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According to an anonymous survey, morale was at an all-time low. Now, they were taking precious time out of their day to discuss it on the rewards committee, as if that would fix anything. What should they do? Give an award to the most positive student? That would fix nothing.
Adam wanted to argue that it was grad school. Of course, morale was low. Grad school was fucking awful. Hell on most days. Worse than that, on others. Grad students were perpetually overworked and underpaid. It was a systemic issue that even he couldn’t fix. Unless they wanted to coordinate a protest pertaining to graduate stipends, there was very little the rewards committee could do to remedy this problem.
“What about something fun? It’s December, and we have money leftover in the budget.”
Money that could be better spent elsewhere, he thought dryly. But Adam was trying to play nice, so instead, he said:
“Did you have something in mind?”
“Something Christmassy.”
“Not everyone celebrates Christmas. It should be inclusive.”
Ah, yes. Adam Carlsen. The unsung hero for those who did not want a fat, old, white man shoved down their throats. They admitted he had a point, as there was a decent percentage of students from other countries who did not practice Christianity or Catholicism.
Adam didn’t care about the holidays. It was a time of year that was meant to be spent with loved ones and family. Other than Holden, he had neither. He scoffed at the notion of asking for presents. There was nothing material Adam would ever want.
If he were to be honest with himself, and honest on the piece of paper he would likely have to fill out for the gift exchange that Holden was inevitably going to suggest, there wouldn’t be a single material item on it. But of course, no student would ever be able to procure what he would ask for Christmas if he believed in Christmas miracles.
Olive Smith remembering him would be at the top of the list. The chance of having someone, anyone other than Holden, love him would be a close second. It didn’t have to be romantic, but a friend would be nice. Someone to confide in or escape the world with. None of these things was futile, and the holidays were a stark reminder that Adam had no one in his life, not even his family.
He was happy with his life, with science, but there were some days, darker days, when Adam felt lonely. Holden warned him time and time again that this would happen, but there was nothing Adam could do. People didn’t like Adam, and aside from Olive Smith, Adam didn’t care much for others.
“We’ll make it optional.”
Very original, as cop outs go.
“How about a gift exchange?” Holden suggested. “We can divvy out the funds evenly amongst those who want to participate.”
He knew Holden Rodrigues too well. The man would do anything to buy people presents. He loved wrapping them almost as much as he loved shopping during the holiday season.
“Secret Santa,” Dr. McCoy clapped. “I like it.”
There was a red envelope in his school mailbox a week later. Adam closed his eyes, having forgotten about Secret Santa the moment they left the meeting. He would probably get Greg, or someone else who hates him. This would bridge the gap, and then they would think Adam was their new best friend.
He wasn’t.
In fact, not a single part of him even wanted to do this gift exchange. Yet, there he was, skulking to his office, red envelope in hand, in the name of holiday cheer. His door flew open before he set his bag down.
“Let’s open them together,” Holden said excitedly. “Here. I got you boring coffee. It’s peppermint mocha season, and mmm, does it taste good! Although they have this new drink that’s supposed to taste like a sugar cookie. I might try that next time.”
“Why don’t you just eat a sugar cookie instead?”
“That’s no fun, Adam.” Holden chastised. He ripped his green envelope open, pulling out the offending paper. He gasped, eyes widening. “Malcolm.”
“Weren’t you the ones who picked these out?”
“Yes and no. I paid a random student ten dollars to check that no one had themselves. I never saw the names. I just put papers in envelopes and wrote the names of the recipients. C’mon. Open yours before I’m grey.”
“Thanks for the coffee,” Adam muttered, carefully opening his and unfolding the paper slowly. He paused, eying Holden suspiciously. “Are you lying?”
“Lying?”
“You rigged this.”
“I didn’t! Corruption is not on the holiday cheer agenda.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re trying to play one of Santa’s elves or something,” Adam accused. “Give this back. It’s not fair. Mix it up with someone else’s.”
“Adam, I swear to you I didn’t give you or anyone else, anyone on purpose. This was entirely random. Who is it?”
“Who do you think?” Adam mumbled. Of course, he wanted to keep Olive. But he shouldn’t insert himself into her life under the guise of Christmas cheer.
“Is it your bathroom girl? Olive Smith! Halfway through her second year now, right?”
“Yes.”
Adam knew, not only because he would never forget her, but because he had his own mental countdown of the time she’d probably graduate. Maybe after that, if they ran into each other at a conference, he could try to strike up a conversation, guilt-free. God, years from now. If he were lucky, he’d have amnesia by then. He wouldn’t remember their meeting or the stern order he gave himself to forget her.
