Page 44 of Grump Hard
“You know nothing,” I warn them all. “I don’t know anything yet, so you certainly don’t.”
But one thing I do know is that I feel closer to Holly than I’ve felt to anyone in ages, and that texting her while trapped in a plague house was still a good time.
As we tuck into breakfast and discuss the holiday menu, my thoughts keep drifting to trains, planes, and my car with the driver. New York City isn’t that far from Silver Bell Falls, after all, and money is no object. I can arrange to be here or for Holly to be in the city with me as often as we want.
Maybe hoping for something like that is jumping the gun, but on a bright, sunny, healthy Tuesday morning after a brush with death—no matter how mild the brush—it doesn’t feel crazy.
It feels appropriate. Maybe even…inevitable.
Like something that was always meant to be.
Looking back, I really should have known better. It’s like in business—sometimes the brightest forecast comes just days before the entire market crashes.
Thirteen
Luke
Wednesday afternoon finds me in the mansion’s study, reviewing contracts on my laptop while half-listening to Ashton and Bran argue about whether Die Hard qualifies as a Christmas movie in the next room.
My phone sits face-up on the desk beside me. I glance at it more often than I’d care to admit, waiting for Holly’s text about tonight’s caroling logistics. I’m sure it will be thorough, charming, and full of emojis.
The thought makes me smile.
I’ve been smiling a lot lately. Likely more than anyone who knows me well would have believed possible. And the strangest part is that it doesn’t feel foreign anymore.
It feels...right. Natural, even. Like maybe this is who I was always supposed to be, before life taught me that optimism was a liability.
My phone buzzes, and I reach for it, warmth spreading through my chest.
But the message isn’t the detailed caroling itinerary I expected.
HOLLY: Luke, I’m SO sorry, but I have to cancel tonight. A client just called with a last-minute opportunity I can’t pass up. They’re tripling my hourly fee. I would say no, but with the economy the way it is, it’s always great to have a little extra cash in the emergency fund. Especially heading into my slow season in January and February. I hope you can forgive me.
A small sting of disappointment prickles at the base of my throat, but I push it away.
Yes, I was looking forward to seeing her again—even surrounded by gossip-hungry carolers who can’t wait to text their friends everything they overheard Holly and I say to each other in between “Jingle Bells” and “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas”—but this is her livelihood.
And it’s far too early in our relationship for me to offer to pay her six times her fee so we can enjoy the night out without her worrying about her emergency fund.
Of course, she has to take the opportunity. It’s a no-brainer.
I text back—Don’t be silly. I understand. Completely. Go take incredible photos, and I’ll see you Friday for my final night of penance. Maybe we can go out for cocoa or something after to celebrate?
Her response is immediate—Yes, that sounds perfect! Thank you so much for understanding. You’re the best! And I promise, I’ll show you how sorry I am for missing tonight at least twice under the mistletoe on Friday.
The kissing emoji softens the last of my disappointment. It’s just a forty-eight-hour difference between seeing her tonight and on Friday, after all. Nothing in the grand scheme of things.
I set my phone down and return to my email.
I’ll stay busy, and Friday will be here before I know it.
A few hours later, a soft knock pulls me from my laptop, where I’ve been steadily annihilating most of my “first week of January” tasks in an attempt to make time move faster.
“Come in,” I call, minimizing the contract on my screen.
Elliot and Ashton appear in the doorway, Ashton wearing a ridiculously fluffy white coat that makes her look like a fashionable yeti.
“So,” Elliot says, his brow furrowed, “We hate to be the third and fourth wheels, but could we hitch a ride with you and Holly to the caroling tonight? Arthur is down with the flu now and won’t be driving anyone anywhere. And he drove the car home last night, so we can’t drive it, either.”
