Chapter 13
Thirteen
Luke
Wednesday afternoon finds me in the mansion’s study, reviewing contracts on my laptop while half-listening to Ashton and Bran argue about whether Die Hard qualifies as a Christmas movie in the next room.
My phone sits face-up on the desk beside me. I glance at it more often than I’d care to admit, waiting for Holly’s text about tonight’s caroling logistics. I’m sure it will be thorough, charming, and full of emojis.
The thought makes me smile.
I’ve been smiling a lot lately. Likely more than anyone who knows me well would have believed possible. And the strangest part is that it doesn’t feel foreign anymore.
It feels...right. Natural, even. Like maybe this is who I was always supposed to be, before life taught me that optimism was a liability.
My phone buzzes, and I reach for it, warmth spreading through my chest.
But the message isn’t the detailed caroling itinerary I expected.
HOLLY: Luke, I’m SO sorry, but I have to cancel tonight.
A client just called with a last-minute opportunity I can’t pass up.
They’re tripling my hourly fee. I would say no, but with the economy the way it is, it’s always great to have a little extra cash in the emergency fund.
Especially heading into my slow season in January and February. I hope you can forgive me.
A small sting of disappointment prickles at the base of my throat, but I push it away.
Yes, I was looking forward to seeing her again—even surrounded by gossip-hungry carolers who can’t wait to text their friends everything they overheard Holly and I say to each other in between “Jingle Bells” and “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas”—but this is her livelihood.
And it’s far too early in our relationship for me to offer to pay her six times her fee so we can enjoy the night out without her worrying about her emergency fund.
Of course, she has to take the opportunity. It’s a no-brainer.
I text back—Don’t be silly. I understand. Completely. Go take incredible photos, and I’ll see you Friday for my final night of penance. Maybe we can go out for cocoa or something after to celebrate?
Her response is immediate—Yes, that sounds perfect! Thank you so much for understanding. You’re the best! And I promise, I’ll show you how sorry I am for missing tonight at least twice under the mistletoe on Friday.
The kissing emoji softens the last of my disappointment. It’s just a forty-eight-hour difference between seeing her tonight and on Friday, after all. Nothing in the grand scheme of things.
I set my phone down and return to my email.
I’ll stay busy, and Friday will be here before I know it.
A few hours later, a soft knock pulls me from my laptop, where I’ve been steadily annihilating most of my “first week of January” tasks in an attempt to make time move faster.
“Come in,” I call, minimizing the contract on my screen.
Elliot and Ashton appear in the doorway, Ashton wearing a ridiculously fluffy white coat that makes her look like a fashionable yeti.
“So,” Elliot says, his brow furrowed, “We hate to be the third and fourth wheels, but could we hitch a ride with you and Holly to the caroling tonight? Arthur is down with the flu now and won’t be driving anyone anywhere. And he drove the car home last night, so we can’t drive it, either.”
I blink. “Oh. I… I didn’t realize you were going to the caroling.”
“Nancy said it’s intense holiday fun we can’t afford to miss,” Ashton explains, adjusting her coat. “Reindeer Corners apparently goes crazy with their decorations. As a designer, I feel obligated to see just how crazy.”
“And there’s legendary spiked hot chocolate,” Elliot adds. “I’m still weak from the plague. I need spiked hot chocolate to boost my strength and speed my recovery.”
I grunt. “I’m fairly certain alcohol isn’t great for anyone’s recovery, but you’re free to take the Lincoln.
Holly had a last-minute work thing come up and had to cancel.
” I turn back to my laptop. “I’m going to stay in and take care of a few more…
” I trail off, the legalese of the contract suddenly seeming exhausting.
And unnecessary.
I’m already ahead, after all.
And won’t Holly be surprised if I tell her I went to the caroling without her, in a completely unforced embrace of holiday cheer…
“Actually, I’ll drive you,” I say, shutting the laptop again. “I could use some legendary cocoa, too.”
A beat of surprised silence thickens between us as my brother and sister exchange stunned glances.
“Fantastic,” Ashton says, recovering first. “That sounds perfect. We’ll have so much fun! Nancy’s meeting us there after she gets off work, and Bran’s joining when he’s done with his dinner meeting at the ski resort. So, we’ll have two cars in case some of us want to stay out later than others.”
