Page 78 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
“Is that an invitation?”
“Sure,” I said. “Pick a night. Mine are all wide open now.”
“Indeed,” she said. “I’ll check my calendar.”
A kid in a parka too big for him that made his arms stick out at ninety-degree angles went flying past us. He was quickly followed by more kids, all of them shrieking at the top of their lungs.
Marge laughed jovially—the way a true Mrs. Claus would. “I remember when you were that little. Cami, too. And wee little Justin.”
“He’s still small.”
“Of stature, maybe, but his character has grown over the years. Thank goodness. Tedious young man, that one used to be.” She watched the children rush across the messy snow in front of the choir before collapsing onto their backs to make sloppy snow angels. “If only we could turn back the clock and go back, just for a little while. Don’t you think that would be nice?”
There’d been a time when I would have given anything for control over time.
I could stop Veronica from taking the Land Rover out that night. I could save her. I could change the entire trajectory of our future.
“It would be nice,” I said.
Marge seemed to realize the implication of what she’d said because she looked up at me, an apology written in her eyes. “She’d have loved to be here tonight.”
I tipped my head back to look at the tree. It was a monstrous, sixty-foot, full, gorgeous spruce, and it had naturally grown in a near perfect triangle. Winter had decorated it, and we were all about to see it in all its glory when the lights went on.
“Yes, she would have,” I agreed, and I realized I was speaking both about Veronica and about Winter.
“Same with your folks.”
I chuckled. “Dad would’ve dropped dead if he saw the kinds of trees we were doing now. The reach of the Waylon Farm. He’d be impressed. Overwhelmed but impressed.”
“Your father was always overwhelmed.”
It was true. My old man always had one hand on the wheel and another fanning the flames of his stress. He was one of those guys who never felt like he was on top of everything. Now there was a good name for it—imposter syndrome. He always felt behind, like he hadn’t done enough work, hadn’t accomplished enough, wasn’t ever doing enough. In reality, he’d laid the foundation of growth that made the farm what it was today. I’d just propelled it forward using modern resources. He’d done all the grunt work.
“He’d have hated the choir,” I said.
Marge gave a full belly laugh. “You’re right, he certainly would have. He’d be looking for a rock band.”
“Mom would have liked them though.”
“She’d have wanted to be up there singing with them. They’re all here with us in spirit. My family, too. Everyone who’s gone isn’t reallygone.” Marge patted my arm one last time. “This old girl needs a hot drink to keep these brittle bones warm. Good luck with your speech. Enough of this mushy stuff.”
I leaned down and gave her a hug, pressing a kiss to her soft, wrinkled cheek. “Merry Christmas, Marge.”
She beamed up at me. “Merry Christmas, North.”
I watched my dear old friend disappear into the crowd on a hunt for hot chocolate or something stronger. Amidst the swirling bodies, I spotted Justin and Cami wandering up and down the rows of vendors in the market section. She wore a wrap around her ears with a silver pin that sparkled whenever it caught the light and matching gloves, one of which just happened to be wrapped around Justin’s hand.
I narrowed my eyes.
What on earth was going on there? Had he finally worn down her defenses?
No way,I thought, straining to see over the tops of everyone’s heads to get a better look. I was about to try to creep closer when the choir ceased their song, and one of the city officials took to the microphone on stage to invite me up to lead the lighting ceremony.
All heads whirled to me.
I gave everyone an appeasing smile and wave and cursed the moment for giving Cami and Justin a chance to leap apart. Perhaps it had been my imagination.
The crowd cleared for me to make my way through the snow to the stage, where the city official handed over the microphone.
