Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Relief floods through me in a hot, overwhelming wave.
For a single, glorious moment, everything feels possible.
The townsfolk’s cheers echo through the square, a triumphant noise that mingles with the lingering hiss of Santa’s vanishing magic.
The remaining rogue elves stumble over each other in their rush to retreat.
Around the square, Willow Creek exhales as one. The Scouts stack sleds into impromptu benches. Mr. Patel pivots his gritter so the hazard lights throw a warm amber blink across the snow, and Mrs. Lee wheels her rolling urn forward and starts pouring cocoa with vigor.
Mrs. Christie wipes glitter off her cheek with the brisk efficiency of someone who has seen twelve bake-offs and a blizzard.
“You did it, Holly. You and Nick.” She takes in the scene. “Christmas belongs to us now. Let’s make sure we keep it that way.”
Ronan laughs, and the loud, boisterous sound bubbles up through the chaos.
He lifts his massive axe in mock toast. Wes, bruised but standing tall, gives me a nod of solidarity.
Even Crinkshaw, with his perpetually gloomy expression, manages a small, reluctant smile—and I immediately wish he hadn’t.
Behind him, vampires and neighbors trade nods that look suspiciously like ease; someone hands Wes a cookie, someone else takes a selfie with Ronan’s axe.
No one—not one single soul—approaches, or even looks at, Crinkshaw.
I drop my shoulder and exhale for a single beat.
The collective spirit of the town and the vampires feels like a real, tangible force now, a bond that glitters brighter than any holiday decoration.
Nick steps towards me, his head dipping before that wide, confident grin that warms my chest. I crane my neck, half-wondering, half-hoping he’ll wrap his arms around me—but he shoves his hands in his pockets instead.
I glance around, and amid the celebration, a nagging thought creeps in. The snow globe. Santa might be gone, but that glittering monstrosity still sits in the middle of the square, the tree inside twisted and glowing with that unsettling, corrupted light.
It’s not right.
And it still needs fixing.
It’s perched ominously on the raised platform where Santa had stood, the distorted tree flickering despite my very best event planner glare. Its crooked star teeters, a perfect little symbol of everything we’ve fought through.
“Good work, all of you. But we’re not quite done yet.”
Frank’s gravelly voice cuts through the noise just as Meribel taps her triangle and the square hushes like a curtain falling.
I turn to see the town mayor trudging over, his glasses sliding down his nose, a smudge of soot on his knitted Christmas sweater.
His eyes—sharp even behind the weariness—scan the square before settling on me.
Authority settles with him. The square quiets.
He strides over, brushing soot from his sleeve as he stops in front of me.
“Holly, that snow globe needs changing back. I didn’t hire you as my event planner for nothing.”
I blink and the celebratory haze slips away. “I don’t think I know how, Frank.”
He rests a hand briefly on my shoulder. “You do. You’ve been doing it all night. We don’t force it—we turn it. All that fear, all that pressure…we let the town carry it together. That’s what fixes things here.”
I nod, and something behind my sternum sharpens through the exhaustion. I glance at Nick, who’s still standing nearby, his face illuminated by the glow of holiday lights. We’ve fought together, bickered together—and now, we have to finish this together.
Our eyes meet, and there it is: trust.
Not borrowed, not bargained. Earned.
Nick coughs, clearly forced.
“Before we begin, Frank,” he says, grinding his heel into the churned snow, “where, exactly, have you been? We could have used you when we were dealing with a particularly violent wind sprite who was distributing anything but cheer in a frankly hostile manner.”
Frank gives a lopsided, unapologetic shrug. “Here. Just…not in the way you wanted. You know the rules. Power answers power. If I’d stepped in directly, we wouldn’t be having this conversation—we’d be filing reports about the crater.”
He brushes his hands together, as if that settles matters.
“So I kept it small. Strengthened the ward lines. Ringing the volunteer phone with directions. Boosting the choir’s morale using mince pies.
That sort of thing.” His gaze flicks between us.
“And I may have…adjusted a few schedules and made sure a certain vampire and event planner were assigned the same tasks.”
I drop my hands to my hips.
“I wasn’t forcing anything,” he adds quickly. “Just making sure the right people kept ending up in the same place. When you two work together, the town steadies. I didn’t know Santa would go this far—but I knew Willow Creek would answer better if you were working together.”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand as the realization lands on me like Christmas morning. “Are you saying that you did all of this just to bring us together?”
