Chapter 12
Holly
The cold air nips at my cheeks, but it’s the warmth bubbling inside me that has me practically buzzing as I adjust the giant insulated dispenser of hot cocoa.
The park is a sea of bundled-up bodies, wool hats, and mittened hands clutching paper cups. Lights strung through the bare branches of the oak trees overhead cast a soft, magical glow.
The giant spruce I spent hours wrestling lights onto stands sentinel-like at the center, waiting for its moment. Carols drift from the small speaker system I set up near the base, mingling with the excited chatter and laughter of my neighbors.
It’s perfect. Chaotic, bustling, alive – everything I love about this time of year.
Everything, except the butterflies currently staging a full-scale revolt in my stomach.
He said he’d be here.
I scan the edges of the crowd again, past Mrs. Gable’s familiar purple puffer jacket, past Mr. Henderson trying to corral his twin terriers, past clusters of teenagers laughing under the lights. No sign of a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette or a small, pink-coated figure bouncing beside it.
“Holly, honey, this cocoa is divine!” Mrs. Rossi beams, holding up her cup. “Just the right amount of peppermint. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Rossi!” I force a bright smile, topping off her cup. “Glad you like it. Extra marshmallows?”
“Always!” She pats my arm. “You’re an angel for putting this all together again. Makes the neighborhood feel like home.”
Her words warm me, a counterpoint to the nervous energy fizzing under my skin. This is why I do it. The shared smiles, the bundled-up camaraderie, the collective gasp when the tree finally lights up. It’s community. It’s connection. It’s… magic.
Or it’s supposed to be. Right now, my magic feels tangled up in the prospect of seeing a certain grumpy hockey player.
“Holly! Need a refill over here!” Charlie waves from the other end of the long table we’ve set up, her cheeks rosy from the cold and exertion. She’s been a whirlwind, keeping the cocoa flowing and the marshmallow mountain replenished.
Her knowing glance darts past me, scanning the same crowd I’ve been obsessively checking. Looking for the Grumpy One? her raised eyebrow seems to say.
I knew I shouldn’t have told her he was coming and I try to ignore her silent commentary.
Instead, I grab another jug of the cocoa.
The rich, chocolatey scent is usually comforting, but tonight it just mixes with the crisp pine smell from the wreaths decorating the park benches and the underlying bite of winter air, creating a heady cocktail that does nothing to settle my nerves.
He agreed. He said yes. But the memory of Denton’s clipped tone, his stiff posture as he’d agreed to this festive invasion of his carefully controlled world… it didn’t exactly scream enthusiasm.
What if he changed his mind? What if the thought of crowds and carols and forced cheer kept him from showing up? What if Tabby’s pleas weren’t enough?
I pour cocoa for the Andersons, my hands remarkably steady despite the internal wobble. Stop it, Holly. Just think about something else.
“Wow, Holly, this is amazing!” Ben Carter, who runs the used bookstore down the street, leans over the table, helping himself to a handful of candy canes for his kids. “The lights look incredible this year. You really went all out.”
“Thanks, Ben! Trying to make it special.” My gaze drifts past him for a moment when I think I spot Denton and Tabby.
“Looking for someone?” he asks, following my line of sight.
“Just… keeping an eye on the crowd flow,” I deflect quickly, feeling heat creep up my neck.
He chuckles. “Always working. Enjoy the fruits of your labor for a minute!” He gestures towards the sparkling trees, the happy faces illuminated in the soft light. “It’s perfect.”
It is perfect. Or it would be, if…
And then I see them.
They’re standing near the big maple tree at the far edge of the park.
Denton looks… massive. Even bundled in a long, dark wool coat, he cuts an imposing figure.
His shoulders are set in that familiar rigid line, his posture radiating a ‘do not approach’.
He looks profoundly out of place amidst the cozy chaos.
Tabby, perched high on his shoulders, is a pink beacon of excitement. Her mittened hands are buried in his dark hair, her little face tilted upwards, taking in the twinkling canopy above them. She’s chattering animatedly, pointing towards the giant unlit spruce.
Denton’s head is tilted slightly, listening, his profile stern, but one of his large hands rests securely on her tiny booted foot anchored against his chest. That protective grip sends a pang straight to my heart.
He showed up. For her.
The relief is immediate, a warm wave washing over the cold anxiety. He kept his promise. To Tabby. The butterflies settle, replaced by a softer, warmer fluttering. He’s here. In my world. However reluctantly.
