Chapter 37
If Graham hadn’t already believed his mother led a secret double life as Mrs. Claus, her annual Christmas Eve party settled it. No one in Mistletoe Grove threw a holiday bash like Carol Bartlett—and in a town that billed itself as America’s Christmas Capital, that was saying something.
Although Graham hadn’t thought it possible, somehow over the last few hours, even more holiday decorations had found their way out to deck the halls.
Garland—fresh, of course—wound its way up the banister while festive sprigs of holly adorned the mantle.
In the windowsills, cranberry red candles cast a warm, cozy glow across the room.
And of course, a lush, full Christmas tree—trimmed from top to bottom with sparkling gold ribbons, ornaments, tinsel, and more—held the holiday spotlight in the best way possible.
Graham almost hated to admit it, but it was enough to make even him feel the holiday spirit.
Thankfully, his earlier worries about attending his mother’s party alongside Brent—after just breaking his vow not to catch feelings for him again—had turned out being without warrant, even in spite of their abominable matching sweaters.
The whole evening, Brent had been nothing but a gentleman. A plain, bland, sexless gentleman.
Man, his old crush hadn’t been kidding about not getting their emotions involved. It was like the guy had suddenly flipped a switch. Not even a hint of Brent’s secret identity as a deviant, red-hot kinkster remained evident.
If only Graham knew how to turn off his feelings that easily.
He cast his gaze around the room. Everyone was here—Brent, Coco, his mother…even, god help him, Mayor Pickering.
But even so, it all felt exactly like the holidays were supposed to feel.
Magical.
Damn, he could get used to this.
A small ache tugged at his heart. Shit, this wasn’t what he’d signed up for.
He tucked the thought away as he popped a cocktail weenie into his mouth.
Far less satisfying than the sausage he’d indulged in earlier, he noted.
Sure, this all feels special, he reminded himself, but that doesn’t make any of this real.
Mistletoe Grove is a dying town. Without the holiday visitors that keep this place afloat, your hometown’s days are numbered.
And even more importantly, this whole kum-bah-yah, sit-together-by-the-fire routine was a charade, as well. Sure, it was nice being home with both Brent and his mother at his side. Like love in both its forms—not just the love of a family, but also the love of a soulmate—finally forming a whole.
But it was just inside his head. The fact of the matter was, Brent, despite the objectively hot sex they’d occupied themselves with lately, was not his soulmate, and Carol, despite teaching Graham the very truth about family, still didn’t know the truth about her own son.
It was nice, this holiday fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless. Before long at all, it would be back to LA for Coco’s movie premiere, and he’d leave Mistletoe Grove behind once and for all. No sense getting attached when none of this was going to last in the end.
If there was any consolation, though, at least he’d managed to keep Coco under wraps. The fact that they’d somehow maintained this act that they were a happily-in-love couple and not a pair of conniving fraudsters who tolerated each other at best was a miracle in and of itself.
This whole undercover trip, there hadn’t been sign of a single paparazzo. All they had to do now was make it to the finish line, and Graham would have his promotion on lock.
It won’t be long now, he encouraged himself. The next thing he knew, it would be Porsches and penthouses—just what he had coming to him after all these years in the rat race.
No Christmas wishes, no holiday magic, and most important of all, no Brent Danvers required.
The sharp clinking of a fork against a wineglass then jarred him back to the present.
“Attention, merrymakers, attention!” Carol presided over the room like Queen Victoria about to issue a decree.
“Now, you all know I’m not much for being sentimental”—this got a chuckle—“but what are the holidays for, right? Now, I swear this isn’t just the eggnog talking when I say this”—another good-natured chortle rounded the room—“there’s so much to be thankful for, isn’t there? ”
Graham felt a knot inside his stomach. Oh, dear. His mother was getting maudlin.
“Look around, huh?” Carol continued. “Beautiful Christmas decorations, delicious holiday treats, a mountain of presents beneath the tree.” At this, she took a pause.
