Chapter 42
Graham wiggled his toes to make sure they were still attached. After an hour of trudging through Mistletoe Grove in his now soaked loafers—perhaps packing boots for this trip would’ve been a good idea, huh?—he thanked his lucky stars his digits hadn’t frozen clean off.
With a sigh, he gazed up at the stars above.
Brent hadn’t been kidding about the view from this sledding hill.
Even without the northern lights shimmering overhead like the last time he’d been up here, the panorama from the peak made the whole world—and everything in it—look ant-sized by comparison.
If only the same could be said of his problems.
Despite searching high and low for his missing starlet, his efforts had netted him bupkis. And though he’d never been one to sulk, even he had to admit the situation looked bleak.
He sat himself down on the lone bench atop the hill, his foggy breath vaporizing into the night. If only he could disappear like that. He might as well, he thought with a scoff, the way his future had just imploded.
It wouldn’t be long now. Despite his own failure to suss Coco out, those scumbags at Hollywood Today were professionals. No celebrity within a ten-mile radius was safe from their claws.
What lurid scandal would they discover her in, he wondered. Dancing on a table at some underground house party? Lit up like a Christmas tree on leftover peppermint schnapps? Passed out in a snowbank like Frosty after a hit-and-run by local teens?
The possibilities sent a shiver down his spine that made the cold even worse.
Cursing, he surveyed Mistletoe Grove blanketed in snow below. God, had this been a terrible idea, this whole harebrained scheme. Had he actually expected he could keep Coco Holliday—Tinseltown’s bona fide chaos machine—under wraps just by dragging her out here to Nowheresville?
His boss sure had. And that, he knew, was the only thing that mattered.
God, Mr. Burns would go ballistic when he found out about this. And that wasn’t even counting that they didn’t stand a chance now of making it back to LA in time for Coco’s Christmas Day movie premiere.
Forget blowing this promotion—by the time this dumpster fire was finally put out, Graham knew he’d be lucky to ever work in PR again.
Feeling increasingly hopeless, he gazed down at the winding patchwork of houses, shops, and greenery huddled below.
A tinge of jealousy stirred in him at the warm, glowing scene.
How nice it must be, he mused to himself, living someplace as simple as Mistletoe Grove.
Someplace where success didn’t require a sports car that cost more than most people’s mortgage.
Where popularity didn’t mean throwing yourself at narcissists made of silicone.
Where love—or a cheap knockoff of love, rather—wasn’t always just a swipe away.
These townies didn’t know how good they had it.
For now, at least. The way things were going, Mistletoe Grove’s days were numbered indeed.
It was a shame, of course, but it was also reality.
That was the price of progress, wasn’t it?
The future of Christmas—and everything it represented—was changing.
And like it or not, that future left no extra room for an old-fashioned relic like the town that had raised him.
A familiar voice snapped him from his thoughts. “I thought I might find you here.”
Graham lifted his head to the sight of Brent approaching, a pair of hot cocoas in-hand. “You look like you could use something to warm you up.”
Graciously, Graham accepted the steaming cup as Brent sat down beside him.
“I know what this looks like,” Brent said after a pause, “but you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with this.”
Silent, Graham sipped at his cocoa.
“Of course, I’d love to save The Cozy Mug, but even if it meant all the free publicity in the world, I’d never go behind your back and bring the paparazzi here.”
The cold breeze stung as silence wrapped around them.
Graham took another sip.
“Graham?” Brent’s voice had become fragile.
Graham swallowed a heavy gulp. “I believe you.”
Brent looked as if his whole body had lightened. “You do?”
Graham nodded affirmatively. “This whole harebrained scheme was doomed from the start. Coco’s catnip for the paparazzi. Frankly, I’m surprised we stayed undercover this long. This would have gone up in flames with or without you, Brent.”
He suddenly found himself wishing for something stronger than hot cocoa.
“Well, maybe things seem bleak,” Brent tried to encourage, “but it’ll work out. It isn’t the end of the world.”
Graham suddenly looked ready to pop a blood vessel. “Not the end of the world? Maybe this doesn’t seem like a big deal to you, but this is my life we’re talking about.”
“No, Graham. This is your job we’re talking about. It’s not the same thing.”
The remark spurred an eye roll. “Fine, but when you’ve worked as hard as I have, it might as well be.” He took another sip of cocoa. “Not that I’d expect you to understand that.”
The barb appeared to hit a nerve. “Excuse me? Look, maybe I don’t have a big, fancy office in a luxury LA high-rise, but I’ve put plenty of my own elbow grease into running The Cozy Mug. You think it was easy deciding to close up shop after the holidays?”
Chastened, Graham sat in silence.
“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Brent continued, now calmer, “is, I get how you’re feeling.
” He turned his gaze toward the stars. “But this is Christmas Eve. It’s the one time of year devoted to sharing the love around us.
Don’t throw it away worrying about things outside your control.
” A thought appeared to strike him then as he glanced down at his wristwatch.
“Say, it’s almost midnight. Time for the tree-lighting ceremony down at the town square. You wanna go?”
Graham heaved a tentative shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m in the mood.”
Brent dealt him a good-natured punch. “Come on. It’ll be good for you. Coco will turn up eventually, but for the meantime, there’s still a little Christmas magic left. What do you say we enjoy the holiday while we still can?”
With one final swig, Graham polished off his cocoa. He was just about to reply when suddenly his cellphone began to ring.
A shadow fell over Brent’s face as he glimpsed the caller ID on the screen. “That’s the boss man, right?”
Graham felt his stomach turn to lead. Well, that didn’t take long. Mr. Burns had to be livid.
But then, he did something that surprised them both.
He sent his boss to voicemail.
“I’ll deal with that blowhard later. Let’s go see what all the fuss is over this tree-lighting, shall we?”
Brent cracked a smile then that could have outshone Rockefeller Center.