Chapter 56
The electric air buzzed as the crowd, Graham included, huddled around Coco and her phone. Thumb hovered over the screen, she inhaled. “Ready?”
Graham swallowed down the lump in his throat.
Here it was, the moment of truth. He circled his gaze around the room, almost as if hoping to record this moment forever.
To be sure, they were an eclectic mix—Coco, Mr. Burns, Orlando, his mother, Mayor Pickering, Brent, himself—but in this moment, they were united as one.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” he declared.
She tapped the first review on her phone.
The silence stretched on as Coco’s eyes flicked back and forth.
“Well?” Graham asked, ready to burst.
“Hold on, I’m reading!”
He grumbled beneath his breath as he waited. “Well?”
“Shh, I’m almost done!”
He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Welllll?”
Coco dropped her phone to her side. Her face betrayed nothing. Then suddenly, a wide grin lit up her mug.
“We’re a hit!”
Cheers erupted from the crowd as Coco raised her hands in joy. Graham actually picked her up and twirled her about in the air. Had she been a man, he might have even kissed her.
Although, if he was looking for a man to kiss…
He locked the thought away.
Back on the floor, Coco flipped through the rest of the reviews coming in. “‘An instant holiday classic,’ ‘the festive flick of the year,’ ‘just what Christmas is meant to feel like.’” She clutched her phone at her heart. “We did it, Graham!”
He shook his head, smiling. “This was all you, Coco.” He pretended not to notice the glow he detected within. Did Coco try his patience? Sure. But even so, despite her harebrained antics, the world was a better place with her in it. That he’d learned on this trip.
And maybe, just maybe, he was a better man because of her.
“Your grandmother would be proud.” He offered a lopsided grin.
The memory of Iris Wintergreen prompted a tear from Coco’s eye. “She would have loved to see this.”
He squeezed her in a hug. “You’re going to walk that red carpet for her so many times now. I think it’s safe to say that Coco Holliday has officially made her comeback.”
Another round of cheers erupted.
“I know it’s early,” Brent chimed with a shrug, “but if you ask me, this calls for champagne!” He spun toward the mini fridge behind the bar.
“None for me,” Coco called out. “I think I’ll pass.”
Graham’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Coco Holliday, “Hollywood’s boozehound bimbo” as dubbed by the tabloids, turning down a drink? Was she feeling all right?
She appeared to sense his stupor. “It’s true, I’m ready to kick the habit. Now that I’ve discovered Brent’s delicious hot cocoa, I think I’m hooked on a new fix.”
The praise cast a shadow over Brent. “Enjoy it while you can. ’Cause it’s not going to be around much longer.”
At this, Coco went crestfallen. “You’re not really shutting down, are you?”
“Afraid so,” Brent replied, melancholy.
The whole room suddenly dimmed. It was a story they knew well. Mistletoe Grove, their treasured holiday haven, was dying.
And even with all the Christmas magic in the world, without the crowds they once pulled in, their little town’s days were numbered.
“What a shame,” Coco fretted. “Man, I’m going to have a lot of disappointed followers.”
The remark prompted looks of confusion from Brent and Graham.
Coco went on to explain. “After I tasted how good this cocoa is, I just couldn’t help myself.
I had to share it.” She held up her phone to show her social feed filled with photos she’d snapped savoring Brent’s tasty beverages.
“Sorry, I guess I should have asked first. I really made a mess of things, huh?”
A spark lit up Graham’s face as he likewise took out his phone. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” He held up his own social feed. “Brent, your cocoa is going viral.”
At this, Brent’s eyes turned into saucers. “Really?” Now it was his turn to retrieve his phone. Reeling, he checked his online orders. “Holy cow! I’ve got mail orders from across the country for my specialty house mix. Gosh, it’s going to take ’til spring to fill all these.”
“Guess you’d better not roll up your mat in the New Year after all, huh?” Graham wiggled his eyebrows at his companion.
“Guess not indeed.” Brent looked like he might just faint from disbelief. “Coco, how can I ever repay you?”
“Just make sure you send a few orders to LA, and we’ll call it even.” She tossed him an impish wink.
At this, Graham took a moment to survey the room.
The whole place, and everyone squeezed together in it, seemed to glow even brighter.
He detected a warmth inside his chest. Call it what you wanted, maybe even Christmas magic, but he sure could say one thing—this certainly would be a holiday to remember.
A hearty shoulder pat from his boss then pulled Graham from his reverie. “Speaking of LA,” Mr. Burns interjected, “we’ve got a plane to catch. Isn’t that right…Mr. Vice President?”
The mention of his new title set off a flurry of emotions in Graham. Finally, after all these years of sacrifice, all these years of pushing himself, he’d locked down what he’d set out to achieve.
Somehow, it felt different than he’d expected.
He surveyed the happiness around him once more and couldn’t help but feel melancholy. Was he really ready to say goodbye to all this for…a desk job?
“Mr. Burns”—Graham affected his most official voice—“I’ve got to be honest.” He swallowed down a gulp. How had his throat so quickly become sandpaper?
