If You Give a CEO a Chance (Aspen Grove #3)

Chapter 12

I stifle a yawn as I approach the apartment building. The event at the gallery ran late, but my client gave me a generous tip, bringing me one step closer to opening my restaurant. I’ve got a long road ahead, but at least I’m moving in the right direction, and eventually, all the early mornings and late nights will be worth it.

To my surprise, Walter is at the entrance, holding open the door with a cheerful smile.

“What are you doing here so late?” I ask.

“I’m covering for Dan so he could take his wife out to celebrate their anniversary,” Walter replies as he ushers me inside.

I nod in thanks. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m happy to help him out.”

“Are you still going to your friend’s for Christmas?” I ask.

Walter and Pearl never had children, and he doesn’t have family nearby. But that hasn’t stopped him from becoming a beloved fixture in the community. He spends his weekends playing chess in the park and volunteering at the homeless shelter, and I’m fortunate to be among his friends.

“Yes, in the afternoon. I’ll probably stop by the shelter in the morning to help out beforehand.” He follows me into the lobby. “How about you and Cat? Any big plans? You could always be my plus-one.”

I’m touched by his offer. The holidays are a difficult time of year, reminding me of all that I’ve lost. And I usually don’t celebrate.

My grandmother hated Christmas, calling it a commercialized sham where people feigned affection. I was scolded whenever I got swept up in the holiday spirit, and at sixteen, she even made me throw away the small tree I had bought to put on my dresser. Her reluctance to celebrate stemmed from her obsessive need for control. And losing my dad, despite their estrangement, left her so bitter that she avoided anything that could evoke emotion or connection—including me.

She tried calling again this morning, but I let it go to voicemail. True to form, she didn’t leave a message—probably annoyed that I won’t pick up.

“I appreciate the offer,” I say to Walter with a smile. “I’m actually catering a brunch in Brooklyn and a Christmas dinner on the Upper East Side, so it’ll be a busy day. There’s no predicting how Cat will meet his daily destruction quota. I have a hunch he doesn’t take holidays off.”

Walter chuckles. “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

“What’s the point of work if not to provide a little distraction,” I joke, though there is a hint of truth to my words.

I have one foot in the elevator when Walter calls my name.

“Yeah?” I hold my hand out to keep the door from closing.

“A delivery came for you earlier. It’s in the penthouse,” he says with a grin. “I think it’ll do the trick in getting you in the holiday spirit.”

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you go up and find out?”

I laugh. “Alright, I will. Happy holidays, Walter.”

“You too, Miss Fallon.”

On the way to the apartment, I can’t help but wonder what awaits me and if Harrison had anything to do with it.

When I walk into the penthouse, the first thing I notice is the smell of pine and cinnamon. As I move past the hallway, I see that the living room has been transformed into a winter wonderland. It’s bathed in a soft glow from the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree in the corner. Strands of popcorn drape across the branches, nestled among red and white ornaments, with garland hanging above the fireplace. The room looks like it’s straight out of a holiday catalog.

Upon closer inspection, I chuckle when I notice several custom ornaments—a bottle of Diet Coke, a cup of coffee, a spider, and a chef’s hat with my name engraved at the bottom.

I’m struck speechless, my breath caught in my throat. I prepared myself to accept the quiet of the holidays without celebrating, convinced it’s what I wanted. But now, seeing the tree, I realize that I needed this more than I could have imagined.

In stark contrast to my grandmother, my parents loved the holidays. The season was always filled with music, lights, and the comforting smell of cinnamon and pine filling the house. As a kid, my mom made it a tradition to let me decorate the tree. She never corrected my ornament placement or tried to rearrange things. She let it be my masterpiece, no matter how uneven or chaotic it turned out.

Those happy memories made the transition to living with my grandmother all that much harder. As an adult, I’ve always preferred to stay busy during this time of year, avoiding the reminder of how things used to be.

A printed note with my name in elegant script peeks out from one of the branches of the tree, catching my eye. My curiosity piqued, I pick it up to read it.

Fallon,

You can’t have Christmas without a tree. I apologize for leaving without decorating the apartment first. I hope this makes up for it. The glitter and ornaments might not be my thing, but if it makes you feel more at home, that’s all that matters.

Merry Christmas.

Harrison

P.S. I hope you like the gift.

