Chapter 15
“Right Down Santa Claus Lane”
The scent of roasted chestnuts and kettle corn wafted on the crisp December air as Wren tucked her gloved hands deeper into her coat pockets, her breath curling in soft clouds while the drum beats echoed down Main Street.
Hideaway Harbor’s annual Holiday Parade blazed in full swing—loud, cheerful, bedazzled, and unapologetically festive, despite her conflicting mood.
Children in crooked paper crowns and glitter-drenched elf hats skipped along the sidewalks, their laughter rising above the jingle of sleigh bells and the slightly off-key hum of the high school brass band.
Bodhi stood beside her, his expression peaceful as he clapped politely for the passing float—an old Hawthorne fishing boat decked out in twinkle lights and towing a giant inflatable lobster wearing a Santa hat that bobbed merrily in the winter wind.
The sight should have made her smile, but the Hawthorne name only twisted the knife deeper. However, no Hawthornes attended. The operator of the float was someone Wren had never met or seen before.
Greyson avoided large crowds and, after standing her up last night, he probably assumed she’d be present and wanted to avoid crossing her path.
She didn’t want to see him either.
Soren typically loved being in the spotlight, but this year he wasn’t waving from the Hawthorne Fishery float, his charming smile melting hearts along the parade route, as he’d been doing since the age of eighteen.
Even Logan, who usually came with her and Bodhi because he enjoyed the show and sweet treats wasn’t present. She’d done exactly what she wanted to avoid doing and ruined everything.
Forcing a smile, Wren watched as dancers pranced by and waved, but her chest ached with unspoken disappointment.
She would not shed one more tear, especially not here, surrounded by peppermint-scented joy and delusions of picture-perfect happiness that outsiders assumed existed only in America’s small towns.
Okay, maybe she was a little bitter…
Across the street, Larry the Lobstah, the town mascot, waved his oversized claw from the back of a vintage convertible wrapped in garland and velvet bows.
He blew exaggerated kisses toward the crowd as if he ruled Hideaway Harbor.
Skippy, the town’s communal Saint Bernard, nibbled treats from children’s hands while they stared transfixed at the show.
“Watch out!” someone called, and Wren pulled Bodhi aside just in time as a group of dachshunds dressed as reindeer pranced by, their owners struggling to keep them in line as they sniffed out spilled popcorn on the pavement like furry vacuum cleaners.
“Sorry!” the handler yelled, wrestling with the mess of leashes that looked like Christmas ribbon gone wild.
Bodhi erupted in a hardy belly laugh that made Wren smile—really smile—for the first time since last night, the sound warming her more than any hot cocoa could.
She could do this. She could pick herself up and put herself back together because she’d mastered this art since childhood. She had years of experience in surviving rejection and remarkable resilience.
But it hurt. Christ, did it hurt. Like a fresh wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding, she wondered if she’d ever fully heal from so much rejection.
The moment she realized she was thinking about him again, she chased the thought away. No more Greyson fantasies. Or thoughts of Soren. Or Logan thoughts for that matter. At least for a little while. She needed a Hawthorne break before the heartache suffocated her completely.
Wren spotted Jocelyn near the bookstore, balanced precariously on a folding chair, snapping proof-of-life photos for her social media while wearing a shirt that read “Naughty List Survivor.” She shouted for someone to bring her a candy cane martini from the Hook, Wine, & Sinker float—a makeshift sleigh complete with bartenders mixing up cocktails in elf costumes that jingled with every shake.
The music shifted in waves as floats passed by.
Wren blinked against another swirl of confetti drifting through the air like artificial snow.
The colors blurred together in a kaleidoscope of holiday cheer.
Red. Green. White. Gold. A thousand tiny reminders of what Christmas was meant to be. What she almost had within her grasp.
Families corralled little ones closer to the barricades, handing off clouds of cotton candy, and cheering for the magical festivities. Couples cuddled to keep warm, their bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.
Eyes drifting shut, she pictured Greyson there with her, his strong arms wrapped around her from behind, but the momentary warmth morphed quickly into sharp betrayal. That fantasy had dissolved now, like sugar in rain.
They were done.
Had to be.
She refused to chase men who ran from her like she carried some contagious disease.
