Chapter 29
“It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”
Snow dusted the eaves of Main Street shops like powdered sugar on gingerbread houses.
Wreaths and garland transformed the town into a gift-wrapped wonderland.
The blend of woodsmoke, cinnamon, and caramelized sweets hung thick in the air—a promise of comfort Greyson’s uneasy stomach couldn’t embrace.
Dread or hope?
The question churned in his gut with no relief.
Wren skipped across the snow-dusted square, her crimson knit hat bobbing like Rudolph’s nose as the jingle bells tied to her boot laces chimed with every stride.
“I hope you stretched,” she yelled, breath misting from her wide grin. “Because we’re getting a holiday workout today.”
Greyson shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets as wind whipped across the square. “I feel the work part of it.”
Wren spun to face him, clutching spiced cider like a lifeline. “Don’t be a grinch.”
“You knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”
“And you know I’m not someone who gives up.
” Her eyes sparkled. “We’re going full-tilt, Hawthorne.
Hot cocoa, mistletoe, all the trimmings!
We’re making memories, whether you and your brothers accept it or not.
” She pressed a cinnamon kiss on his lips and nuzzled him with her cold nose.
“Trust me, there will come a time that you’ll all appreciate having them. ”
He believed her, but that time wasn’t now.
This was his fault. He’d asked for help. What did he expect her to do, nothing? That wasn’t Wren. She saw a problem and put her whole heart into fixing it.
Harbor & Home beckoned like a Christmas cottage, its window ablaze with twinkling lights and handmade ornaments.
Inside, cinnamon-scented potpourri and Christmas music bombarded him. Sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes sat beside a large carafe of mulled wine.
“First, a little Christmas fuel.” Wren handed him a cookie and bit hers with a satisfied hum.
“Do you even know who made them?”
She licked sugar from her lips in a way that took his mind to a place it shouldn’t go. “As long as they aren’t Birdie’s, I’m sure they’re fine.”
He followed her through aisles overflowing with holiday treasures, mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she piled their basket with beeswax candles, ceramic reindeer, and glass ornaments.
“How much are you getting?” The basket was already overflowing so he relieved her of its weight, but that only freed up her hands so she could shop twice as fast.
“We’re hosting Christmas dinner, Greyson. A lot goes into that.”
At the register, the proprietor showed them bone china plates painted with Victorian Christmas scenes in rich burgundies and forest greens.
“Oh, these are beautiful.” Wren traced the gold-leafed edge with wonder.
“We’ll take them.” He didn’t give a damn about china patterns. The pure joy radiating from her face was worth every penny.
“We’ll need a set of eight.”
“Eight?” His mind raced. “Last I counted, we were a party of five.”
“There’s you and me, your brothers, and your dad. Then my dad, Aunt Astrid, and Jocelyn.”
“Jocelyn’s coming to fake Christmas?”
“It’s not fake, Greyson. Christmas is a vibe, not a date. And Jocelyn’s my best friend.”
He scowled. “I’m your best friend.”
“Yes, but you’re also...” She brushed close, batted her lashes playfully, and whispered, “My lovah.”
They carved a zigzag path through town, hitting every shop. Hand-dipped candles, artisan soaps, and locally-made maple syrup in bottles shaped like Christmas trees. If Hideaway sold it, and it had a Santa, angel, or elf on it, they bought it.
Three trips back to his truck barely made a dent in their haul.
At the Christmas Market, Wren bartered like a seasoned trader. He loved when she got fired up about a few pennies, and found it irresistible when she got all huffy about not getting her way.
“Eight dollars for jam! Who does he think he is?” she griped, stomping away from a booth at the Christmas market that was apparently overpriced.
“Isn’t jam just fancy jelly?”
“Exactly.”
When they drifted back to the town square, her mood quickly lightened. An ice sculptor transformed a massive block into Larry the Lobstah.
“Ralph would die,” Wren joked. “He’s finally getting his moment of fame and he’s nowhere to be found.”
“I’m sure he’ll see it eventually.”
Outside Love at First Sip, they were caught in spontaneous caroling. Of course Wren sang along without needing lyrics.
They grabbed more hot cocoa and a gingerbread man the size of a dinner plate. Wren bit off the head with theatrical relish and smiled up at him. “Mmm, so good. Wanna bite?”
“Any more sugar and I’ll go into diabetic shock.”
“Impossible.” She laughed. “Everyone knows, calories aren’t real in December. It’s science.”
“None of this is real.” The words escaped before he could stop them.
