Chapter 9 - Gracie
“…and remember,” Eleanor Locke announced, clutching her clipboard to her chest, “the day and night is called ‘Mistletoe on Main’ for a reason. We want bushels of mistletoe for this one. We will expect no less than a hundred kisses, three proposals, and at least one spontaneous wedding!”
Nervous laughter rippled through the crowded Park City Community Hall. Sitting inches from Marshall, Gracie waited for the warm rush of blood to her cheeks at the thought of…kissing.
But there was none, thank goodness.
Next to her, Marshall leaned a centimeter closer, making her aware of nothing but his masculine scent and the light pressure from his shoulder.
“We should do little mistletoes hanging over both entrances,” he said, clearly thinking about the design they’d just had approved and not…kissing.
The Mistletoe on Main committee had loved their joint concept and Eleanor made such a huge deal over how adorable it was and how it promoted peace on Earth—or at least peace between rivals.
Whatever, they were committed to this now.
Eleanor droned on about the event, chatting about live reindeer and the tree lights, the carolers and an elf parade, and, of course, The Skating Spectacular with Santa.
A few people in the front row argued about the placement of the Nativity scene, and old Mr. Knowles stood up and asked that his golden retriever be allowed to play a sheep.
Marshall inched closer again. “And here I thought I was moving to a sophisticated ski resort town.”
“Emphasis on town,” she said, smiling up at him. “Small, sweet, and not sophisticated.”
“I love it,” he murmured, his dark eyes glinting. “I feel like I’m in Gilmore Girls.”
She wasn’t sure what surprised her most—the fact that he watched girly TV shows or liked the small-town vibe. But what really surprised Gracie was the fact that, despite the proximity to a man who turned her legs to Jell-O, she was surprisingly comfortable.
From the moment they’d started to walk together to the meeting, Marshall had put her at ease. She’d let him lead their two-minute presentation of their gingerbread house, but he had given her praise and credit and had talked to every person with an amazing amount of humility.
Every time someone mentioned his NFL career, he acknowledged the compliment and interest and asked a question about their lives and jobs.
Pure class, as MJ would say, and it went a long way to making Gracie feel completely relaxed with him.
When Eleanor adjourned the meeting and the room filled with chatter, laughter, and the crinkle of puffy jackets as everyone rose, Gracie decided she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a town meeting so much.
They both talked to a few more people, then made their way outside to find Park City glittering in holiday finery.
The Christmas lights strung from lamppost to lamppost twinkled red, gold, and white, and the air smelled like cinnamon and firewood. The street looked like a postcard for small-town holidays and Gracie was oddly proud of her home as she tugged her scarf tighter.
“That went better than expected,” she said as she and Marshall fell into step together, heading down the sidewalk.
They passed the twinkling storefronts and spotted the window of Sugarfall, shining soft and warm a block away. Across the street, Atticus Coffee’s windows glowed with amber light, wreaths on every pane.
“Look,” he said. “Atticus stays open late for the whole month of December.”
She nodded, then glanced up at him. “You think you want to extend holiday hours?”
He laughed. “Not everything is about work, Gracie. I think I want to extend our evening together.” He gestured toward the beloved coffee and tea shop, which looked achingly inviting in the snow. “I’ve got the babysitter for another hour, so…tea?”
Her heart did a strange little skip when she nodded. Not the usual skip of overanalyzing or feeling the tension that came with life as an introvert, either.
The fact was, she couldn’t dream of saying no.
“I’d love that,” she said. “But only if you promise not to judge me for putting sugar in my lavender Earl Grey.”
He made a face and grunted, hammering his chest with his fist. “You’re killing me, Ms. McBride.”
She laughed as they crossed the street and walked up freshly salted steps to the charming brick building. Then they stepped into a warm Park City landmark that was part coffee shop, part bookstore, and one big community.
The café was all cozy Christmas, with strings of fairy lights looped across exposed beams. A tiny tree sparkled in the corner, and someone had stacked gingerbread-scented candles by the counter.
Atticus was hopping, proving that extended hours made a lot of sense at this time of year.
They snagged a table near the bookshelves and Marshall went to the counter and got their order, smiling kindly at the barista.
At the table, Gracie pulled off her gloves and slipped out of her jacket, eyeing the snowflakes drifting past the streetlights outside the window.