An electric current hummed through the crowd as the room fell silent in anticipation.
Mr. Burns, for his part, seemed particularly piqued. “Yes?”
Clearing his throat, Graham worked to muster his voice. Was he sure he wanted to do this?
Not at all.
But something inside told him to do it anyway.
“There were times I questioned whether I was really working toward something at Brooks & Burns, whether or not I was breaking my back over a pipe dream. But I’ve got to tell you, now that that dream has come true, I don’t know if it’s the fantasy I thought it would be.”
He couldn’t help but feel in that moment every last eye in the room—first and foremost among them, Brent’s—zeroed in solely on him.
“What are you saying, Bartlett?”
Graham did his best not to squirm at the sight of Mr. Burns stroking his chin. “What I’m saying”—he swallowed another gulp—“is that part of me doubted whether I’d ever make vice president at the firm. Which is why I can’t believe what I’m about to tell you.”
He swallowed another gulp as his boss’s eyes narrowed at him.
“I’m afraid I have to decline your offer of a promotion.”
Perhaps for the first time in his life, Mr. Burns appeared tongue-tied. “Graham, this is…it’s quite…son, if you don’t see yourself advancing up in the firm, I’m afraid that calls into question what future you still have with it.”
Graham shook his head, feeling inexplicably lighter. “I don’t think you understand, sir. Being a big shot was everything I thought I wanted. But after the last few days here”—he gestured around the room—“I think I’ve found something better.”
His mother looked ready to tackle-hug him. “Graham, do you mean…?”
“Back in LA,” Graham continued, addressing the whole room, “I was busting my butt day and night. And for what? Status? Prestige? A curated Instagram profile?” He shook his head in spite of himself. “Well, ever since I came back here, came back home, I think I’ve found something I want even more.”
He made his way up to Brent. “Back in LA, Christmas is nothing but more work, more stress, and more wishing that the whole three-ring circus would just move it along.” He inhaled a centering breath.
“And through all the hustle and bustle, I think I lost sight of what this time of year is really about.” He took Brent’s hands in his.
“But now that I’ve come back to Mistletoe Grove, come back to where I belong, I’ve finally come to remember what Christmas really means.
” He spread his arms to embrace the group.
“Christmas isn’t about flashy glitz and glam.
It’s about slowing down, showing kindness, and building community with the people you love.
” He cracked a lopsided smile. “And what better place than Mistletoe Grove—where holiday spirit is alive and well year-round—than to rediscover what truly makes Christmas so special.”
Hope sparkled bright in Brent’s eyes as he held Graham’s hands. “Graham, do you really mean—”
“Mistletoe Grove,” Graham finished on his behalf, “I’m coming home.”
Before he was even done speaking, he found himself suffocating from his mother’s arms wrapped around him. “Oh, Graham! This is the best Christmas gift a mother could ask for!”
Just as he was about to respond, he found himself cut short by Mr. Burns. “I suppose if that’s what you want, my boy. But are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Graham only had to turn back to Brent. “Oh, I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.” He squeezed his hands as he recalled the words the cocoa maker spoken to him earlier. “But you know what they say. As long as you’re doing it surrounded by people you love, isn’t that all that matters in the end?”
Eyes glistening, Brent squeezed Graham’s hands in return.
“Mr. Burns, I appreciate the opportunity,” Graham reiterated to his now former boss, “but I’ve got bigger plans in store.”
Now it was his assistant Orlando’s turn to speak. “How so?”
“Back in LA,” Graham replied, “you’ve got plenty of spin doctors to pick from. Here in Mistletoe Grove, though, we need someone who can get the word out about a town that truly deserves it.”
And just like that, Mayor Pickering perked up visibly. “Just what are you suggesting, son?”
“What we need,” Graham proclaimed, “is a bona fide tourism office, a department dedicated to sharing far and wide what makes Mistletoe Grove so special. With a little good PR, I know I can turn us back into a true holiday destination, just like we were meant to be.” He traded Brent’s hands for Coco’s.
“Coco, I’m sorry to leave you. Do you think you’ll be all right? ”
She dealt him a friendly punch. “You don’t have to worry about me any longer, Graham. If anything, maybe I should be worried about you two”—puckish, she wagged a finger at him and Brent—“raising a ruckus here in Hallmark-land.”
At this, Graham sensed his cheeks turn red. “We’ll just see about that.” He detected a familiar firmness below his belt as he locked eyes with Brent.
Only to be promptly interrupted by one of the paparazzi in attendance. “Mr. Bartlett, if you please, one final question. How did you pull off last night’s movie premiere, anyway?”
The question spurred a smile on Graham’s face. “Now, that is a story you’ll have to get from Coco. Because all of a sudden, I think I’m a bit preoccupied.”
Pulling Brent in close, Graham locked their lips together as, for one final time, the crowd erupted in cheers. Had this holiday been a hot mess? Perhaps. But it sure had been full of, dare he say, Christmas magic.
“Merry Christmas, Graham,” Brent said with a smile.
The whole world melted away as Graham melted into his man. “Merry Christmas.”