Now, he was holding a piece of paper that let him see the way she erased multiple colors before writing ‘I love all colors’, and that her favorite vending machine snack was salt and vinegar crisps. She loved running and hated movies where animals died. She couldn’t think of a favorite food, merely stating that she loved—in big, bold, underlined letters—food and couldn’t wait to have a real kitchen one day. She, apparently, adored pumpkin spice and holiday drinks from Starbucks, but couldn’t afford to get them more than once a year. The words ‘desserts’ and ‘sweet things’ were circled in little hearts she drew. He relished every stroke of her pen.
“Did you ever say hi?”
“No,” Adam glared, carefully folding the paper and tucking it in his drawer for safekeeping. He would harbor it forever. It was all he’d ever have of Olive Smith.
“Well, then. This sounds like the perfect ice breaker.”
When the email first circulated, and she saw the subject line, Olive was going to decline. She didn’t have anything against Christmas, but she didn’t have the money to spend on a present for someone else in the name of morale. But when Malcolm pointed out that a set amount of funds would be given to anyone who participated, she was more than happy to click yes.
Now, she, Malcolm, and Anh were sitting in Starbucks for their annual holiday drink splurge, opening their envelopes.
“Ugh. Boring,” Malcolm frowned.
“I got Dr. Rodrigues,” Anh shrugged. “He’s supposed to be pretty cool.”
“I got Jeremy.”
“Who?” Anh asked.
“Irish guy. Flaming red hair? You can’t miss him.”
“Don’t know him. Want to switch? You can finally make your move on Rodrigues, and then Ol and I don’t have to listen to you pine for another five years.”
“Gladly.”
“Ol?”
“Yeah, Kalamata. Don’t be shy. Who do you have?”
“Dr. Carlsen.”
Malcolm choked on his drink. “You got Carlsen? I’m surprised the devil was even allowed to take part in something like this.”
Olive wanted to argue. To say he probably wasn’t that bad. But she heard the stories. She didn’t know the man herself, but trying to convince Malcolm that everyone had a good side would prove to be a waste of everyone’s time at this point.
As it was, his paper was entirely blank, save for a single comment in the note section.
Keep the money. I remember what graduate stipends are like.
- A. Carlsen
His handwriting was neat and tidy, with precise lines and very well-dotted i’s. There was something aesthetically pleasing about it. But she couldn’t morally do what he asked, and now she had nothing to go on.
“Well? What does he want for Christmas? The hearts of his students?” Anh asked, digging whipped cream out of her cup with a straw.
“Nothing. He said to keep the money and that he remembered what grad stipends were like.”
“That’s…kind of him,” Anh said.
“You mean to tell me Scrooge is…not being very Scroogey?” Malcolm looked disturbed by the thought.
“I’ll figure out something to get him,” Olive resolved. She had no idea where to start.
A week and a half may have sounded like plenty of time, but it wasn’t. Olive knew it would go by quickly, and she was none the wiser on what to get Dr. Carlsen. She racked her brain as they walked back to the biology building, trying to remember anything she could about him.
There was nothing.
She couldn’t remember a single time speaking to him, outside of introductions. She rarely saw him, either. Maybe a few times as they both left for the night, but he always stayed several paces behind. She assumed he didn’t want to speak to anyone, so she never paid him much notice.
Now she wished she had.
Five days had passed, and Olive was convinced the man was a ghost. She hadn’t seen him once since receiving her envelope. Impressive, given she knew he was nearly ten feet tall. Maybe he lived in his office, and she should stop by during office hours for a random hello. Perhaps he’d have a poster or something to give her a hint of what he enjoyed in life.
The problem was, she thought, that much like Olive, he loved science. He probably didn’t have time for hobbies or fun outside of work, given how academia consumed everything a person had. But everyone had to eat food. Maybe there was a food he liked most. She could get him that, right?
The lab was empty, but there was a holiday-decorated Starbucks mug with her name and a smiley face written in black, sitting on her bench. There was steam coming out of the top, indicating it was hot. There was no note, but it must have been from her Secret Santa.
Olive bit down on her squeal, her bad mood from the lab she TAed disappearing with a poof.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
They weren’t there to hear her thanks, but maybe the universe would do her a favor and extend it to them on her behalf. She skipped down the hall, nearly running into Dr. Rodrigues.
“Oof! Sorry, Dr. Rodrigues.”
He inhaled deeply.
“Ugh. Peppermint mocha. You can never make me hate it.”
