Chapter 53
The view from the altar couldn’t have been more perfect.
Mistletoe Grove had packed the sanctuary to the brim, not a dry eye to be seen church-wide.
Down the center aisle, rose petals—crisp and white—had been sprinkled like fresh-fallen snow.
Along the rows of pews, satin ribbons flanked each end with bows that could have put even a North Pole gift wrapper to shame.
Still, if you asked Graham, nothing at the picture-perfect ceremony could have outshone the best sight of all.
His own Brent Danvers—a crisp, black tux hugging all his best assets—arriving at his side before the priest.
The minister’s words stopped time.
“Do you, Graham Bartlett, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
A beat of silence followed as Graham swallowed the lump in his throat.
And suddenly found himself jarred awake.
Cursing, he sucked in a breath to calm his racing heart. Around him, Brent’s apartment sat still in the moonlight filtering through the window shades.
He wicked the cold sweat from his brow. “Aw, crud.”
Sitting up in bed, he checked his phone for the time. 3:08 A.M. Damn it, he knew this had been a bad idea.
An ache pulled at his heart as he stole a glance at Brent sleeping beside him, his muscled chest rising and falling in time with each breath.
Suddenly, Graham found himself in the mood for an encore romp.
He shook off the urge. “Don’t even think about it,” he disciplined himself. Complicating things further was the last thing he needed right now.
Perhaps some fresh air. Yes, that would help. Standing to his feet, he gathered his clothes off the floor.
Dressing in silence, he carefully slipped out Brent’s door.
And for one last time, out of his life forever.
* * *
The old sledding hill hadn’t been Graham’s conscious destination. Still, it was where, not fifteen minutes later, he found himself pondering the night sky.
The cold air filled his lungs as he gazed up, listless. Ever since rediscovering the northern lights up here with Brent, it was as if this hill called out to him.
Or maybe, it was the memory of the magical night they’d shared here.
A faint pain flickered in his chest. What was it about Brent that had such a hold on him? Graham considered himself nothing if not level-headed—so why had he fallen harder than a Christmas Eve blizzard for a guy who couldn’t possibly have been a more reckless idea?
Perhaps because reckless was the point.
His whole, suffocating life, he’d made the responsible choice, hadn’t he? Taken the logical action. Stuck to the plan. Followed the steps as written.
But here was something different. A chance at throwing out the rules he’d set for himself. A chance at letting go of the life that had slowly deadened him. A chance at maybe even finding out…what if?
He buried his face in his hands. “Graham, what’s the matter with you?”
“Funny, that’s just what I was thinking.”
The unexpected voice nearly gave him a heart attack. “Jesus, Coco! Can’t you give a guy a little warning?”
Undeterred, she sat down with him on the bench. “I prefer keeping you on your toes.”
“So I’ve noticed.” His response came deadpan. “What are you doing out so late? You’re far too sober to have been partying.”
She chose to ignore the dig. “Well, that giant projector screen certainly wasn’t going to take down itself.
” She made a show of brushing herself off.
“It’s a good thing, though, that I was still wrapping up, because otherwise I wouldn’t have spotted you moping around like you’d just found coal in your stocking.
So now it’s my turn to ask…what are you doing out here so late? ”
Graham stammered to concoct a fib before his cheeks got any redder than the cold had already made them.
His efforts, however, proved futile.
“Wait a second,” Coco continued, realization sparking.
“Aren’t those the clothes you were in earlier?
” A grin curled on her lips as she put two and two together.
“Graham Bartlett, you never went home, did you? You went back with…” She squealed as if she couldn’t contain herself.
“Boy, you unwrapped something special tonight.”
Graham suddenly found himself wishing for a Santa sleigh hit-and-run to take him out then and there.
“Oh, don’t get your tinsel in a tangle,” Coco replied, sensing Graham’s mortification. “Haven’t you heard of making the Yuletide gay?”
Graham released an exasperated sigh.
His desire for solitude, however, seemed to go unnoticed. “Come on, Graham. Why the long face? You ought to be glowing right now, you holiday ho.”
And just like that, he snapped. “Cut it out. Can’t you tell I’m not in the mood?”
Finally, Coco seemed to take the hint. She placed a hand on his back. “What’s the matter, Graham? Talk to me.”
A long pause followed as Graham stared into the sky. Did he really have the energy to get into this tonight?