She paused mid-bite, her happy expression frozen and then crestfallen. “You don’t mean that.”
Truth was, he didn’t know what he meant. “It’s just…a lot.”
“It’s supposed to be a lot. It’s Christmas.”
“I think I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Her expression fell even more. “We can go home if you want.”
“No.” Despite his incomprehension of holiday cheer, he liked seeing her happy. “I’m enjoying myself.”
“Liar.”
He closed the distance, yanking the lapels of her coat together and also pulling her in for a kiss. Holding her stare, he whispered, “I’m enjoying watching you. It doesn’t matter if everything else goes over my head. As long as you’re by my side and having fun, I’m happy.”
She bit off the arm of the gingerbread and studied him as she slowly chewed. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Let’s keep shopping.”
The next store carried quilts and other house-type things.
Wren admired the detailed stitching of one blanket in particular, and he wondered if it reminded her of her mom.
Weighed down by gift bags, he stood beside her.
“If you like it, let’s get it.” It wasn’t a Christmas quilt, but she seemed to think it was nice.
She smiled and turned away, moving on to the next display. “I noticed your dad likes the blanket I gave him.” When he looked at her in confusion, she said, “The sapphire plaid one.”
He hadn’t realized that was from her. But she was right, his dad asked for it whenever his legs got cold. “How come you didn’t tell me you visited him in the hospital?”
Wren shrugged and continued perusing the displays. “It didn’t come up.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No, Greyson. I went to the hospital and just stared at him. What kind of question is that? Of course, I talked to him.”
He frowned, trailing behind as she moved to the other side of the aisle. “What did you two talk about?”
“Reagan.”
“As in Ronald, the past president?”
“Yeah.”
“You visited my dad in the hospital and talked about Ronald Reagan?”
“Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realize you were a Reagan fan.”
She snorted, a decidedly unladylike sound. “I’m not, but your dad mentioned him once when we were young, so I picked up a biography for him.”
“You bought my dad a book?”
“Well, it was on the shelf at The Haven. A guest probably left it.” She stopped walking and faced him. “Are you mad?”
“No. I’m just trying to picture you there, at the hospital, giving my dad a book.”
“I also gave him a massage.”
“No, you didn’t.” He laughed.
“I did.”
Holy shit, she wasn’t kidding. “You know my dad’s made grown men piss themselves in meetings before.”
“He’s just a man, Greyson.”
Just a man. That was the understatement of the century.
It was dusk by the time they drove home. As the sun slipped behind the mountains, the temperature dropped with it. Christmas lights blinked to life on every rooftop and railing, transforming the town into a constellation at their feet.
“Stop the truck,” Wren called, and he slammed on the brakes. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned up on the dash to better see out the windshield. “Look how pretty!”
The Wishing Bridge appeared through the falling snow like something from a Christmas card. Ancient stone arches spanned the babbling brook, every surface blanketed in pristine white. Glass mason jars lined the railings, each containing a flickering candle.
Pulling onto the shoulder, he flicked on his hazards so she could get a better look. He stared at her much like she was staring at the bridge.
Turning her enchanted smile on him, she said, “Let’s make a wish!” She was already out of the truck before he could think of an excuse.
Was this his life now, foolish holidays and pennies tossed from whimsical bridges? He thought he hit his superstitious quota for the year, but apparently Wren wasn’t finished.
He slowly followed as Wren’s boots crunched to a stop at the bridge’s center. She gripped the snow-dusted rail with both gloved hands, closing her eyes as if in prayer.
God, she was beautiful.
“I used to come here every Christmas Eve,” she murmured, her voice barely audible above the water’s gentle babbling. “Every year, I’d make a wish. Just one.”
He came to stand beside her as their breath pushed clouds of vapor into the cool air. “What did you wish for?”
She gave him a knowing smile. “At first, I’d wish my mom was still alive. But when I got older, I wished about you.”
“What about me?”
“That you’d see me—really see me.”
He saw her now.
Her head lowered, and she continued, “For years, I just wished you would come home.”
It was amazing how shitty disappointing her could make him feel. He wished he’d been stronger, wished he could take back those times he made her question or doubt herself. The truth was, he simply loved her too much and it scared the hell out of him.
He tightened his hand around her gloved fingers. “I’m sorry, Wren.”
She gave him a sad smile. “We don’t apologize, remember?”
In this case he needed to make amends. He needed her to truly understand how much he regretted ever hurting her. “I should’ve been there for you.”
“You were. More than anyone else.”