I watch as a man in a Blades beanie does a double-take, nudges his companion, and points towards Denton. Recognition flashes across their faces. They approach, tentative smiles plastered on.
I see Denton’s posture shift slightly, his shoulders squaring even more, his chin lifting. The practiced, public persona clicks into place – the polite but distant hockey star. He nods and says something to them, his expression carefully neutral.
Another woman approaches, bolder this time, holding out what looks like a program or a trading card. Denton shakes his head slightly, says something short. She tucks the item away, and hurries off. His gaze flicks back to Tabby, his hand tightening protectively on her foot.
Seeing him like this – the celebrity, the public figure navigating the awkwardness of recognition – is strangely intimidating. This is a side of him I haven’t witnessed. The untouchable athlete.
“Hey, girl,” Charlie’s voice is suddenly beside me, her elbow nudging my ribs. She follows my gaze. “Ah. The fortress has arrived. And he brought the pink princess.”
We observe Denton’s interaction with another fan – a teenage boy this time, who gets a brief handshake and a nod before scurrying away, starstruck. “Handling his adoring public with his usual sunny charm, I see.”
“He’s just… private,” I defend, tearing my gaze away to refill a cup for old Mr. Peterson. “And he’s here for Tabby.”
“Uh-huh.” Charlie’s skepticism is palpable. She grabs a handful of mini marshmallows and tosses them into her own cocoa. “Well, Tabby looks thrilled. He looks like he’d rather be getting a root canal. You sure you want to sit with them?”
“I said I would,” I say, my voice firm. “Tabby’s saving me a spot.”
“Just… manage your expectations, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
She looks at her watch and gestures towards the towering spruce. “Shouldn’t we be flipping the switch soon? Mayor Davies is looking antsy.”
She’s right. The crowd is thickening around the base of the spruce. Mayor Davies, bundled in a parka and enormous red scarf, is fiddling with the oversized, slightly ridiculous ceremonial light switch we prop up every year.
“Okay, okay!” I call out, my voice carrying surprisingly well over the din. “Cocoa refills paused! Gather ‘round, everyone! Tree lighting in T-minus two minutes!”
A cheer ripples through the crowd. People surge closer, families shuffling children to the front, couples huddling together.
I quickly wipe my sticky hands on my apron – bright red with embroidered snowflakes – and weave my way through the throng towards the small platform near the switch. My heart is pounding again, but this time it’s the familiar, welcome rush of event adrenaline.
I step up beside Mayor Davies, accepting the cordless mic he hands me. The faces looking up at me are warm and expectant. My neighbors. My community.
The people who buy my gingerbread cookies and chat over morning scones. The ones who signed the petition against Tony Taviani’s development last year. The warmth of their collective gaze brings me back to being right here, right now.
“Hi, everyone!” My voice booms slightly through the speakers, making a few people jump and laugh. “Welcome to the 15th Annual Wicker Park Tree Lighting!” A cheer erupts.
“Thanks for braving the cold! And an extra big thanks to everyone who helped string lights, bake cookies –” I gesture towards the cocoa table where Charlie gives a mock bow, “– and generally spread the cheer! You make this neighborhood feel like home, especially during the holidays.”
More applause. Genuine smiles. Mrs. Rossi beams at me.
I catch a glimpse of movement at the edge of the crowd. Denton has moved. He’s no longer under the maple tree. He’s moved closer, still on the periphery but within clear sight of the platform.
Tabby is still riding high, her eyes wide with excitement, fixed on the giant, dark tree. Denton’s intense gaze, however, isn’t on the spruce. Unreadable from this distance, but undeniably focused. The intensity of it hits me for a second, stealing my breath. He’s watching me.
“Okay!” I force my voice back into cheerleader mode, tearing my gaze away from his. “On the count of three! Mayor Davies will do the honors with our very high-tech switch…” I gesture to the giant plastic switch. Laughter ripples through the crowd. “And we’ll light up the night! Ready?”
A roar of affirmation from both the kids and the adults.
“One!” The crowd shouts with me. “Two!” Louder this time. Denton’s gaze still feels like a physical weight. “THREE!”
Mayor Davies throws the switch with a flourish. Nothing happens for a heart-stopping second. Then, with a soft, collective whoosh that seems to ripple through the air, thousands of tiny white lights blaze to life on the massive spruce.
Adults clap and whistle. Children shriek with delight. Camera flashes pop like tiny stars. The carols surge back in, louder now: “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”