Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Raya
This is going to be an uphill climb.
I sit like a statue in the passenger seat of Finn’s Jeep, listening to Bodie rattle off the list of things he’s going to tell Santa he wants for Christmas.
I look at Grace and find her watching him intently—and I know she’s taking notes, probably so she can try to make some of these wishes come true.
In a lull, Finn tosses me a look. “No Justin today?”
“Uh, no.” My muscles tense. “We’re not really a thing anymore. My sisters didn’t tell you?”
His forehead creases. “No, they didn’t. Are you okay?”
I smile. “I’m fine. It wasn’t serious.” Or real.
Whatever Finn thinks about this, he doesn’t say, and after a beat, he’s back to his usual antics.
“Attention, passengers! I have an idea!” he announces—loudly. “Today you all have a mission.” He shoots me a look, as if to make sure I know I’m not exempt from whatever it is he’s about to say.
“Like spies?” Brady asks.
“Eh. Sort of.” Finn pulls a face. “More like explorers. Today, the only thing on our to-do list is”—he drums his hands on the steering wheel—“fun!”
The boys let out a whooping cheer. Neither Grace nor I respond.
“None of us have ever done a Loveland Christmas kickoff, Hart,” he says, nodding at me. “So you are going to be the Master of Fun for the day.”
“Me?”
“Yep.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m wrong for that job,” I say.
“But you have the insider info.”
“I really don’t.”
He frowns, then shakes his head. “Oh, Hart, you really need to hang around me more often. I can show you how to have a good time. Lesson starts now.”
He flips on the music and an upbeat rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” comes on. He starts singing, even though he only knows about half the words, and soon both boys join in.
I catch a snippet of Grace’s I’m-so-over-it face in the side mirror, then look back at Finn.
He’s actively trying to bring joy to these kids’ lives. Just because he can.
The least I can do is try to go along with it.
Finn glances at me as he starts the chorus, bellowing loudly (and very off-key) about the bright time being the right time, and I make the conscious choice to set aside my awkward insecurity and start singing along.
I’m quiet at first, but then I realize I might be the only person in this car who A.
knows all the words and B. can actually match pitch, so I start singing a little louder.
When Finn notices, he cheers, and instead of letting it embarrass me, I let it fuel me, and pretty soon, we’re all singing. Everyone except Grace.
The song ends right as we reach downtown Loveland, all decked out for Christmas. Finn flips off the music and flashes me a smile.
I do my best to hide a smile of my own, but I fail. “I did it for the kids,” I say as he parks the car in a lot near the bank.
He shrugs. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, chief.”
After he turns off the engine, the kids scramble out, the boys clambering over one another until they fall out in a pile, then Grace, leaving me alone with Finn.
“I had no idea you could sing,” he says, smiling.
I laugh. “You also have no idea that you can’t.”
“No, I do know.” He chuckles and gets out of the car, watching as Scarlett runs over to the kids.
“Thanks for letting me bring them,” he says.
“I didn’t even know you were coming, so you’re thanking the wrong person.” I smile so my words don’t come out harsh. “But I am glad you brought them. I’ve been thinking about Grace.”
“She thinks you’re beautiful, by the way.” We start walking toward our group.
“Aw, she does?”
He smiles. “Yeah. She asked why I’m not married, and I told her I haven’t found the right person yet. She said, ‘What about the beautiful lady with the black hair’?”
This makes me smile as I turn my attention back to the kids, who are all now in line for roasted chestnuts. “And what did you say?”
“I said that the beautiful lady with the black hair”—he looks at me—“is way out of my league.”
And then he walks away.
Finn
Being with the Hart family takes away the sting of not being with my own family.
We spend a full day downtown, taking in all the sights of the Loveland Christmas Carnival. We stop to eat giant, decorated Christmas cookies, admire the handmade decorations, and shop at the countless booths and displays that are set up throughout downtown.
Streets are blocked off for this carnival, with an entire section just for kids—bounce houses, a hot chocolate train car straight out of The Polar Express, and soft, climbable presents in an open playground area.
