Chapter 5
MOLLIE
Grady’s hand tightened around mine as we stood in the doorway to The Evergreen Room. “Like it?”
It hit me all at once—the shimmer of lights, the scent of pine and cocoa, the faint sound of soft holiday music drifting through the space.
I hadn’t set foot in this room since the night I lost my virginity here—to him.
And somehow, coming back felt like closing a circle I hadn’t realized was still open.
He’d made all my dreams come true that night. And somehow, he just kept doing it.
“It’s…wow.” My voice came out breathless, too full for just one word.
The bar had been transformed into a hot chocolate station—overflowing with toppings, from peppermint sticks to whipped cream mountains—and, of course, liquor for those who wanted it.
Fairy lights shimmered across the far wall, giving everything a golden glow.
The Christmas tree stood proud and glittering, wrapped in soft pink garland—my favorite color—and beside it, a winter forest scene waited, ready for the photographer to capture every detail.
Grady glanced over, a trace of pride softening his usually serious features. “We couldn’t hang ornaments from the ceiling, but I don’t think anyone will mind.”
I looked up at him, heart thudding. “No, I don’t think they will.”
The door burst open behind us, and chaos entered in the form of five women in various states of Christmas cheer.
“Oh my god.” Hope rushed forward, her green velvet dress swishing. “Mollie, this is beautiful.”
Avery followed, arms loaded with bags, her red sweater blazing. She gave the room a once-over and grinned. “Not bad for a control freak’s place.”
Grady laughed, but I caught the slight tension in his jaw as Danika, Sutton, and Gabriella piled in behind them, already pulling out decorations and memory books.
“I should check on the caterer,” Grady said, and disappeared toward the kitchen.
But we’d just started arranging photos on the tables when his voice cut through the chatter.
“We have a problem.” I turned to find him striding back, phone in hand. “The photographer just called. Family emergency. She can’t make it.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“I’m already calling backups. I should have someone here in—” His phone rang again. He answered, listened, and his jaw tightened as he looked at me again. “The musician. Car accident. Minor, but he can’t perform tonight.”
The room went silent.
“Okay.” Grady was already scrolling through contacts. “I can fix this. I have backup photographers, emergency musicians. It’ll cost extra, but I can have someone here in forty-five minutes—”
“Stop.”
The word came out quiet, but everyone heard it.
Grady looked up, surprised. “Mollie, I’m fixing it—”
“I don’t want replacements.” My voice was stronger now. “I don’t want professionals who don’t know us.”
“You want photos of your party, don’t you?”
“Yes, but not like this. Not some expensive backup that turns this into just another Evergreen event.” I took a breath. “This is my party, Grady. My family. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It has to be real.”
Avery stepped beside me, her confidence radiating. “Sutton does photography. Not professional, but she knows us.”
“And we all have phones,” Gabriella added. “We can make a shared album. The candid shots are always better anyway.”
Hope bit her lip. “Remember sophomore year? When Mollie played guitar in our dorm?”
“I haven’t played in years—”
“So?” Avery crossed her arms. “Your guitar is still at our apartment. I have Christmas playlists that we can link to the speakers. We’ll figure it out.”
It could work. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be ours.
“I’ll go get the guitar,” I said, meeting Grady’s eyes. “This is my party. Let me do this my way.”
For a long moment, he just looked at me. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Okay.”
In my apartment, Avery leaned against the door frame while I dug the guitar case from my closet. “I’m proud of you,” she said quietly. “For pushing back.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“But you did. That takes guts.” Something flickered in her eyes, vulnerable and quickly hidden. “Standing up to someone you love.”
I looked up, surprised. “How did you know?”
“That you love him? Please. You look at him like he hung the moon.” She stood quickly. “Come on, we have a party to save.”
When we got back, the room had transformed. Sutton had set up a photo station with props. Hope was arranging memory books. And Grady stood in the middle of it all, sleeves rolled up, helping Danika adjust speakers.
He looked up when I walked in, something unreadable in his expression. I set down the guitar and crossed to him.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For letting me do this my way.”
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry. I was trying to control something that was never mine to control.”
“You were trying to help.”
“I was trying to make it perfect. But perfect isn’t what you needed.” He glanced around at my friends, at the organized chaos they’d created. “This is.”
Guests started arriving—families who’d taken me in, friends who’d made me belong. The hot chocolate bar was mobbed within minutes. Sutton’s camera clicked constantly. Someone started a Christmas carol, and voices joined in, imperfect and joyful.
I sat with the guitar, nervous, but Hope started harmonizing and suddenly others were singing too. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t professional. It was messy and real and exactly right.
Later, when the room was full of laughter and love, I found Grady by the windows. He pulled me close, and I leaned into him, watching the party we’d created together—his planning, my heart, our compromise.
“I love you,” I said, the words finally breaking free.
His arms tightened around me. “I love you too. And I’m done trying to control everything. I just want to build a life with you. As partners. Equals.”
“Even when I insist on twelve toppings?”
“Especially then.” He kissed my forehead. “Though I’m never letting you plan anything without a fire code review.”
I laughed, and somewhere across the room, Avery caught my eye and winked.
The party wasn’t perfect. But standing there in Grady’s arms, surrounded by my chosen family and the magic we’d made together, I realized something important.
Perfect was overrated.
Real was so much better.