Chapter 3
Hands at ten and two, Graham steered the Toyota Prius he’d rented at Boston Logan International along what was beginning to feel like an endless loop of B-roll of bleak, wintry highway.
Years had passed since the last time he’d driven icy roads like these, but apparently not even LA could erase the conditioning he’d built up after countless New England winters.
He side-eyed Coco in the passenger seat next to him. “You know, I’d say that hoodie really suits you.”
She regarded the new Someone in the Bay State Loves Me sweatshirt she currently had on in disgust. “For your information, that blouse was Hermès.”
Graham let out a scoff. “Quizzing me on my designer labels, are we?”
“You don’t wash Hermès, Graham.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t own any, then.”
Coco folded her arms and steamed. “You know, most people buy bottled water to drink it—not give their client a surprise waterboarding.”
The jab, however, left Graham unfazed. “Meanwhile, most clients don’t show up to the airport at nine A.M. with eight shots of vodka already pumping through their veins.”
“Please,” Coco responded with an eye roll. “It was only six. Seven at most.”
Graham shook his head to himself. “In that case, my apologies.”
Coco grimaced again at her new ensemble. “God, I look straight out of one of those Look Who Let Herself Go stories. Do you know how hard I work not to be in those stories, Graham?”
“Coco, you are literally constantly giving the tabloids new antics to write about.”
She flipped her hair, haughty. “But I always do it looking fabulous.”
Graham just rolled his eyes. “Forgive me that the airport gift shop was lacking in haute couture.” He loosened his death grip on the steering wheel.
“If it’s any consolation, that water I doused you with was designer.
That overpriced camisole of yours is currently soaking in the finest spring-fed water Mount Fuji has to offer.
” He tossed her another side-eye. “Water that I’ll be billing you for, I’ll have you know. ”
She paid him a scowl. “You do know that if it were up to me, you’d be fired by now?”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing then that it’s your boss at the studio who signs my checks.” He cracked a wry grin as Coco fumed to herself.
“I can’t believe this,” the star responded after a pause. “Spending Christmas—my absolute favorite holiday—practically out in the wilderness.” She surveyed the white, barren landscape out the window. “I bet the Bergdorf here probably doesn’t even serve real champagne!”
Graham felt his grip tighten on the steering wheel again. Keep it together, Graham, he reminded himself. You want that promotion, don’t you? It’s only ’til Christmas. Surely, you can survive being cooped up with Coco ’til then.
He followed the exit for Mistletoe Grove. “Tell me this, Coco, you want this movie to be a success, right? You want this to be your triumphant career comeback, right?”
“Of course I do,” she shot back. Her exterior softened then. “You know what this movie means to me.”
Graham also softened. He did know. Coco was not the first in her family to pursue a dream of acting.
Her grandmother—silver screen siren Iris Wintergreen—spent the prime of her life scraping and scrounging her way through cheap, tawdry B-movies back during Hollywood’s Golden Age.
The original Holiday with the Wholesomes was the first film for which she would finally be recognized for the true talent she possessed.
Unfortunately, Iris never lived to see it.
The night before the premiere—a posh red carpet event at the famed Grauman’s Theatre—Iris was found dead in her hotel room, the victim of a fatal overdose.
It turned out, years of disregard and ridicule had finally done Iris Wintergreen in.
If it was any consolation, the film’s runaway success finally earned Iris the long-overdue appreciation she deserved for her moving dramatic talent. Unfortunately, it had come too late. Iris died a nobody. A nobody who would never know the mark they’d made on the world.
Holiday with the Wholesomes wasn’t just about a comeback for Coco. It was a tribute to her grandmother’s legacy. A chance to fulfill a dream that had been snatched away from her grandmother and walk the red carpet, just like Iris had always imagined, in her honor.
Graham touched a hand to Coco’s knee. “I do know what this means to you. Which is all the more reason why we can’t mess this up.
If you want to do this for your grandmother, then I need you to follow my instructions.
” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not exactly happy about this myself, you know.
But like it or not, here we are. So let’s just make the most of it, shall we?
” He decided to add on, “Just promise me you won’t strip to your panties and dance on any tabletops? ”
Coco feigned offense at the remark. “When has that ever happened?” She grit her teeth. “On second thought, don’t answer that.” Her gaze turned back out the window. “Well, at least I’ll still have my adoring public. I wonder if my movie will be playing in town.”
Graham failed to hold back his snort. “I wouldn’t count on it. Keeping up with pop culture isn’t exactly folks’ strong suit around here.” He watched the wheels turning inside his companion’s head.
“You mean I’ll just be…”
“A pathetic, boring nobody like the rest of us poor saps? Bingo.” He chuckled to himself. “Welcome to the real world, toots.”
Coco dropped her head to the dashboard. “This is going to be miserable.”
“Aw, chin up,” Graham replied, doing his best not to enjoy this too much.
