Page 123 of My Merry Mistake
These “best parts” range from the Holiday House Walk—a tour of four historic homes, all ornately decorated for Christmas—to the outdoor market featuring local vendors selling handmade goods like candles, caramels, or chocolates.
I bought a dark chocolate covered caramel topped with sea salt and gave it to Raya. “You never got to eat the other one I bought you because I think you were puking or something,” I joke.
Her eyes go wide, and she gives my shoulder a little push. “That’s not funny!” But her laugh tells me I didn’t go too far.
“Eh . . . I mean, it kind of is.” I grin.
“You’re the worst.” She shakes her head, but takes the chocolate.
I pop one in my mouth and wince. “Ew.This is your favorite candy?”
She takes a bite. “It’s so good.”
“Why is there salt on it?” I shudder, making a show of trying to brush it off.
“You have no taste at all,” she says, taking another one.
“No, I know a good thing when I see it.” I hold her gaze a beat longer than I probably should, then follow Bodie and Brady to the petting zoo where they have “real live reindeer.”
Which is hilarious to me, because what’s the alternative, “fake live reindeer?”
They’rehuge. And I’m not sure who’s more excited—the boys or me.
Grace isn’t interested, but when one of the reindeer gets close and licks her face, even she can’t keep from laughing.
Mr. Hart shows off the living windows, his favorite holiday tradition, and we vote on which ones we like best. After that, we loop around and take a turn in line with Santa.
I pick up a pamphlet with the details for the other Christmas events in town, thinking if Raya plans to attend the luminary walk or the fireworks, maybe she’ll let me tag along.
I’ve spent more than a few holiday seasons in Illinois now, most of them in Chicago. And even though I’ve seen almost everything the city has to offer, there’s something sort of magical about being here, with a family, even if they aren’t my own. Covers the ache of homesickness just a little.
And even though there are no mountains, Loveland reminds me a bit of my own hometown. I talked to my parents this morning, got the update on the community center Thanksgiving dinner and Silverwood’s own Christmas kickoff, which isn’t a whole lot different from this one.
I absently think that someday, I’d like to show it to Raya. The divide between us has closed a little, but I remind myself not to risk widening it again by being stupid or impatient.
Just be her friend.
After we get our fill of the carnival and the cookies, we all pile back into our cars and drive to the Pine Creek Tree Farm, way out in the country between Loveland and its nearest neighbor, a town called Pleasant Valley.
We do a hay ride and get hot chocolate, then as we trudge out to the field lined with rows and rows of trees, I start a sing-along of Christmas carols, and we take turns picking which songs to sing.
Even Gray hums along. Which is shocking. I’m guessing he’s doing it for Scarlett, who has been tugging on him to join in. The entire scene feels like something straight out of a Christmas movie.
At the end of the night, I place a blanket down on the roof of my SUV and strap the kids’ and Raya’s trees down on top of it. We head back to the Hart family farmhouse, enjoying the silent, satisfied car ride that only comes after a full day. I’d love to stay and help decorate the Harts’ tree, drink more hot chocolate, and watch a Christmas movie, but I know I need to get the kids home to their mom.
I thank everyone for letting us tag along, and just as I’m about to leave, Raya shocks me when she asks if she can come along to bring the kids home. She bought each of them an ornament, picking ones out that fit them perfectly. Bodie’s ornament is a Tasmanian Devil holding a present over his head, Brady’s is a hand-carved motorcycle with the back of it packed with gifts, and Grace’s is a curvy bookworm, with glasses and a Santa hat, holding a book that says “Frankincense and Sensibility.”
I think she might be trying to find an opening to talk to Grace, too, her prickly little twin.
After we drop them off, their mom, who isn’t a whole lot older than we are, sends us home with a fresh batch of homemade cinnamon rolls and her heartfelt thanks. And it’s nice. A genuinely relaxing, restful day.
Once it’s just Raya and me in the Jeep, I let out a tired—but happy—sigh.
“It was really nice of you to bring the kids,” she says. “I think I saw Grace smile at least twice.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “A Christmas miracle.” A pause. “Saw you smile a few times too.”
She nods. “Yeah, it was . . . fun.”
