Chapter 4
Chapter Four
PARKER
“ W hat do you mean she hates Christmas?” Amelia gasps, her bowl of ice cream forgotten.
After leaving Maddison a couple of hours ago, I knew I needed help, and the one person who loves Christmas just as much as I do is my daughter. I drove straight to my mom’s and interrupted their dinner, but Mom always has plenty to spare, so she made me a plate.
“That’s what I said,” I say with a shrug, shoveling the last bit of my own ice cream into my mouth. “Who doesn’t like Christmas?” I exclaim, sitting back in my chair, my empty bowl pushed to the side.
How anyone can dislike Christmas is beyond me. There must be some rule against it, right? It’s the season of joy, of giving. Where you eat so much food that it puts you in a coma for the rest of the day. How does anyone hate Christmas ?
And how do I get her to change her mind? I’ve got a little over three weeks before the big day, so I’m going to have to pull out all the stops for this one .
As if reading my mind, Amelia asks, “So, what do we do?”
This kid.
She’s my greatest gift and every time I see her, pride blooms in my chest. Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful I get to be her dad.
I run a hand through my hair, sighing. “That’s what I’m struggling with.
It’s got to be something small to start off with.
If we go in full force, it’ll only freak her out more.
” I lean my head in my hands, thinking. Sitting upright, I say, “What about if we decorate her house with Christmas lights? She’s gotta have a house, right? ”
“I don’t know…” she says around a mouthful of melted vanilla ice cream. “Does she live in a house?”
“That’s why I’m asking,” I groan, rubbing my eyes.
Amelia shrugs, pointing her spoon at me. “Well, you’ll just have to find out then, won’t you?”
“Helpful, oh, wonderful daughter of mine,” I say with a saccharine smile.
She grins back in response. I think about what she said, ideas running around in my head.
“I mean… it could work. I’m sure someone must know where she lives.
Plus, it’s a small enough gesture not to freak her out, but big enough to get her in the mood.
” I snap my fingers, feeling optimistic.
“Let’s do it. We can’t get into that much trouble for it, can we? ”
“Dad, I’m pretty sure it’s a felony to go onto someone’s property without their permission and decorate their house,” she replies, her lips pursed.
“If anyone asks, it was all my fault, and you’re just the look-out girl.” I wink.
Amelia rolls her eyes. “Fine. It’s for the good of Christmas, so I’m in.”
Mom walks into the kitchen, interrupting us. “ You have your we’re-up-to-no-good faces on.” She arches a brow and points at us.
My mom, Samantha Grayson, is one hell of a woman—feisty but soft. Even at sixty-four, she’s still beautiful. Her brown eyes have only ever shown wisdom and kindness, and her ample figure is always draped in some sort of bright color to ‘offset the white of her short hair,’ or so she says.
Amelia and I glance at each other. “Us? No, never,” I gasp, clutching my chest in mock outrage. “We were just discussing, erm, the, uh?—”
“Theory of relativity,” Amelia cuts in with a smile.
“Yeah, that,” I agree, but my face must say it all since Mom raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t get my baby girl into trouble, Parker,” she admonishes jokingly, walking to the sink to rinse the dishes.
I jump up out of my seat and rush over to her. “Let me do that, Mom. Go and sit down. I’ve got this.”
She pats my chest and kisses my cheek before sitting next to Amelia. “So, what’s going on?”
I concentrate on washing the dishes, pretending I didn’t hear her.
“Dad has a crush on a girl who hates Christmas,” Amelia announces without a care in the world.
I whip around, my eyes wide. “ Amelia ,” I whisper-yell, soap suds dripping on the floor. “What happened to father-daughter secrecy?”
“What?” She looks at me as if she hasn’t done anything wrong. “Grandma can help. She’s the one who gave us our love of Christmas, isn’t she?”
She’s not wrong. My mom would go all out every year, buying tons of presents and making enough food to feed an army. It always reminded me of the Hallmark movies I used to watch as a kid—families coming together, laughter filling the house, and the lights twinkling on the Christmas tree.
No matter how many years have passed, I still get a rush of excitement the minute November hits. I’m even man enough to admit that I still put out a plate of cookies, a carrot, and a glass of milk for Santa and Rudolf on Christmas Eve.
“Fair point,” I agree, grabbing the towel and wiping my hands. “I also don’t have a crush,” I mumble, my ears burning at the lie.
“Why does she hate Christmas?” Mom asks, settling herself back into her chair.
“I have no clue. I just met her today. I wanted to get Amelia a book, but the owner refuses to stock anything related to Christmas.” I shrug, still baffled by the whole thing.
“Hmm.” Mom taps her finger against her bottom lip. “My guess is she’s been hurt badly around the holidays. A bad breakup or a bad family life that’s left a sour taste in her mouth.”
I nod my head slowly. What she’s saying makes sense. “So we make her fall in love with Christmas again?”
“Does she want to?” Mom asks, her head tilted.
“I don’t know, but I have to try. It’s Christmas ,” I exclaim, my chest aching at the thought of Maddie hating the holidays.
“Remember, Parker, just because we love Christmas doesn’t mean everyone else will. Go carefully, or you might end up pushing her away. You can be a bit much sometimes.” She smirks, her eyes dancing with amusement.
“It’s not my fault I’m a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. You did raise me that way after all,” I point out, grinning back at her.
“You’re trouble, that’s what you are, Parker Grayson, just like your father.”
“But that’s half his charm, though.” I wink, and Mom nods her head.
“What are you saying about me?” Dad asks as he walks into the room, his eyes lighting up when he sees Mom.
Bradley Grayson is a powerhouse of a man with a muscular build, most of his hair still, even if it’s a little more gray than dark, and crinkles around his eyes from laughing so much.
He’s like me—a jokester. The pranks we play on each other can get a little out of hand at times, but that’s what makes them so great.
“Just saying you’re a troublemaker, and it’s where your son got it from.” Mom beams at Dad.
“Wha—no, me?” Dad stutters, knowing it’s true but denying it at all costs.
“Yes, you , dear,” Mom snorts while patting his chest. Turning back to me, she declares, “Right, so operation de-grump the bookworm is a go.”
“That’s a terrible name, Mom,” I groan, face-palming, and Amelia agrees. “You couldn’t have come up with something better?”
Mom arches a perfectly plucked gray eyebrow at us. “Please, go right ahead if you have any better ideas.”
Amelia and I look at each other. “Operation de-grump the bookworm it is,” we both grumble in unison.
“Glad you see it my way,” Mom says excitedly, clapping her hands together. “Now, we need to start small and work our way up so she doesn’t know what we’re up to.”
“We?” I ask as I sit down at the table, stretching out my legs in front of me and crossing my arms over my chest .
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t get involved, did you?”
“What is it with the women in this house?” I grumble as I pinch the bridge of my nose in exasperation. Swiping a hand down my face, I say, “The pair of you are going to be the death of me, you know that, right?”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, Parker.”
“Wonder where I get that from?” I mumble under my breath.
A swift slap to my thigh tells me she heard it and isn’t happy. I rub the spot where she hit me. “Ow,” I mouth to no one in particular.
Amelia decides to pipe up, a smirk on her face, “Completely deserved if you ask me.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I exclaim before crying out in faux upset, a hand to my forehead. “It’s like you hate me.”
Mom snaps her fingers to get our attention. “You two are getting off topic.”
I stop fake crying at my daughter and look over at my mom. “Sorry, you were saying?” I ask, wanting to know what the plan is.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do.”