Marshall came back with drinks and took the seat across from her, leaning the backpack he’d brought to the meeting against his chair.
The warmth seeped into Gracie’s fingers as she wrapped her hands around her cup.
“I guess this place is also our competition,” he mused, sipping his tea.
“In a way, but Atticus has a vibe all its own,” she told him. “It’s the embodiment of Park City, which is still a little bit historic mining town and a little bit upscale ski haven. Also, this time of year? Brace yourself. We go all-in.”
He looked around, his expression thoughtful. “It’s funny. I didn’t think I’d like that kind of thing—small-town festivals, neighbors who know your middle name. But I do. It’s… charming. And it’s been so good for Olivia. She loves it here, you know.”
Gracie smiled. “She’s a great kid. All I’ve ever wanted for Benny was a good friend and she absolutely fits the bill.”
He nodded, swirling his tea absently. “He’s a perfect, sensible foil for her tendency toward wild fantasies.”
Like Marshall and Gracie falling in love and getting married.
She just smiled and they sat quiet for a moment, the soft hum of conversation around them. Taking a sip, Gracie found herself studying his face—the strong line of his jaw, the dimple that appeared when he smiled, the gentleness in his eyes. Right then, she just wanted to know more about him.
“I know you played for Pittsburgh, but is that where you grew up?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Across the state in Philadelphia, actually. Born and raised in the city. My mom worked two very demanding, physical jobs—hospital aid and waitress. I spent a lot of time on my own. Not a lot of chill places to hang out, so I found the football field.”
“Once again, sports saves the day.”
“Did it ever,” he said. “Football gave me focus. Something to chase that didn’t involve getting into trouble.”
Gracie leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “You must have worked really hard to play professionally. I can’t imagine the dedication that takes.”
He shrugged, but there was pride in his eyes. “I figured out by tenth grade that if I hustled hard enough, I could get a scholarship. Penn State came calling when I was seventeen. Best day of my life.”
She smiled. “Until the Steelers, right?”
His laugh was quiet, almost self-deprecating. “Yeah, that was surreal. My mom cried for a week straight. I thought I’d made it. Then I learned fame’s a funny thing—it gives you everything except the stuff you really need.”
Gracie tilted her head. “Like what?”
He looked at her, serious. “Peace. Stability. Trust.”
Something in his tone made her chest tighten. “You have that now, though,” she said. “At least I hope you do.”
He gave her a small, grateful smile. “I do. Thanks to Olivia. And this town.”
“What brought you here?” she asked. “Why Park City?”
“I knew people who had second homes here and I’d visited,” he said.
“I like the winter vibe, although after having spent a year here, and experiencing the other seasons? I like the year-round vibe, to be honest. Hiking, biking, skiing, and I have what looks like a great business. Long way to go,” he added quickly. “But I’ll get there.”
She considered asking about the business, but she didn’t want to get back into their competition for customers. This was too easy and fun with no “work” in the mix.
“You definitely have a local feel, Gracie,” he said. “Born and raised in these mountains, I presume?”
She nodded. “I’ve never lived anywhere but here. My family’s owned Snowberry Lodge for three generations. Park City was my home long before the Sundance Film Festival brought all you celebrity types here.”
“It’s still a great small town.” He glanced around again.
“I like the predictability of the place. That sense of, I don’t know, everything you need is right here.
I like festivals and events.” He lifted his brows.
“If Eleanor finds out, I’ll be on the next committee because I won’t be able to say no. ”
She smiled, caught off guard by how sincere he sounded. “So, you’re a softie, huh?”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said. “Ruins my tough-guy image.”
They both laughed and sipped their drinks until Marshall leaned back in his chair. “Would it be super out of line for me to ask about Benny’s dad? I mean, since we’re trading origin stories.”
Gracie hesitated, tracing a finger along her mug’s rim. She wasn’t used to talking about Sam, not like this. But something about Marshall—his open, steady gaze, the way he wasn’t prying, just listening—made it feel just fine.
“Sam and I met when I was studying to be a pastry chef at a local cooking school,” she said slowly. “He’d moved to Park City looking for the next boomtown. He worked at the local restaurant where I interned on the pastry line. And we…got serious pretty fast.”
Marshall didn’t interrupt, just nodded slightly.