Page 121 of Bleacher Report
But I take out his final answer—the one about Oakley’s bar and the apology. That part is just for me.
Once I’m done, I hover over the publish button, then tap it without second-guessing. I mute my notifications—no one’s watching a sports interview on Christmas Eve anyway, and honestly, I don’t want to be tethered to my phone tonight.
Not when I’ve got this.
Downstairs, the house smells like garlic bread and spaghetti sauce. Hunter’s at the stove, sleeves rolled up, wooden spoon in hand. I lean in the doorway for a moment, watching him hum along to the holiday music playing low on the speaker, like this is just any regular night.
Dinner is warm and easy. We linger over second helpings, share stories from childhood Christmases, and laugh over the fact that neither of us can remember all the words to “Frosty the Snowman.”
Later, we curl up on the couch with a wool blanket and an old black-and-white holiday movie that Hunter says he and his mom watch together every year.
I love that he’s bringing me into his traditions—showing me this side of him.
Hunter answers a call from his mom.
“Carolers,” he says with a grin as he puts her on speaker.
“I couldn’t say no,” Carly says cheerfully. “The ladies from my choir group showed up at the old folks’ home and demanded. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”
Hunter laughs. “Stay out as long as you want. We’re good here.”
We hang up, and I shift closer, feeling his arm slide around my shoulders. He looks down at me, eyes warm, lips barely parted like he’s about to say something—or kiss me—
When my phone buzzes on the arm of the couch.
I glance at the screen and frown. “It’s Rebecca.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “On Christmas Eve?”
I answer, and Rebecca launches in without preamble.
“Peyton, your video is blowing up. Like, network-level viral. One of the senior producers just called me. They’re talking about fast-tracking the contract.”
“Wait, how is it going viral? No one’s watching my podcast on Christmas Eve.”
Hunter hears my words and then grabs his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. I watch as he quickly pulls up the video, my eyes widen at the number of views.
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s had over five hundred thousand views, and you only posted it a couple of hours ago. Besides, the network is my life, and the other execs are the same. We never take a day off. Media doesn’t sleep.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
My eyes flash back up to Hunter’s, and he’s smiling wide.
Rebecca’s voice comes back in, and I almost forgot that she’s still on the line.
“You’ll probably be asked to head into the Seattle office the day after Christmas.”
My pulse spikes. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely, the comment section is blowing up. The authenticity, the intimacy—people are eating it up. I’ll be in touch but prepare yourself for coming into the network’s office the day after Christmas. You’ll have contracts to sign.”
She hangs up before I can respond, and I stare at the phone like it might vanish.
“Was that real?” I ask, still breathless.
Hunter leans in, his voice low and warm. “That was very real.”
He’s still holding his phone, screen tilted toward me, showing the growing number of views, the flood of heart emojis and fire icons in the comments. I watch the count tick up again—five hundred twenty thousand now.
