkets are placed on tables in the center. The place needs dusting, that's for sure.

"Riley is really into antiques," she explains as the old woman hobbles to the backroom. "A few weeks ago, she told me about her love for writing poetry, and she..." Her cheeks turn pink. She's blushing. I almost comment on it but think twice. "She wrote me a poem or two. Anyway, my grandma is good friends with Ms. Buckleberry, the woman who—"

I snort. "Buckleberry?"

She elbows me into the side. Hard. "I don't create last names, Linc. As I was saying, Ms. Buckleberry runs this antique store and mentioned to my mom about getting a typewriter from the late 1800s."

My heart does a little pitter-patter in my chest, and I'm not even the one receiving it.

"I decided to get her a present that combines two of her favorite things. Antiques and writing."