“My Santa got it for me,” she beamed. “Totally made my day.”
Dr. Rodrigues nodded, pleased by her words. He was part of the committee that put this together, so he was likely happy to hear their plan to boost spirits was working.
“Hey! Can I pick your brain?”
“Of course. But if it’s about your study, we’ll need to find someone way smarter than me,” he grinned.
“I’m not trying to break any rules, but I know who has Dr. Carlsen. I think I’ve seen you with him a time or two. Do you know him well?”
“Adam? Of course. We’ve been best friends since we were kids. Let me guess, that little shit gave you no information.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s because he doesn’t want anyone to know he is capable of having fun.”
“Do you have anything I could pass along to them?”
“Is it you? Gossiping about who everyone has is my favorite part.”
“No. Although I know who has you, also,” she teased. She wanted to deflect, so it stayed secret. “Some of the grads weren’t being very tight-lipped in the break room, and I offered to help. I’m not sure why, since Dr. Carlsen and I have never spoken before.”
“The suspense. Let me think…Adam loves black, though if you were to ask him what his favorite color was, his brain would probably short-circuit. Total health nut, so no candy or things like that. He loves coffee, but only black coffee. Again, no sugar or anything good in this world that makes coffee taste decadent.
“He does have a very secret soft spot for a few foods we used to have growing up in the Netherlands. I’ll email them to you because I have no idea how to spell them. It’s been so long. If I had to choose a hobby, I would say running. He loves it.”
The kitchen was a disaster. Olive had ingredients scattered all over their small counter, trying to make…
“What on earth are you doing? Am I living with Betty Crocker now?”
“I’m making something for Adam—Dr. Carlsen, I mean.”
“Adam,” Malcolm scowled.
“It’s called erwtensoep.”
“You cannot convince me you pronounced that correctly.”
“At least I tried!”
“And what are these?” He held up a cookie in the shape of a windmill.
“Try one. They’re more spicy than sweet. They are called…” Olive glanced at her recipe. “Speculaas.”
“You’re being too nice to him!” Malcolm called, waltzing to his bedroom. “Satan doesn’t like tasty food!”
There was a small black box with a black bow sitting in front of his office door. He thought he heard a knock, but no one was in the hall. Nothing could have prepared him for what was inside.
Adam stormed his way to Holden’s office, box in hand.
“Lucky me. To what do I owe this pleasure so early in—”
“You’re a liar,” Adam accused.
“Am I? What about this time?”
“You said you had Malcolm.”
“I do have Malcolm.”
“No. No way. Only you would have known this.” He waved the black box at him.
“What is it? Tell me!”
“You already know,” Adam pushed. Damn. He thought he would have broken him by now.
“I don’t. I did give someone a few ideas, per their request, but—”
“Holden,” Adam groaned. “Who? I put on my paper that they didn’t need to get me anything for a reason.”
“They were helping someone else. I’m not telling you who.”
“They made me erwtensoep and speculaas.”
“You’re still so good at the pronunciations. Was it good?”
“I haven’t had it.” Adam turned away, ordering Holden to stop meddling before striding back to his office.
“Only if you admit you’re having fun!”
When he returned, there was a black reusable Starbucks mug sitting outside his door. There was a present tag with his name, and a heart written on it. Black coffee. Not a drop of cream.
Adam swore Holden’s name. He wasn’t lying, after all. Not even Adam could deny that whoever had him was thoughtful. Considerate. An uneven smile touched his lips. Maybe this was a little fun.
But only a little.
This whole vigilante thing was exhausting. Olive was not cut out for the CIA. She had successfully dropped off two gifts without being seen, which was way harder and more stressful than it should have been.
But it was the holidays. And though Olive didn’t celebrate anymore, and despite not knowing Dr. Carlsen well, she wanted him to enjoy this. She, Anh, and Malcolm always skipped presents due to a lack of funds, which was fine. Olive was cool with that. But this was the first time she had purchased a Christmas present for anyone since her mom passed away.
She needed him to like it.
Olive hid in a cupboard, hearing him open his door before stalking to Dr. Rodrigues’ office and accusing him of being a liar. She stifled her laugh, scurrying out before putting the coffee down next.
“Fucking Holden,” he had muttered. “He wasn’t lying, after all.”
Olive bit down her smile. She had one final present for him that was due to arrive today. It was a black running shirt with a microscope, computer, and the words ‘computational biologist’ scattered throughout a strand of DNA, insinuating that computational modeling was in his DNA.
She had no idea if he’d like it, but it made her laugh. It was between that one and another that said ‘Biology Ninja’, but she decided to go for a more personal route.
