Page 27 of Grump Hard
CANDY: Not what I wanted to hear, no, but I’m a fan of the truth. And the truth is that this man is only here for a few more weeks. You shouldn’t get attached.
HOLLY: The city isn’t that far away…
CANDY: It’s five hours by train.
HOLLY: I could drive…
CANDY: Still three hours, if the traffic isn’t miserable, and the little Honda that could won’t survive two months of that before it breaks down. If it’s going to work, the cranky billionaire would have to be willing to do his share of travelling. But it doesn’t look like he can maintain a relationship with a woman who lives three blocks away from him in Manhattan, so…
HOLLY: You’ve been stalking the gossip section.
CANDY: I have. As should you.
HOLLY: I did.
CANDY: Then you know he’s an emotionally constipated workaholic.
HOLLY: I know he hasn’t met the right woman yet. That’s obvious.
CANDY: The one who will make him want to change? Yeah, that’s because she doesn’t exist. Thirty-five-year-old men are already set in their ways. It’s too late for change.
HOLLY: That’s not fair! We’re both in our thirties, and we change all the time.
CANDY: Do we? I mean…I’ve been doing the same thing every day for a long, long time. I’m honestly not sure I’m all that excited about it anymore, but I keep getting up and going through the motions, no matter how many rich people complain about the tiny marshmallows.
HOLLY: You’re just hitting the Christmas burnout wall. It happens every year. You’ll feel better by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around. You always do.
CANDY: You’re probably right. Thanks for the perspective.
HOLLY: You’re welcome. And thank you for yours. I appreciate your honesty, even if we don’t always agree.
CANDY: So, you’re going to pull your heart out of your chest and throw it at the grumpy billionaire like a horny octopus?
HOLLY: Like the very horniest octopus. And I’m going to look hot doing it in my favorite blue sweater. Thank you for telling me that octopi pull their penises off and throw them at their mates, by the way. I can’t see an octopus dish on a menu anymore without thinking of you. And penises.
CANDY: You’re welcome. And it’s not all octopi. Just certain species. Just like all men aren’t beyond transformation. This one might surprise me. I hope he does. You know all I want is for you to be happy.
HOLLY: I do. Love you, lovely.
CANDY: Love you, too. Sending good gingerbread building vibes. Don’t forget to wait until the egg whites are nice and foamy to add the cream of tartar. That’s the secret to the perfect gingerbread icing.
HOLLY: Thank you! Will do. And I’ll send pictures if we win.
CANDY: WHEN you win, you mean.
HOLLY: You’re right. I do.
Nine
Holly
The Silver Bell Falls’ community hall is always hopping on Friday night, but on the second weekend in December, with the annual Gingerbread Jubilee about to get underway?
Well, it’s a bona fide madhouse in here.
The long room is packed with folding tables, each one a chaotic hub of activity as teams from various town businesses and families prepare for the starting buzzer. Christmas music blasts from giant speakers in the corner, a peppy, pop-punk version of “Deck the Halls,” a little too aggressive to make it easy to communicate with your teammates.
But that’s all part of the psychological warfare.
