Page 34 of Mr. Merry Ex-Mas
“This whole thing. This night, the lights, the schedule I worked tirelessly on. What if at the end of the day, it fails, it sucks. The kids forget their lines, and there’s not enough sweets for everyone. What if they just see me holding this clipboard, trying to look important but still just failing?” I’m embarrassed to say all that, but it’s how I feel. And there’s no taking it back now. I wait for his sarcastic comment, probably something cheesy, and involving mistletoe or elves or boobs.
Instead, Danny just says, “Come here.” And because I’m too tired to argue, I follow him to the side of the stage. There’s a small bulletin board I hadn’t noticed before tucked away near the corner of the room.
“What is this?” I ask cautiously.
“Just something I’ve been working on with the kids.”
The board is full of handwritten notes, some in crooked print, some with glitter glue still drying, but all on those damn color sticky notes he had stuck around my kitchen this morning.
Thanks for the hot chocolate!
This was the best day ever!
Miss Sadie makes Christmas magic.
I press a hand to my chest before I even realize I’m doing it. The pressure in my throat rises so fast I think I might actually cry. “They wrote these?”
“All on their own,” he says softly.
My eyes skim over one more that reads:
I want to be like Miss Sadie when I grow up.
I turn to look at him, and everything about him is different somehow. The boy I thought was unserious. The man who I thought would never get it. Hegotit without me even asking. He heard the thing I didn’t say out loud; he heard how much I wanted this to matter.
“You did this?” I whisper.
He shrugs. “I see you, Sadie. Even when you’re hiding behind a checklist.”
I don’t say anything. I just nod and take a sip of my latte so I don’t do something insane like kiss him in front of a wall of glitter glue. But something shifts inside me. I don’t just want to be seen. I want to be seenby him.And I think he’s actually doing it this time.
23
DANNY
The stage lights are a little too red, but the crowd doesn’t care. The hot chocolate stand ran out of whipped cream half an hour ago, a toddler is using a pinecone like a football, and I’ve just went off-script on three separate announcements. “Up next, the ballet recital, unless the sugarplums have stage fright, then it’s just me awkwardly reenacting The Nutcracker,” I say into the mic, and the crowd laughs.
The garland’s crooked. The music cues are off. A kid just ran across the stage mid-song, yelling about needing to pee. But the crowd is happy. The kids are radiant. And Sadie?
And any other day, I would have been completely sure Sadie was about to melt down.
But instead, Sadie is glowing.
She’s walking through the chaos with her clipboard still in hand, but she’s not clinging to it like a lifeline. Her shoulders are relaxed, her eyes are bright, and instead of freaking out, she laughs along with everyone else in the room.
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
The final act wraps up, and the kids take a bow while the audience claps and whistles enthusiastically. I’m already grinning when I see her step onto the stage, heels clicking against the wood, her dress hugging every curve that I can’t wait to get a hold of later tonight.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” she says, voice steady. “It means the world to see this town come together, whether for National Wine Day or a Christmas gala that somehow included three different versions of ‘Jingle Bells.’”
Laughter ripples through the room. Sadie continues, and I know from the shift in her voice, this part’s not on the clipboard.
“We spent weeks planning this event and making schedules. We rehearse every moment until we think we’ve gotten it perfect.” Her eyes sweep across the crowd. I don’t know if she’s looking for me, but I feel it anyway, the pull of her attention. “But sometimes…the most important parts aren’t planned at all.”
My heart kicks against my ribs. I straighten, hands in my pockets. She’s looking at me now. And I can’t look away.
“I need to say something,” she says softly. “To someone who’s been a part of this from the start. Mr. Love…”