I might’ve spent some time in there with Bodie and Brady.
The boys are a whirlwind, and every new thing is an adventure, something they’re seeing for the very first time. By contrast, Grace is quiet and keeps to herself.
I understand why she reminds Raya of herself.
Though, to her credit, Raya actually seems to enjoy herself. She’s more relaxed. She smiles more than she frowns. And she even tells us about the times she spent here as a kid.
“The Christmas Carnival,” she says, “is a Loveland and a Hart tradition,” and to prove it, each member of her family takes turns sharing what they claim is “the best part of the whole carnival.”
These “best parts” range from the Holiday House Walk—a tour of four historic homes, all ornately decorated for Christmas—to the outdoor market featuring local vendors selling handmade goods like candles, caramels, or chocolates.
I bought a dark chocolate covered caramel topped with sea salt and gave it to Raya. “You never got to eat the other one I bought you because I think you were puking or something,” I joke.
Her eyes go wide, and she gives my shoulder a little push. “That’s not funny!” But her laugh tells me I didn’t go too far.
“Eh . . . I mean, it kind of is.” I grin.
“You’re the worst.” She shakes her head, but takes the chocolate.
I pop one in my mouth and wince. “Ew. This is your favorite candy?”
She takes a bite. “It’s so good.”
“Why is there salt on it?” I shudder, making a show of trying to brush it off.
“You have no taste at all,” she says, taking another one.
“No, I know a good thing when I see it.” I hold her gaze a beat longer than I probably should, then follow Bodie and Brady to the petting zoo where they have “real live reindeer.”
Which is hilarious to me, because what’s the alternative, “fake live reindeer?”
They’re huge. And I’m not sure who’s more excited—the boys or me.
Grace isn’t interested, but when one of the reindeer gets close and licks her face, even she can’t keep from laughing.
Mr. Hart shows off the living windows, his favorite holiday tradition, and we vote on which ones we like best. After that, we loop around and take a turn in line with Santa.
I pick up a pamphlet with the details for the other Christmas events in town, thinking if Raya plans to attend the luminary walk or the fireworks, maybe she’ll let me tag along.
I’ve spent more than a few holiday seasons in Illinois now, most of them in Chicago. And even though I’ve seen almost everything the city has to offer, there’s something sort of magical about being here, with a family, even if they aren’t my own. Covers the ache of homesickness just a little.
And even though there are no mountains, Loveland reminds me a bit of my own hometown. I talked to my parents this morning, got the update on the community center Thanksgiving dinner and Silverwood’s own Christmas kickoff, which isn’t a whole lot different from this one.
I absently think that someday, I’d like to show it to Raya. The divide between us has closed a little, but I remind myself not to risk widening it again by being stupid or impatient.
Just be her friend.
After we get our fill of the carnival and the cookies, we all pile back into our cars and drive to the Pine Creek Tree Farm, way out in the country between Loveland and its nearest neighbor, a town called Pleasant Valley.
We do a hay ride and get hot chocolate, then as we trudge out to the field lined with rows and rows of trees, I start a sing-along of Christmas carols, and we take turns picking which songs to sing.
Even Gray hums along. Which is shocking. I’m guessing he’s doing it for Scarlett, who has been tugging on him to join in. The entire scene feels like something straight out of a Christmas movie.
At the end of the night, I place a blanket down on the roof of my SUV and strap the kids’ and Raya’s trees down on top of it.
We head back to the Hart family farmhouse, enjoying the silent, satisfied car ride that only comes after a full day.
I’d love to stay and help decorate the Harts’ tree, drink more hot chocolate, and watch a Christmas movie, but I know I need to get the kids home to their mom.
I thank everyone for letting us tag along, and just as I’m about to leave, Raya shocks me when she asks if she can come along to bring the kids home.
She bought each of them an ornament, picking ones out that fit them perfectly.