Frank shakes his head with a low, knowing chuckle.
“No. That’s not how this works. I had no idea Santa was going to steal the tree, or half of the rest of it.
But I saw what happened when you two work together.
It brought out the best in everyone, so I simply stayed out of the way.
Ninety percent of being a good cupid is knowing when not to interfere.
And look, here we are. The rogue elves are gone.
Santa’s gone. The snow globe’s back. Not bad for a reluctant partnership. ”
Nick raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but lets it pass.
“You were both…persistently difficult,” Frank adds, dryly. “I nearly stepped in more than once. Santa had more bite than expected, and I’ve got a town to keep in one piece—not to mention a reputation to maintain.”
“Well,” Nick says, with a faint sigh, his gaze flicking to mine, “glad we could be of service.”
I’m not entirely sure how I imagined teaming up with Nick would end, but now we have and I don’t want it to be over. He gives a half-smile, like he’s read my thoughts, and his usual confidence settles back into place.
“Looks like stubbornness actually got us somewhere after all,” he says.
“What about the tree, though?” My nerves catch up with me and my voice tightens. “How do we restore it? It’s the centerpiece of the entire festival. And—” I check my watch and groan. “We’ve got until tomorrow. Look at this place. It’s a disaster.”
Frank laughs, the sound warm and unexpected enough to cut through my panic. His eyes twinkle as some of the weariness fades from his face, a surprising lightness settling in his gaze.
“Well, Holly, we’ve already established that Christmas can survive broken eggnog, rogue elves, and a frankly irresponsible amount of glitter. Restoring a snow globe is practically administrative.”
He gestures toward the platform.
“The tree can be fixed. All it needs is people who care for each other. I wonder if we have anyone—”
“Oh!” Casey barrels forward, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Is it me and Sarah Waterson? We’ve got really strong feelings. She gave me a candy cane once. That was a real moment.”
Frank closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Somewhere behind him, Sarah Waterson goes crimson and disappears into her friend’s shoulder.
“For the love of tinsel,” Frank murmurs. “No, Casey. Not every candy cane is a lifelong commitment.”
He exhales, then fixes him with a look.
“We need the sort of love that survives washing up and weather. Something quieter. Less…sugar-fueled. More enduring.”
I take a shaky breath, and the uncertainty in my chest eases. I glance back at Nick. The skepticism is gone, replaced by something solid that’s been built, piece by piece, whether either of us meant it to or not.
“We can do this together,” Nick says, his voice low and sure. “Let’s fix that tree. Let’s remind Santa what real Christmas magic looks like.”
“Together,” I say, meeting his gaze.
Nick nods, his cocky smile fading into something more sincere. “Always together, Frost.”
My heart promptly forgets how to heart, which is going to become a problem if it has an arrhythmia every time Nick looks at me.
We set the globe back on the plinth and rest our palms on the glass. Around us, the town draws in—vampires on one side, neighbors on the other—closing the circle with cold hands, wool gloves, and the occasional sniff. Meribel lifts her arms and the choir hums the first safe notes everyone knows.
Inside the globe, the light brightens—then falters, as if it’s waiting.
I glance at Nick. He’s still looking at me like that.
It’s nicer than nice.
Like a chair that never wobbles.
We step forward, the snow globe sitting menacingly on the raised platform, its crooked star glinting with unsettling brilliance. The glow inside flickers, throwing warped reflections across our faces. My unreliable heart kicks up again, and this time it’s not fear doing it.
Around us, Willow Creek closes ranks like a quilt being pulled up to the chin—people and vampires shoulder to shoulder, mittens brushing leather gloves, a handbell chiming the town into a shared purpose. There’s no speech, no fuss. Just everyone doing their bit and holding their place.
I reach out, and with a nod from Nick, we lift the globe together. It’s heavier than it looks, dense with too much magic. Cold bleeds through my gloves, sharp enough to bite, but I don’t let go.
The square settles into a hush. Bruised, exhausted, still here.
Nick glances at me, his expression steady.
“This is the part where we don’t mess it up,” he says quietly.
I huff a breath that might be a laugh. “Define ‘mess it up.’”
“Best case? Nothing happens and we stand here holding a cursed ornament while everyone politely pretends this was a good idea.”
“Mm.”
“Worst case?” He tilts his head toward the globe. “It explodes, the tree stays corrupted, and Santa comes back brandishing a naughty list with two names on it.”
“Festive.”
“Extremely.”