Olive had received a different holiday drink each day this week since the peppermint mocha, and she savored each one. Whoever it was had been extremely thoughtful and clearly gone over the $50 provided allowance, having purchased her Balega running socks in different colors that she had ogled over for ages.
They also gave her different gift cards to a few local restaurants she had never heard of, but was excited to try. Each was a different cuisine with amazing reviews. One afternoon, there was an accompanying gift bag with varying brands of salt and vinegar chips, alongside a pink travel coffee mug with different colored glittery hearts embedded in the steel.
She loved it and poured her coffee inside immediately.
One of her favorite presents was the one that made her gasp so hard, she started coughing. It was a wicker basket with enough chocolate that Olive began to weep. Chocolate bars, chocolate candies, truffles, Belgian chocolate, bags of hot chocolate, Cadbury chocolate, Tony’s chocolate from the Netherlands, Ferrero Rochers, See’s Candies from down the road…So. Much. Chocolate.
It was beautiful.
She walked into the break room, refilling her new coffee mug, tears running down her face. Whoever this was had been incredibly thoughtful, and she wanted to hug them. To ask them to steal her away to wherever they lived. She was sure it was bright and happy.
“Are you okay?” A deep baritone asked. Dream-like.
She looked up, and up again.
“Dr. Carlsen. Hi.” She was shocked. She spent the last week and a half thinking about him; now here he was.
“Olive, hey.”
She blinked. He knew her name?
“Hi,” she said again.
He bit the inside of his cheek, eyeing the door. Oh, right. Olive was crying. He repeated his question.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Sorry. My secret Santa is…” Amazing? Wonderful? The new beacon in her life, next to her bathroom Guy?
“Awful, clearly. Given you are crying.”
At least that got a laugh out of her. “Incredibly thoughtful, and has done way too much. I hope they tell me who they are so I can thank them. Look at this mug they got me. It’s so happy. I love it.”
“And that made you cry?” He was frowning, which was fair. Most people would be clapping or beaming.
“I haven’t really exchanged gifts with anyone in a long time or celebrated the holidays since I was a kid. It’s nice being…” Cared about. “I know it’s not real, but it makes me feel like I have someone who really knows me, you know?”
She had no idea why, but he seemed to be hanging on her every word. Concern was swimming in his brown eyes. They were comforting, just like the chocolate sitting on her bench.
“How has yours been?” She did her best to sound nonchalant, but Olive knew she was flirting with danger. To her horror, he was scowling.
“I think Holden Rodrigues is lying to me about it. He said he had someone else, but I don’t believe him. Whoever it is knows me too well. It makes no sense. I didn’t put anything down on the form.”
“That’s not very Christmassy,” she teased. Apparently, her life included teasing Dr. Carlsen now. “Good presents seem to make you angry.”
“And they make you weepy. What does that make us?”
“Quite the pair,” she mused. “Who would have thought?”
On the last day, Olive couldn’t breathe. There was a beautifully wrapped box with black wrapping paper and a silver ribbon. Inside was a pair of running shoes. Not just any running shoes, running shoes to die for. Running shoes that made her feet feel like she was walking on a cloud. Running shoes that inexplicably fit perfectly.
There was a pair of insoles for additional arch support, too, and a note with a gift card to 1-800-Contacts that said:
Olive,
Merry Christmas. I hope you’ve been enjoying the past two years of your critical life screw up (that you’re doing great at).
Have a happy holiday break.
Your Secret Santa
P.S. — Flip flops are not lab-compliant. These are. Happy trails.
It was him. Her bathroom Guy. It had to be. There was no one else who could be her Secret Santa. Which meant Olive had been wrong all these years; there was no way he was a student.
Olive closed her eyes, realization dawning.
Tall.
Dark hair and clothes.
Dreamy deep voice.
Direct feedback in a haughty tone.
His lab’s bathroom.
How. How could she have been so blind? She flew out the door, toward Adam Carlsen’s office.
“I don’t believe you!”
“Adam, I swear to you I am not your Secret Santa.”
“You bought me that biology ninja t-shirt, and now—”
There was a knock at the door.
“You’re a liar,” Adam hissed again. “Just admit it.”
“Come in!” Holden called, ignoring him.
He was annoying. Adam didn’t know how they had managed to stay friends for this long.
“Am I interrupting?”
Adam dropped the shirt, straightening his back. “No. Holden was just leaving.”
“Apparently, I was just leaving. Great to see you, Olive.”
