Eleven. Drinking the Hot Cocoa #2
I pick up my phone, knowing I won’t be able to mindlessly scroll Instagram or watch a TikTok video about a dirt tea I have to try but wondering if I should text Zav.
And then wondering, with a start, if Zav even exists in this world.
Heart thudding, I check my contacts and—whew—he’s still in there.
My thumbs hover over the keypad as I debate texting my friend something that would make sense: Hi Zav, did you manifest your dream date?
Because I’m trapped in an alternate dimension where I can’t get a drink and my cotton briefs have “Santa’s Workshop” printed across the ass both nonsensically and unironically.
I’ll find a way out of here. I have to. I just need to focus.
“Jill? Jill Jacobs?”
I have half the chocolate bow in my mouth—for white chocolate, it’s good—as I look up to see Allie Rivera peering down at me.
Great—I hadn’t had enough discombobulation for one day.
“Allie? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I work for the pub’s produce supplier,” Allie says.
“They have produce here? I haven’t seen anyone eating anything that couldn’t be used on a gingerbread house.” I laugh but Allie squints, my joke lost on her.
“Their Caesar salad is good, and they do a great vegetarian potpie,” she says.
I tip my cup toward her. “Oh, I guess I overlooked those menu items,” I say. “I went straight for the cocoa. So good.”
I glance at the booth where Millie is shaking her head at something the uptight guy selling his grandma’s house is saying. But though her head says no, her body language says yes as she tilts nearer to him, speaking animatedly.
Those two make sense in this world. Allie is perfect for it, too. She’s always believed in true love. It’s why she married her high school sweetheart.
Oh, but wait—she divorced him. Are they still together in this world?
“So, you’re in town for Christmas? I haven’t seen you for so long.
” She doesn’t sound accusatory, but I still swell with guilt.
I should have tried a little harder to see how she was doing after her divorce.
Although, I’m not sure of this Allie’s marital status.
Corey is still a widower, though, so maybe everything here is about the same as it is in Powell Park, just more wholesome and Christmasy?
“It’s my first one back in a while.” I gesture for her to sit and am surprised when she does. “I needed a good old Sweetville Christmas.”
Allie smiles, showing her row of perfect teeth.
Tiny creases crest upward toward her temples as her eyes smile, too.
She looks the same but a bit more narrow and harried than pre-kids Allie.
It’s odd, since everyone else here is so picture-perfect.
But Santa said the rules are bendy. “I get that. Although I bet it’s hard to leave behind your glamorous life in LA.
” I think of the pizza Lunchable in my fridge and getting fired from Li’l Ballerz.
So glamorous. But maybe to Allie, I’m like my idol screenwriter Frankie Carroll is to me.
A competent wunderkind with the world at her fingertips.
“It’s a nice change of pace,” I say. “How are your holidays going so far?” I ask.
It’s small talk that sounds generic and hollow compared to what I could say to her.
But how do you say, Sorry we were best friends and I gradually faded out of your life and was taken by total surprise when you got divorced because I thought your marriage was perfect, and now I don’t know what I can say that might not sound totally glib and asshole-ish; also, you might be still married in this reality and using the d-word might upset the delicate balance of things ?
“Oh, you know, the kids are all about the traditions, and it’s extra important after the divorce.
” Allie’s eyes momentarily cloud over, but she blinks back the faraway look and brightens.
And this answers my question: she’s still about the same Allie as in Powell Park.
“We’re baking and decorating, and of course, we’re going to see the Sweetville Santa Parade.
” Allie pauses. “I guess you think I’m so predictable. ”
“No!” I insist. But yes, Allie was always a bit predictable.
But then again, I thought I was being intrepid and daring by striking out on my own in LA, and look where that got me?
Predictability might be better than alone and broke.
“That’s nice. Sometimes it’s great to be able to rely on things going the way they always do. ”
“Yeah, the kids have been through a lot, so it’s nice for them to have a chance to play their normal holiday selves. A little overstimulated, underslept, definitely spoiled by all the grandparent gifts, but they can count on it being exactly like every other Christmas.”
I’m listening, but I’m still thinking about Allie using the word “predictable.” I’m struck by something.
Predictability is as much a hallmark of a Heartfelt movie as, well, mugs of hot cocoa.
And all morning, I’ve spotted signature Heartfelt plots.
There’s a pattern here. Like I said, I would bet Millie is in a story where she winds up with the scrooge who won’t sell his grandma’s house until he learns he’s most at home with her.
Which means that my meet-cute with Corey wasn’t solely to remind me that I still have the hots for Corey. It was the kickoff to my own plot. Maybe it doesn’t matter if I think I’m a Christmas person as long as Corey sees me as his. Didn’t Santa say something like that?
I hear the sleigh bells, the sigh, “Open your heart,” and this time, it’s not frustrating. It’s clarifying.
This is my Christmas Turnabout , in a way.
Heartfelt recycles plots all the time, and the ending I need to write is with Corey.
Recently widowed town dreamboat gets a second chance at love when witty, kitchen-challenged city girl sweeps into town and enters the annual baking contest with him.
We grow closer in the kitchen as we find a way to win, and when we seal it with a chaste kiss, BOOM! I’m whisked back to my real life.
“I’m so sorry,” Allie says. She’s checking her watch. Of course she checks the time on a watch and not her phone. “I have to pick up my kids, and I barely got a chance to ask about you.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. It was so good seeing you, and I’m here a few more days, so we might bump into each other,” I say. Honestly, I’m relieved I didn’t have to answer any questions from Allie. “But I can’t say enough what a happy surprise this was, Allie.”
I am smiling like a lunatic, and I don’t think I’ve ever used the phrase “happy surprise” in my life.
But my mind is on other things. Namely, how to get my Santa Claws in Corey. True, I’ve never thought of myself as the romantic-heroine type, but I’ve also never worn pajamas outside my house and racked up so many compliments.
So maybe anything is possible in Sweetville. Including landing Corey Hartwell by leaning into the Heartfelt tropes that abound in this dimension. I’m actually a little excited about it.
Just because a plot is predictable doesn’t mean it can’t still surprise you.