Christmas should’ve been a time that everyone liked, and yet here he was, sweating through his red apron as he watched the snow rain down outside the little coffee shop window, listening in to the customers’ chatter as they gossiped about their little town with its even littler population, one of those places you’d only know was there if you looked for it.

              Nothing special, nothing new, nothing important. There were no celebrities from Piccolo, no award-winning scholars or staple of their bringing up. No, Piccolo was a throwaway place; a tucked-away village far north in Maine, somewhere too cold to vacation to and too forgettable to remember their name. But he didn’t mind. Piccolo was his escape. Piccolo was the only sense of home he’d ever known.

              Christmas was the only time The Coffee Pot was semi busy. Townspeople bustled in as they went about doing their last-minute shopping for the holidays. Music blasted through the speakers, everyone in high spirits, but he never was. Christmas reminded him of cold nights with no fire to light the living room. Christmas reminded him of being dropped off at yet another home where he’d watch yet another spoiled kid get presents while he didn’t. Christmas was getting his backpack stolen, Christmas was watching your temporary parents get drunk with their friends. And worst of all, Christmas reminded him that he’d go home another night to the freezing leather of his car seats and go another night without rest, wondering where he would stay and hoping there wouldn’t be a snowstorm to bury him in his car. And unfortunately, mother nature didn’t appear to be on his side.

              But then there was her. A girl with hibiscus colored hair as she waltzed around the place, writing sweet messages on everyone’s cups and slipping candy to the impatient little kids who came in with their exhausted mothers. June, with her bright smiles and laugh. June, who’d he’d known for a year and was the only one who talked to him and didn’t force him to respond. June, who was the only person he’d listen to all of her stories, the only stories he wanted to hear. June, who was the sun that would melt away the snow, and the girl he’d felt like he’d known all his life.

              “I was thinking,” she said suddenly, “Why don’t you stay with me for the holidays? My dad can’t come in this year and I don’t want either of us being alone. That’d be pretty depressing.”

              And although hesitant, he agreed. Christmas, the time of year he had always hated. But June, the girl that had saved him from the winter storm. That was enough to make him smile.