“Sixteen days from now is Christmas Eve. If you finish on time, I’ll treat you to a Christmas Eve dinner. If you don’t, you’ll treat me.”
“It’s already Christmas?” I realized.
“It’s already winter,” he said, gazing out the window.
“Alright, see you on Christmas Eve,” I said.
By the early hours of December 24, I finally completed the model. Later that morning, I got a call from Gao Hai Ming.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Sorry, but you’ll have to treat me to dinner,” I said.
“I’ve reserved a table at the Peak restaurant. I’ll pick you up at 7:30.”
“See you then,” I replied.
Gao Hai Ming arrived on time. That evening, he was dressed in a deep navy suit and had gotten a haircut—he looked very handsome.
“You look great tonight,” I said.
“Thank you. Aren’t you wearing a coat?”
“I’m not cold,” I said.
In truth, I didn’t own a decent coat. Xiao Jue hadn’t kept his promise to repay me.
We sat at the outdoor dining area of the Peak restaurant. The wind was strong, but I pretended I wasn’t cold to avoid looking pathetic.
“Remember two Christmas Eves ago? I called you from Mount Fuji,” he said.
“I remember,” I replied.
“It’s already been two years.”
For me, those two years felt painfully slow, like an eternity.
“Where’s your assignment?” he asked.
I took out the completed fighter jet model.
“You’ve improved a lot,” he said, examining it closely.
“Really?”
“At least it looks like a fighter jet,” he said.
“Is that a compliment or a critique?”
“Of course, it’s a compliment. The first two you made were a complete mess.”
“That’s thanks to your excellent guidance,” I said.
“Consider this my Christmas gift,” he replied.
“If you don’t mind accepting it, then sure,” I said.
He handed me another model kit.
“Is this a Christmas gift?”
“Or your fourth assignment,” he said with a grin.
After dinner, Gao Hai Ming drove us to a park at the Peak. We sat on a bench, chatting. The air was freezing, and I couldn’t stop shivering.
“Are you going to hang a Christmas stocking at the end of your bed tonight?” he asked.
“A Christmas stocking?”
“You told me that as a child, you used to hang one at the end of your bed every Christmas Eve.”
“I don’t believe in Santa Claus anymore.”
“If you don’t hang a stocking, how can you be sure there’s no Santa Claus? You once said that going to sleep with hope and waking up with hope is a beautiful thing.”
“Hope is just a feeling.”
“Hope should be something tangible.”
I pointed at my feet, which were covered with a pair of black cotton socks. “Tonight, this is all the ‘stocking’ I have.”
He walked to the trunk of his car and retrieved something.
“I made one for you,” he said.
“A sock?” I asked in surprise.
“A Christmas stocking, so you can go to sleep with hope.”
He unfolded a large red stocking. It was enormous, about six feet tall and four feet wide, and covered the bench we were sitting on. The top was trimmed with feathers.
“This big?” I exclaimed.
“It can hold a lot of hope,” he said.
“It’s bigger than my bed.”
“You could sleep inside it,” he suggested.
“Really?”
I crawled into the giant stocking, which fit me perfectly like a sleeping bag. Made of soft velvet, it was warm and cozy. Wrapped inside it on such a cold night, I felt incredibly happy.
“Do you know how to make stockings?” I asked.
“I got top marks in home economics. Is it warm?”
I nodded.
“You were shivering earlier but refused to admit you were cold.”
I sat up and looked at him. “Thank you.”
He covered my mouth gently with his hand. “Don’t say thank you.”
I held onto his hand and asked, “Why are you so good to me?”
He pulled me, still wrapped in the stocking, into his arms and kissed me.
It had been so long since I was kissed—so long since I felt the joy of being embraced. That night, I stayed inside the Christmas stocking.
Being loved truly is a happier feeling.
“Really? Are you actually dating Gao Hai Ming?” Meng Meng asked excitedly.
“With him, I feel a sense of dignity,” I said.
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