Keeping her gaze forward, she watched a troupe of local dancers kick and twirl in candy cane-striped leggings, their cheeks flushed with cold and joy.
“Will you look at that.” Bodhi nudged her elbow and pointed at one of the dancers doing flips with athletic grace. She forced another smile.
He looked better today. Clearer eyes. His face much less ghostly and confused.
The brass band now blared a jazzy version of Jingle Bells, and the town collectively flinched every time the trumpets hit the wrong key. Wren was present in body but absent in spirit. Swallowing hard, she focused on the glittering wreaths sparkling from the lampposts like jeweled crowns.
“I see Astrid,” Bodhi pointed to his sister, perched front and center on a camping chair in front of The Wilde Kettle. “How am I going to get over there?”
“You have to walk around, Dad.”
He searched for a shortcut and Wren watched tensely as he slid past a barricade and shuffled between the dancers, who pinged him around like a vintage pinball.
An officer appeared and tried to escort Bodhi off the road, but Bodhi assumed she wanted to dance, twirling the officer and then pirouetting to the other side of the street with a theatrical bow.
Astrid clapped, thoroughly amused by her brother’s impromptu performance.
Adjusting the knit hat over her ears, Wren retreated to the back of the crowd so little ones could see. The dancers had moved on, replaced by a fleet of festively decorated trucks honking holiday jingles, one blasting All I Want for Christmas Is You from speakers bolted to its roof.
She smiled reflexively, clapping her gloved hands along with the rest of the onlookers. Alone in a sea of togetherness.
Again.
Hell no. You’re not going there.
Every time she had a negative thought or suffered even a nip of self-pity, she shoved it back down like swallowing bitter medicine.
She thrived. She owned a successful business she built from the ground up to honor her mother’s memory.
She was complete. A lack of a partner should not determine her self-value.
And hey, there was still Noah.
Her gaze returned to Bodhi across the street, laughing with his sister as if nothing was wrong in the world. And maybe, for him, in this moment, nothing was. That made her happy. That sufficed.
The crowd around her thickened, bodies pressing closer as anticipation hung in the air like morning mist before the storm.
“You think you can just text me ‘I’m sorry’?”
Wren went rigid at the accusing voice and turned, coming face to face with frigid fury. “Soren. Hey.”
“What the hell, Wren? I thought we understood each other.” Breath clouded in the bitter air as he cornered her against the storefront window, looming with poorly contained fury.
“Soren, I told you there was an explanation.”
“Yeah, Greyson. I got the memo. You also told me you’d explain it to me next time we were face-to-face.
Well, here I am. Start explaining.” But he didn’t give her a chance to respond, his words tumbling out like an avalanche.
“You explain to me how a man who offers you absolutely nothing in terms of a future, possesses the emotional communication skills of a tree stump, and would rather surround himself with chipmunks and deer than actual people somehow appeals to you more than real fucking stability.”
She stepped back, crossing her arms defensively. “That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. None of this is fair. But that’s exactly what you chose.”
People began to look at them and whisper behind gloved hands. “Can we discuss this later?”
“No. You said we would discuss it next time we saw each other. You had all day yesterday to come up with excuses.”
“Yesterday was a bad day.”
“You think you’re the only one with bad days?”
“I didn’t say that. Of course not.”
When people actually turned to gawk at them like they were part of the entertainment, he shook his head. “Fuck this. Enjoy your miserable life chasing him down in the woods, because you and I both know he’s never going to change. I thought you were smarter than that, Wren. I honestly did.”
The high school marching band clanged their cymbals, and she flinched, the jarring sound loosening the tears in her eyes. “Wow, Soren.” She blinked, his words hitting like physical blows. “Thanks a lot.”
“No, you don’t get to cry. Not when this was your choice.”
Never before had he spoken to her in such a way. She stood speechless.
“I’m not a consolation prize, Wren. I’m not your backup or your insurance plan or whatever you thought.”
“Soren, I never thought that!”
“Yeah, you did. At least be honest with yourself. I was always the second choice.” He scoffed, the sound bitter and cutting. “I used to think you deserved so much better than Greyson, but you know what? I’m the one who deserves better than you.”
His words sliced through her like shards of glass. She didn’t know what to say. She just knew she needed to get out of there—now.