The door closed with a quiet snick, leaving Adam alone with the woman he was not allowed to think about. The woman who had cried over her presents. The woman he was desperate to know.
“Olive.”
“Dr. Carlsen.”
“Adam, please.”
“Adam.”
His eyes fell half-mast at the sound of his name from her voice, his heart pounding a few beats quicker in his chest. She looked determined. That fluffy bun she always wore, messy and falling everywhere, was as prominent as ever. Adam always loved the strands that fell through, framing her face. In his wildest dreams, he’d get to reach out and tuck one of them behind her ear.
“Are you busy?”
He had a meeting in a few minutes, but he would cancel that if it meant spending time with Olive.
“No.”
“I know it’s not required to tell anyone who your Secret Santa is.”
“Correct.”
He had no intentions of telling her.
“Were you mine?”
Fuck. How did she figure it out? Adam rubbed his temples. “I wasn’t planning on telling the person I had.”
Her face fell, disappointment gracing her eyes. Double fuck. He did that and hated himself for it.
“Right. Not me then,” she sighed, more to herself. “Thanks anyway.”
She was leaving? That was even worse than her knowing the truth.
“Why do you want to know?”
“They left me a clue, and I was excited to talk to them.”
A clue? Did he leave her a clue? She showed him the note.
“They referenced something that I’ve only said to one person. I thought they had graduated, but I was wrong.”
A grad student. Of course. She had thought he was a grad student that day. But it still didn’t explain the fact that she didn’t recognize him.
“It’s silly. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”
“It’s not. You don’t know who the person is?”
“I never saw them. It’s a long story. I was crying, and everything was blurry. I had tried to find them, but I must have gotten things mixed up along the way.”
“You never saw them.”
All this time, she remembered him. His heart was doing something foreign in his chest. Swelling, maybe? Close to bursting. He should consider going to the clinic. Instead, his hand wrapped around hers, without her consent.
His body was reacting quicker than his brain. She had turned away, leaving for the door. Now, she was looking at their hands.
“Adam?”
“I thought you didn’t remember. I never said anything because I—”
Olive cut him off, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into…God, was this a hug? She was hugging him. He didn’t remember the last time anyone wanted to. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed with him standing frozen in place before he remembered he should reciprocate.
Adam couldn’t believe this was happening. That he was wrapping his arms around her, pulling Olive Smith into his chest. She seemed to fit perfectly against him. He rested his head against hers, holding her tighter before he could stop himself.
She seemed to need this as much as he did.
Eventually, Olive pulled away, wiping her cheeks. There was a wet spot on his shirt.
“Sorry.”
“I’m not. You can cry on me any day. I’m realizing you do that a lot.”
“It’s a healthy outlet for emotions. You should try it sometime.”
Adam’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You bought me too much. The shoes…”
“It was my pleasure. You can exchange them if you want.”
“No. They’re incredible. I never want to take them off.”
“I was worried it was too personal.”
Too intimate, he meant. Buying a runner a pair of running shoes was no small thing. But it was Olive.
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
“Would you be willing to have dinner with me sometime?”
“Secret Santa is over,” she pointed out.
“I’m on the rewards committee. I’m extending it just for us.”
Olive smirked, glaring at him. “A date?”
“Whatever you would be willing to allow.”
Time skidded to a halt as she stood on her toes, pressing her lips against his. It was quick and chaste. She tasted sugary sweet, likely from the Starbucks drink he bought her. For the first time, he wanted one for himself. Adam huffed out a laugh, lips still pressed against hers.
“Something funny?”
“You remembering me is the only thing I wanted to put on that ridiculous form. I can’t believe that by being assigned you and leaving that note, this has happened.”
“A Christmas miracle, perhaps.”
He nodded, stunned silent. Olive Smith had kissed him.
“Speaking of your presents…how were the speculaas?”
His eyes widened. “You?”
“Me.”
There was a knock on his door. He forgot to cancel the meeting. Olive was already backing away, looking like the picture of elation. She waved at him before waltzing out the door.
“Merry Christmas, Dr. Carlsen.”
When he sat down at his desk, there was a meeting request for this evening. He should have been paying attention to the faculty member who was making themselves comfortable on the chair across from him, but his eyes were fixed on the screen.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Secret Santa Extension
Message: Is it too much to ask for one last present? ❤️
A date with Olive Smith. It was more than he dared to wish for two weeks ago. Adam accepted immediately, a dimpled smile on his face as he did. He looked up to see Dr. McCoy gaping at him.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep.”
“You’re smiling.”
“What can I say? I really enjoyed Secret Santa.”