Chapter 55
Words failed Graham as he stood there slack-jawed over the threshold. Oh, god. This was another dream, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
Fuck, it wasn’t.
“Graham, you’re here!” From the crowd, Coco emerged, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
“Coco, what on earth…”
Brent, who’d likewise materialized from the crowd, spoke next. “It’s Christmas Day, Graham,” he chimed, his friendliness shocking Graham given how he’d ghosted him. “You didn’t honestly think we were going to let you leave without a proper sendoff?”
The question went unanswered as, tongue-tied, Graham took stock of his environs. They were all here—his mother, Mayor Pickering, Mr. Burns, Orlando, even the paparazzi from last night’s premiere.
“You didn’t all come out just to say goodbye?”
Brent offered a wry shrug. “That, and the reviews from the premiere are due out this morning.” His face quirked with a grin. “It was Coco’s idea.”
“You don’t say,” Graham groaned.
Coco sidled up next to him. “Come on, Graham. Don’t you want to find out how much the critics love us?”
He responded with a scoff. “Someone sure is feeling optimistic.”
The remark did nothing, though, to dim her glow. “How can I not be? It’s Christmas Day, Graham. The most magical day of the year!”
Graham simply rolled his eyes as Coco lost herself in reverie. Again with this season-of-cheer nonsense. Thank god he’d finally come to his senses. Whatever Christmas Kool-Aid they were drinking here in Mistletoe Grove, it was some strong holiday punch.
He checked the hour on his phone. They did, technically speaking, have some time to spare before catching their flight.
And it would, he supposed, be smart to read up on the reviews now so he could plan any potential damage control before they touched down in LA, should the critics have decided to be less than kind.
Which was, he lamented, a concrete possibility.
“OK,” he conceded. “Fifteen minutes. But if the reviews aren’t out by then, we’re hitting the road regardless.”
“Works for me,” Brent replied with a smirk. “Fifteen minutes is all I need.” He gestured for Graham to follow him.
Sending Graham’s heart rate immediately into overdrive. What on earth could Brent have meant by that?
There was just one way to find out.
Already sensing a bad idea in the making, he followed the cocoa maker’s lead.
* * *
To Graham’s relief—or perhaps, if he was being honest, his chagrin—the next place he found himself was not Brent’s second-floor bachelor pad as he’d feared-slash-hoped, but rather The Cozy Mug’s cocoa bar, where Brent had already set to work steaming a fresh pitcher of milk.
A wave of embarrassment flared under his collar. Oh, Brent just wanted to make me a hot cocoa for the road…
Not that any part of him had oh-so-secretly hoped for one last roll in the hay with this man.
Because that would have been irresponsible.
Because it would have been counterproductive.
Because it would have been absolutely, indisputably, unequivocally, and categorically…
Without a doubt, sure as day, hands down, no ifs, ands, or buts…
Out of the question.
He sat himself down at the bar. “You’ve sure got a great crowd here.”
The comment turned Brent unexpectedly wistful. “Yeah. One last hurrah for the ol’ Cozy Mug before we shut down for good in the New Year.”
Graham cursed under his breath as he realized his gaffe. Geez, Bartlett. For a PR whiz, you sure know how to put your foot in your mouth.
The pair’s silence stretched on as he wished for a rock to crawl under.
With renewed resolve, he cleared his throat audibly. No more small talk, he pep-talked himself. He and Brent had both been ignoring the elephant in the room, and it was high time one of them did something about it.
“Listen, Brent,” he said with more confidence than he felt, “about last night…”
“No sweat.” Brent’s words came matter-of-fact as he slow-melted a handful of rich chocolate chips.
Graham pulled a double take at the cocoa maker’s nonchalance. “You…you aren’t upset that I”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“that I ditched you in the middle of the night?”
Brent offered an accepting shrug. “Like you said, this was never meant to last forever.”
Graham searched for the words to communicate the twinge in his heart he felt then. Stay strong, Graham, he refrained in silence.
Strong like Brent’s two tree trunk arms as they hand-ground the cinnamon that would soon top Graham’s delicious cocoa.
“You don’t have to explain,” Brent added as he continued working. “I’m a big boy, Graham.”
Graham registered a thrill spark across his system. That you are, he thought to himself. That you are.
He quickly pulled himself back to the present before his imagination could descend further.
Time for another subject change.
“So, what are you going to do?” he queried. “After, you know…this?” He gestured meaningfully to the room.
A deep crease formed on Brent’s forehead. “What am I going to do?” His whole face darkened as he contemplated. It appeared that the question was a mystery to him, as well.
Not that Graham could blame him. The Cozy Mug was far more than just a business to Brent. It was a passion. It was a purpose. It was a community.
And come New Year’s Day, it was going to be history.
Because even with the buzz around last night’s premiere, it was going to take more than a one-off media blitz to save Mistletoe Grove from obscurity.
“I guess I’m not sure what I’m going to do.” Oddly enough, his spirits seemed to have risen now. “But you know what? I may not have any idea what I’m doing, but as long as I’m doing it surrounded by people I love, then that’s what matters in the end.”
Graham chewed his lip as he lost himself in thought. “Yeah, I guess you could—”
Before he could complete the thought, though, he found himself face-to-foam with a fresh cup of cocoa.
Brent tossed him a wink from behind the bar. “Extra hot, just for you.”
Graham dropped his gaze to the steaming beverage. “Gee, thanks…”
He lifted his head again, only to find himself now staring at a blank brick wall. The cocoa maker had already rejoined the crowd.
He did his best to ignore the shadow darkening his chest. Tentative, he raised his cup to his lips. “Damn, that’s good.”
Further contemplation, though, was cut short by the sound of Coco’s voice rising over the room. “Everyone, zip it! The reviews are coming in!”