“Graham?” Coco’s voice came out fragile.
He let loose a groan. Here goes nothing. “Brent, Coco. Brent is what’s wrong.”
Her brow knit in concern. “Oh, no. Was the sex that bad?” She pulled a sudden double take. “Don’t tell me you’re both bottoms?”
Graham could not have appeared more scandalized then if he’d been clutching pearls literally. “Excuse me. Whoever said I was a bottom?”
Coco leveled him a glare that did the talking for her.
“OK, fine,” he conceded, “but that’s beside the point. Because the sex, if you must know, was phenomenal.”
The remark seemed only to confuse Coco further. “So, what’s the problem then?”
Graham grumbled as his patience evaporated. “What’s wrong with Brent is that there’s nothing wrong with Brent!”
She gawked at him, nonplussed. “Graham, have you been sneaking from the Mayor’s peppermint schnapps?”
He responded with an eye roll. “What I mean is that Brent’s perfect, Coco.”
“That’s wonderful, Graham!”
“No, it’s the opposite of wonderful.”
Her demeanor became businesslike. “Graham, hear me out, because I say this with love, OK? When was the last time you didn’t send a guy running after the first date like you were last Christmas’s expired fruitcake?”
The question elicited a scoff. “That’s the metaphor you choose?”
“You’re not answering my question, Graham.”
He sat in stubborn silence.
Coco, however, was not about to give up easily. “Come on, Graham. You like him, yes?”
A quiet profanity passed from his lips as he cursed himself for ever bringing Coco here to begin with. “Fine, I like him. Are you happy?”
She paid the question no mind. “And clearly he also likes you.”
He released an audible groan. “I guess so.”
All at once, Coco lit up brighter than their town square Christmas tree. “See? I knew you two were perfect for each other!”
Instantly, Graham sprang to his feet. “No, we are not, Coco! Need I remind you that in less than twelve hours, you and I are going to be halfway back to LA?” He began to pace in the snow.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want you and my mother conspiring together.
Because now, thanks to your meddling, I get to have an existential breakdown at thirty thousand feet! ”
Coco offered a meek smile. “Well…not if you don’t want to.”
The remark drew a scoff. “Planning to stick up the pharmacy for their entire stock of Xanax on our way out of town?”
Coco tossed him a glower. “No one’s forcing you to get on that airplane, Graham.”
He lifted his face heavenward. God, they had better be serving alcohol on this flight. “Coco, we’ve been through this. I don’t belong here. My life is in LA.”
“Your life?” Coco’s jaw practically landed in her lap.
“What life, Graham? You’ve got a plastic condo with less soul than tree moss, a friend group that’s faker than the snow on the studio backlot, and worst of all, a job that keeps you so busy, the only one riding your ass these days is your boss. ”
A surge of heat rose in his cheeks. He certainly couldn’t argue with her there.
“Meanwhile,” Coco continued, “look at how full of life you’ve been here? You came out to your mother, you fell in love, you rediscovered Christmas just like you were a kid again. Graham, you’ve lived more in the past few days than you have the past decade.”
Silence wrapped around them as Graham realized, to his chagrin, that Coco was right.
He released a full-bodied groan. “But what about work?”
“What about it?”
“Mr. Burns just handed me the promotion I’ve been working for my whole career.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “The same career you can’t stand anymore?”
She had a point there, he mused. But what was he supposed to do about his career woes? He needed to work, after all. And it wasn’t like Mistletoe Grove had a particularly booming job market for celebrity publicists.
“Just think how happy it would make your mother,” Coco added. “You could see her every day, Graham.”
The remark triggered an eye roll. “Oh yeah, ’cause that’s what I need.”
“OK, on the weekends then.”
Graham felt himself get misty-eyed as he looked down over the little hamlet—its quaint shops and houses nestled together like a scene from a postcard. “Wouldn’t that be something?” He sat back down on the bench. “Coming home to Mistletoe Grove after all these years…”
She snuggled up against him. “Finally getting cozy with your old high school crush…”
A glimmer Graham couldn’t quite hide lit up his face at the thought.
It spurred an impish grin from Coco. “See, what did I tell you?” She patted his chest gently, encouraged by his thawing exterior. “You can’t fight the magic of Christmas, Graham. I just knew that if you tried, you’d find some holiday spirit in you.”
And just like that, Graham’s glow disappeared.