“It’s true, the season hasn’t been as bright for Mistletoe Grove as it once was”—Graham noticed Brent shrink a bit then—“but you know what? All that matters is that we’re here together, right?
The greatest gift I could ask for is being surrounded by the people I love. ”
Graham couldn’t help but notice his mother’s eyes shift to him then.
An unmistakable lump formed inside his throat. He might have almost gotten a little emotional himself had the voice of the Mayor not overtaken the moment.
“Hear, hear!” Pickering raised up his glass—peppermint schnapps, neat—for a toast. “I’ll drink to that.”
By the way he guzzled that candy cane firewater, Graham thought to himself, ol’ Pickering would probably drink to about anything.
He took a perfunctory sip of the light beer in his hand.
Gently, Coco reached out to grasp Carol’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ms. Bartlett. I just know things will work out for Mistletoe Grove. You’ll see.”
A deep crease formed on Graham’s forehead as he surveyed the exchange. There she went again, vowing some sort of Christmas miracle for the town. Didn’t she know better than to make empty promises?
Unless, that is, Coco had something hidden up her sleeve. In which case Graham had even more to worry about than he realized.
Further mental spiraling, however, was quickly precluded.
“All right, all right,” Carol reset the room. “Now that we’ve shared this precious moment of love and togetherness, who’s ready for a ruthless, no-holds-barred, every-man-for-himself smackdown?”
Suddenly, Graham felt the back of his neck prickle. Oh, god. Not this old routine.
“Roll up your sleeves,” Carol beamed. “It’s time for…Christmas Password!”
The knot in Graham’s stomach squeezed like a vice. To think he’d actually hoped that over the years, his mother might have let go of this public humiliation disguised as tradition.
“Christmas Password?” Coco echoed. “What’s that?”
“Legalized torture dressed up with poinsettias and sleigh bells.”
The comment earned him a smack upside the head from his mother. “Don’t pay him any mind, dear,” she replied to Coco. “In fact, it’s so simple, I bet even Graham here can explain it.” She leveled a don’t-toy-with-me glower at her son.
He exhaled a sigh of surrender. He knew when he was beat. “Imagine Charades, but instead of dancing around like an idiot, you blab nonsensical words like an idiot.”
If the explanation had been meant to dampen Coco’s enthusiasm, clearly it hadn’t succeeded.
“Sounds like a blast!”
Graham fought back an eye roll. Of course a good-time girl like Coco would be up for anything.
“Great,” he replied. “You can be my partner.” At least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting paired up with Brent. Talk about awkward.
Unfortunately, as he was about to discover, the universe had other plans in store.
“I don’t think so,” Coco answered with a yawn. She reached up high to stretch. “I’m going to call it a night. I’m beat.”
Utter bewilderment etched Graham’s face then. “Already? It’s barely seven o’clock!”
“You’re not turning in now,” Carol added, visibly dismayed. “You’ll miss the tree-lighting ceremony tonight at the town square.”
Despite the group’s protests, Coco’s mind appeared to be made. “I’m sorry, guys, really, I am. It’s just been a long day. I need to settle in.” With that, she made her way to the staircase. “Thank you for a lovely party, Carol. Good night, everyone. See you in the morning.”
Watching Coco ascend the stairs, Graham couldn’t help but sense a nagging suspicion in his gut. Coco turn in early? Since when did Hollywood’s most infamous party girl decide to observe a sensible bedtime?
Perhaps getting away from Tinseltown had done Coco good. He could only hope the habit would stick.
Still, this did leave him in a pickle. Without Coco here to fill the role of his Password partner, the only other option was…
“Brent!” Carol chimed with joy, “I guess that means you’ll be pairing up with Graham.”
Although he tried to ignore it, something about the glee in his mother’s voice then made Graham’s hair stand on end. No, she couldn’t possibly know about…
“Right on, partner.” Brent dealt his companion a sporting pat on the back. “Let’s show these two posers we’re not messing around.”
Graham felt his heart skip a beat.