“You say you like Christmas? This town is practically the worldwide headquarters of Christmas. People from literally all over pour into Mistletoe Grove to celebrate the holidays. Believe me when I say that if you like Christmas, you’ll be in good company here. ”
Coco narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “If you like Christmas? You mean you don’t?”
The accusation tensed Graham up like a statue. “I didn’t say that.”
“But I’m right, though, aren’t I?”
The scowl on Graham’s face told Coco all she needed to know. She furrowed her brow as if unable to compute. “What on earth could someone possibly have against Christmas?”
“It’s nothing but a scam, Coco. All this nonsense about holiday cheer, goodwill toward men—none of it exists in real life. The whole season is just a charade to sell tinsel and greeting cards.”
The comment seemed to cast a cloud over Coco. “Gee, I wasn’t aware I’m spending Christmas with the Grinch.” All of a sudden, her face lit up with an idea. “Maybe you need to get laid.”
Graham did a double take. “Coco!”
She shrugged innocently. “Oh, don’t be a prude. I know what guys like you like to do with their free time.”
Graham couldn’t help but scoff then. “Free time? What free time?”
“Don’t tell me you’re always working.”
“When I’ve got clients like you, I am.”
She feigned offense at the remark.
“Oh, don’t take it personally,” Graham continued. “As far as I’m concerned, there are far more important things than finding love—or finding sex, for that matter.”
She cocked her head at him. “Such as…?”
“For starters, this promotion. This is the shot I’ve spent my whole career working toward, Coco. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
She arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Everything?”
The question seemed to catch Graham off-guard. “Of course.”
Coco shrugged, puckish. “Seems to me it’d be awful lonely having everything you want without someone to share it with.”
Graham replied with a groan, “What are you driving at, Coco?”
A wry grin spread on her face. “You said it yourself. We’re stuck here anyway, so we might as well make the most of it. Maybe here you’ll have time to indulge in some…merrymaking.” She tossed him a mischievous wink.
He felt his cheeks turn red. “I don’t think so, Coco.”
“Oh, yeah?” She pinned him with a glare. “Give me three reasons why not.”
“Gladly.” His tone became businesslike. “One. We’re here for work, not play.”
“Says you.”
“Two. Even if we were, there’s no sense getting attached to someone when we’ll only be leaving again after a few days.”
“But why—”
“And last but not least—and this one is really the nail in the coffin—even if we were here for fun, and even if I was looking to get attached, it doesn’t mean a thing when the market here has gone dry.”
Coco furrowed her brow, contemplating. “Surely, it can’t be—”
“Drier than Grandmother’s fruitcake,” he said, rather proud of the impromptu quip. “For a town that traffics in glitter and fairy dust, Mistletoe Grove is as heterosexual as they come. You’re more likely to find Bigfoot here than another gay man.”
Still, Coco appeared undeterred. “Well, you never know. This is the season of miracles, after all. Maybe you’ll find yourself some Christmas magic.”
Graham snorted audibly at the remark. “That’s a laugh. I’ll believe in Christmas miracles the day bottoms can start eating burritos.”
The image made Coco’s nose wrinkle. “Ew, Graham.” She shook herself off. “Look, all I’m trying to say is, give Christmas a chance.”
“Easy for you to say.” His gaze appeared to drift far away then. “Look, maybe you always had a picture-perfect holiday growing up, but for some of us, it was a different story, OK? We weren’t all born with a silver spoon in our mouth, you know.”
Just as Coco was about to respond, though, she found herself cut off.
“Oh, look. Here we are.”
A hand-painted Welcome to Mistletoe Grove sign passed by out the window. At the bottom, there read a tagline, America’s Christmas Capital.
But as the pair rolled into town, their surroundings seemed to suggest otherwise.
“I thought you said this place was a Christmas hotspot?”
Graham surveyed the barren Main Street ahead. “I don’t get it. This town was always crawling with tourists this time of year.”
“Not anymore, apparently.” She surveyed the virtual ghost town out her window.
Which wasn’t to say that Mistletoe Grove lacked in the way of charm. The old-fashioned storefronts and wrought iron street lamps looked painted by Norman Rockwell himself. It was just that, for such a postcard-ready spot, the whole scene felt strangely…empty.
Graham scratched his head, dumbfounded, as he eyed the vacant brick sidewalk from behind the wheel of their car. “What happened to everyone?”
“Maybe they’re all on a coffee break?”
He shrugged, at a loss. “Perhaps this is for the best. After all, fewer people means fewer chances for someone to blow our cover. The less attention we attract, the better. We are here to keep a low profile, after all.”
A smirk appeared on Coco’s face then. “You mean like whoever lives there?” She nodded to a house up ahead, decked to high heaven with enough holiday decor to put the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree to shame.
Following her sight line, Graham felt his stomach do a backflip. “That would be…my mother.”