“Great plan,” Elliot agrees, motioning to my jeans and long-sleeved tee. “But you should change into something warmer. Fast. Nancy says if you get there after six-thirty, parking is a beast.”
“We should leave in ten minutes. Or less,” Ashton agrees, backing toward the door. “Should we meet you by the car?”
I exhale a soft laugh. “Yes. Fine. Message received. I’ll be quick.”
As they retreat toward the garage, I jog toward the stairs to my bedroom, excited by the change in plans.
Not only am I embracing spontaneity, I’m engaging in an organized holiday activity under no threat of blackmail with zero chance of Holly kisses on the horizon. And I’m actually looking forward to it.
In just a couple of weeks, this woman has turned my world upside down.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Reindeer Corners is smaller than Silver Bell Falls—quite a bit smaller, with only one commercial strip through the center of the village, composed mostly of shops of the Kountry Store variety.
But what it lacks in size, it makes up for in Christmas excess.
Every building on Main Street is festooned in elaborate light displays that transform the storefronts into glowing works of art. The lampposts are decorated with giant bows and garland, and the tree in the center of the square makes our decorating committee look like they’ve embraced moderation.
“Wow,” Ashton breathes as we wander into the village from the parking area in a farmer’s field. “This is intense.”
“They don’t believe there’s such a thing as ‘too much’ Christmas over here,” Nancy says, from Elliot’s side.
His childhood friend and former roommate is bundled in a red coat and matching hat, her cheeks already pink from the cold. It’s a chilly one tonight, but there’s no chance of sleet or snow, and not much wind, so we shouldn’t freeze.
“They won the regional decoration competition last year, even though most of the Reindeer Falls residents agreed they’d gone too far,” Nancy adds, filling us in on the local tea.
“Silver Bell Falls came in second, and trust me, people are still salty about it. Including my mother and grandmother, who are boycotting caroling this year in protest.”
“But you still came,” Elliot says. “Because you’re a class act.”
“Nah, I just need that spiked cocoa,” Nancy says, nudging his shoulder with hers. “I’m telling you it’s going to blow your mind. The best in the state. By far.”
“We should get some now,” Elliot says, as if landing on the best idea since Ashton’s list of new must-have emojis. “One cup before and one after!”
Nancy’s eyes widen. “You’re a genius.”
“We’ll meet you by the tree,” Elliot calls over his shoulder as they sprint down the street, making Ashton and me laugh.
“They’re so funny together,” Ashton says. “I can’t tell if they’re secretly in love or just very best friends.”
I cock my head, considering. “I’ve never thought much about it, but now that you mention it…I can’t either.”
Ashton grins up at me. “Maybe the spiked hot chocolate will reveal their hidden truth. Let’s keep an eye on them.”
I return her smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
We join the carolers already milling around beneath the tree.
There are around forty people from Silver Bell Falls, all bundled against the cold, chatting and laughing or gossiping about the gaudy decorations as Hattie, the mayor, passes out song sheets.
I recognize several other faces from the gingerbread competition, as well, including Paulie, who gives me a friendly salute.
I wave back, just as Elliot and Nancy return with their cocoa, and a middle-aged woman in a Mrs. Claus sweater claps her hands for our attention.
“All right, everyone! Gather up,” she calls.
“Welcome to the annual Reindeer Corners caroling caravan! We’ll be singing at six locations tonight, ending at the Reindeer Corners Inn before popping over to the church parking lot for snacks and hot chocolate.
The booths are already set up, ready to reward us for a job well sung.
” After holding a beat for chuckled acknowledgement of her pun, she adds, “I’m Monica, the choir director for First Methodist, and I’ll be your fearless leader.
All I ask is that you have fun, sing out loud and proud, and stop when I make this motion.
” She holds her hand up, fingers spread wide, before curling them into a tight fist with a flourish. “Got it?”
We all murmur our assent, and Hattie herds us into something resembling a line.
“Incredible,” Monica says. “We’ll start with carol one on page one. Now, let’s get out there and spread holiday cheer!”
The group erupts in enthusiastic hurrahs of agreement as we begin tromping down Main Street, launching into “Deck the Halls” at Monica’s direction with varying degrees of musical ability.
I do not sing—I wasn’t kidding when I told Holly musical ability isn’t one of my gifts—but I hum-mumble along. I humble, if you will, doing my part to add to the collective spirit without ruining anyone’s time with evidence of what “tone deaf” actually sounds like.
And it’s…good.