P.S.S. Check the fridge for a peace offering.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I head to the kitchen to check what’s in the fridge. Inside, I find bluefin tuna in an insulated box, its deep crimson color visible through a layer of clear plastic wrap. A smile tugs at my lips as I run through the recipe for tuna poke bowls in my mind. I didn’t expect Harrison would actually replace the tuna, and I admit I’m touched.

That’s when I remember the mention of a present in Harrison’s note. When I go back into the living room, I find a present under the tree, wrapped in shiny gold paper and tied with a big satin ribbon. It’s a miracle Cat hasn’t gotten to it yet.

I kneel down to open it, observing how heavy it is. As I unwrap it and remove the lid from the box, my fingers tremble as I pull out the tomato-red Dansk Enamelware pot. It’s identical to the one that my mom would use for all our family dinners. When my parents passed, I was only able to take a small box of photos and mementos with me when I moved to London. I always regretted not grabbing that pot when I had the chance. Now that I have one exactly like it, it’s like a piece of my mom is here with me.

Harrison may not understand the significance of the gesture, but the fact that he paid attention speaks volumes.

Fallon: Thank you for the tree and the gift. You’re more generous than I give you credit for.

Harrison: My sister’s Christmas spirit must be rubbing off on me.

Fallon: How so?

Harrison: She has a holiday checklist, and this year, she enlisted the whole family to participate.

Fallon: What kind of activities are we talking about?

Harrison: Yesterday, she roped us into a Christmas scavenger hunt, and we had to trek around town in the snow.

Fallon: That doesn’t sound so bad.

Harrison: Try getting stuck in a snowdrift with a bunch of kids and lugging a giant candy cane so large it could be a walking stick for giants.

Fallon: Those poor kids.

Harrison: I’ll have you know I’m a pro with them. My niece Lola adores me.

Fallon: Do you bribe her?

Harrison: Sometimes.

Harrison: Did you check the fridge?

Fallon: Yeah. Thanks for replacing the tuna.

Harrison: It was the least I could do.

Harrison: What about the pot?

Fallon: It was very thoughtful.

Harrison: Is it what you had in mind?

Fallon: It’s perfect.

Fallon: Why’d you do all this for me?

Harrison: Everyone deserves a little holiday magic.

My body shivers at his unexpected kindness, leaving me breathless.

Damn him for being so unpredictable. One minute he’s being a jerk, and the next he’s playing Santa, going out of his way to make sure I have a good Christmas. It’s downright frustrating. Before, the line between us was clear, and staying mad at him was easy. Now that he’s playing the nice guy, I’m thrown off balance, at risk of the defenses I’ve carefully built to start crumbling.

Fallon: This doesn’t mean I forgive you.

Harrison: Likewise.

Fallon: Goodnight, Harrison.

Harrison: Have a merry Christmas, Fallon.

I should get rid of the tree and be done with it. I’m only staying with Harrison until I’ve saved enough to cover a few months’ rent for a small storefront where I can open my first restaurant. My past with Harrison should be nothing more than a reminder never to trust a hockey player.

But I can’t bring myself to toss the tree. The smell of pine transports me to Christmas morning as a kid. My parents would let me open one gift before breakfast, and then we’d make my mom’s famous eggnog pancakes together, paired with her homemade cinnamon syrup. She would patiently help me pour the milk into the bowl and fold in the flour, making sure I didn’t overmix the batter. Her hands would gently cover mine, guiding my every move, leaving me with a memory that stays close to my heart.

I brush away a tear as Cat enters the living room. My body stiffens when he notices the tree, but instead of reacting, he hops onto the couch and settles into the blanket in the corner,

meowing loudly as he looks at the TV.

“Seriously?” I ask with a raised brow. “You can’t comfort me like a normal pet?”

He meows louder, clawing the blanket, giving the TV another purposeful glance, clearly wanting me to turn it on.

“Fine, but don’t think I don’t see through your innocent act. You’re plotting an attack on the tree, and I’m not letting that happen.” After we watch a movie, I’ll move it into my room to avoid it getting destroyed. “You might be sorely disappointed,” I warn Cat. “Tonight, we’re watching Elf .”

Caught in the Christmas spirit, I decide once I turn the movie on for Cat, I’m going to whip up a batch of my mom’s pancakes for dinner. I’ve avoided her recipes in the past because it’s been a painful reminder that she’s not here with me. However, tonight feels like the right time to give myself permission to enjoy the holiday spirit that I’ve been missing since my parents died.

And, though much as I hate to admit it, I have Harrison to thank for that.