Me: See you Tuesday for the costume humiliation.
Her response comes back almost immediately.
Mads: It’s going to be a very thorough humiliation. I hope you’re prepared.
Despite myself, I smile.
Me: Bring it on, Cooper.
Mads: Oh, it’s already been brought. Sweet dreams, Santa.
I’m still smiling when I get home. Which is probably a problem.
But looking up at the stars over Twin Waves Island, thinking about Christmas plans and community emergencies and the way Mads’ eyes light up when she talks about making magic happen...
Maybe some problems are worth having.
Chapter Three
MADS
Twin Waves Brewing Co. smells like coffee and Mom’s relentless optimism this morning. Both hit me the second I walk through the door, and both are probably the only things keeping me upright after yesterday’s Christmas emergency meeting.
“Double shot vanilla latte,” Mom announces, sliding the cup across our usual window table. “Because you look like you got hit by Santa’s sleigh.”
I collapse into my chair and wrap my hands around the mug. Our daily coffee ritual is sacred—thirty minutes of caffeine, family updates, and whatever crisis Mom thinks needs my immediate attention. Today, judging by her expression, that crisis is me.
“So,” she says, settling back with her own cup, “tell me about this firefighter partnership.”
“There’s nothing to tell. We’re coordinating Christmas logistics. Keeping things professional.”
“Uh-huh.” Mom’s eyes sparkle with the same mischief that got Lila detention for creative problem-solving in high school.“And how’s theprofessionalcoordination going with Twin Waves’ grumpiest public servant?”
I nearly choke on my latte. “He’s not that grumpy.”
“Honey, yesterday he looked like he’d rather wrestle an alligator than plan a Christmas parade.”
“Well... maybe a small alligator.”
My phone chimes.
Lila: Mom says you’re working with a grumpy firefighter. Is he hot-grumpy or sad-grumpy? We need to know this so we can discuss it at book club.
“Great. Now Lila’s analyzing my love life,” I tell Mom, showing her the text.
“She cares about your happiness. We all do.” Mom reaches across and squeezes my hand. “Besides, you’ve been different since that letter arrived.”
I touch the cream-colored envelope in my jacket pocket. The one I’d swiped from Mom after she’d stolen it from my room. The thief. What was the point of that anyway? Did she really have to tell everyone about it? My cheeks burn, just thinking about how Asher knows about it now.
Spencer would have called the letter ridiculous. Said I was being naive, believing in fairy tales instead of focusing on “practical relationship goals.”
“The letter isn’t ridiculous,” I say, realizing I’ve spoken out loud.
“Absolutely not ridiculous,” Mom agrees firmly. “That letter has put more light in your eyes than I’ve seen in months. You hang onto that.”
Before I can respond, shouting erupts from the boardwalk outside. Through the window, I spot Mayor Water’s wife, Penelope, setting up what appears to be some sort of presentation station, complete with easels, charts, and visual aids.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “Penelope’s having an idea.”