Bodie’s ornament is a Tasmanian Devil holding a present over his head, Brady’s is a hand-carved motorcycle with the back of it packed with gifts, and Grace’s is a curvy bookworm, with glasses and a Santa hat, holding a book that says “Frankincense and Sensibility.”
I think she might be trying to find an opening to talk to Grace, too, her prickly little twin.
After we drop them off, their mom, who isn’t a whole lot older than we are, sends us home with a fresh batch of homemade cinnamon rolls and her heartfelt thanks. And it’s nice. A genuinely relaxing, restful day.
Once it’s just Raya and me in the Jeep, I let out a tired—but happy—sigh.
“It was really nice of you to bring the kids,” she says. “I think I saw Grace smile at least twice.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “A Christmas miracle.” A pause. “Saw you smile a few times too.”
She nods. “Yeah, it was . . . fun.”
“Did you just say the F-word?”
She giggles. “You’re such a dork.”
“I’m starving,” I say, realizing. “I didn’t eat enough today.”
“You had two hot dogs and a brat like two hours ago,” she says.
“I’m thinking pizza,” I say, not letting her facts get in the way of my perfectly good argument. “You up for pizza?”
She pauses, like she’s thinking about it, then finally says, “Sure.”
“Really?” I don’t bother to hide my surprise, but that one word feels like a golden ticket.
“I’ll order it now.” She opens her phone, clicks around on it for a few seconds, then tucks it away, leaning back into the seat. “They’re going to leave it on my porch.”
Even though she hasn’t mentioned it, I have a feeling her exhaustion is still bone-deep, and I start to wonder just how long it’s actually going to take for her to feel like herself again.
And what happens after the four weeks are up? Back to the grind?
It’s not my place to worry. Our friendship is still new, but sometimes I want to protect her—even from herself.
We reach her house, and I see her car sitting in the driveway. Someone in her family must’ve driven it over so she wouldn’t have to go out again.
“Looks like the pizza’s already here.” She fishes around in her purse for her keys. She stops and looks at me. “Is this weird?”
“Is what weird?”
“You being here?” she says. “Like, socially?”
“I don’t think it’s weird. We’re friends, right?” I’m hopeful that today put us back on the right track. “Is it weird for you?”
She winces. “Kind of.”
I laugh. “You never pull any punches, do you?”
“I don’t even know how.”
“See, that right there, that’s one of the things I like about you,” I say, my Jeep still idling in her driveway.
She laughs. “It’s not my best quality.”
“True. Your face is your best quality.”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“But speaking your mind is a close second, for sure.” I lean back in the seat. “It’s hard to find people who do that.”
She stares out the windshield. “Most people don’t like that I do.”
I shrug. “Most people are idiots.”
She laughs.
There’s a quiet lull, and then I say, “If it’s weird, I can bring your tree in, grab a slice, and hit the road. I won’t be offended.”
She seems to be contemplating this, and I’m kicking myself for suggesting it.
“Or . . . we could go inside, set up your tree, eat some pizza, and watch The Polar Express.”
She frowns. “You want to watch a cartoon?” She opens the car door and gets out, so I shut off the car and do the same.
“Six of my top ten movies are animated,” I say.
She muses. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Okay, but have you seen Lego Batman?” I reach up to start untying the twine from around the tree, and once it’s loose, I heave it down, then up over my shoulder.
“Absolutely not.”
“We need to fix that.” I walk up to the porch and find Raya standing there with the door only slightly ajar.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she says, pointing at me. “It’s just pizza and you know, Christmas . . . things.”
“Message received,” I say.
“No flirting and no”—she waves her hands around, like she’s swatting gnats—“reading into it.”
“Got it,” I say, shifting the tree. It’s not exactly small. “Strictly platonic.”
She starts to open the door then freezes, and I stop short. The front of the tree tips forward, and I lose my balance.
I shoot out a hand to the top of the door frame to stop myself from falling and as the tree dips inside the doorway, and my face ends up about an inch from hers.
Her breath hitches. “Strictly platonic.”
I nod.
She goes still.
“Hart?” I say.
“Yeah?”
“This is really heavy.”