Page 84 of The Bright Side of Christmas
Would she have?The annoying conscience in my head that’s starting to sound way too much like Colt’s says. The one time she evenjokedabout it, you freaked out.
I’m lost in my thoughts, but Colton’s following words knock me out of it.
“It would be a great time for some wunderkind musician to come in.”
My heart skips a beat, but when I look up at Colt, he’s wiping down the bar. I almost think I imagined his words, but a slight smirk plays at his lips. I continue to stare at him until finally,he puts down the rag and leans into his hands on the bar top, looking at me.
That’s when I see the truth there: he knows.
“You know?”
“Yeah. I was a huge fan of Midnight Ash. First day you came in, I knew who you were.”
“You didn’t say anything?”
He shrugs before explaining. “Didn’t seem like you wanted anyone else to know, so I kept it to myself.”
For the first time in a while, I find myself completely and utterly speechless. This whole time, I thought I was hiding from who I was, that I was experiencing being treated normally for the first time in forever. But maybe that isn’t the case at all. Perhaps I just found a place where no one genuinely cares.
“Does anyone else know?”
He shrugs again, which seems to be his primary method of communicating. “I think a couple of people around town have put it together.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “No one’s ever mentioned it to me.”
“Why would they? It’s a small town, but we respect boundaries here.” I give him a raised eyebrow, and he lets out a laugh. “For the most part. They’re a bit nosy, but they mean well.”
For a moment, I want to say that no one respects Wren’s boundaries, but that’s not fair either. Wren hasn’t set boundaries for herself, so there aren’t really any to respect.
It’s something I’m determined to continue to work on.
For as long as she’ll have me.
I shouldn’t have given Wren so much shit about wanting to help. It’s who she is. Sure, she could prioritize herself a bit more, but that’s not something that’s going to change overnight, much less just because a new man came into her life.
Yesterday, it felt big, the disappointment of it, but the reality is, it’s something that, if I want to be with her, I’m going to have to accept, and we’re going to have to work on it together. Probably for the rest of our lives, something I’m realizing more and more is what I want with Wren.
But first, I have a festival to get to.
“I gotta go,” I say out loud, standing and moving for my wallet, fumbling and dropping it as I do. I grab it and then try to get some cash out, dropping the whole thing once more.
Colt lets out a laugh and shakes his head, waving a hand at me. “It’s all good. This one’s on me, man. Merry Christmas.”
I hesitate for a moment, wondering how the fuck this man turns a profit before realizing I have a mission to get on with. I give him a broad smile and a nod, then head for the door.
“Merry Christmas, Colt,” I call over my shoulder, pulling my phone app up to make a call.
THIRTY-ONE
If I never see another roll of wrapping paper, it might be too soon.
It’s all I can think about as I smooth out another red and green striped swath of paper and place a toy on it before slicing the paper to size.
This should have been finished yesterday, but last night we got about halfway through the wrapping before a terrible crash came from the other side of the room, and I looked up to find the stage we had set up the night before had collapsed. It seems the volunteers missed a few nuts and bolts in the assembly. Thankfully, no one was hurt, and even more thankfully, it happened yesterday instead of today with people on it. I called my dad sobbing, and as is his way, he came downtown immediately with my mom and stayed until almost two a.m., fixing and redecorating the stage.
Since it was so late when I finally packed it in, Hallie insisted I stay at her place, not wanting me to drive while so exhausted. I woke up bright and early with a pit in my stomach, and I’ve been anxiously checking my phone and email for a last-minute piano player, but to no avail. Because apparently,nothingcan go right, I received a call last night that Mr. Mooney, the pianist, wasdown with a cold and unable to play. Just my luck, my backup, the choir teacher, is also down with the same thing.
We’vealwayshad live music for the festival, with my grandmother insisting it made everything more cheerful and intimate in a way that prerecorded tracks never could. However, this year it seems that’s one thing that isn’t going to happen.
