Anna leaned in close. “We’ve got you,” she said. “No matter what happens.”
Grace nodded, but her throat was too tight to answer.
Olivia maneuvered the group so that Grace was always in the center, always within reach. Even Caroline, who never stopped moving, kept orbiting close enough to intervene.
The weatherman was still talking, running through the list of sponsors, the upcoming events, the number of bulbs on the tree. The mayor laughed loudly at every joke, Martha Lane waved with her good hand. Parents hoisted kids onto their shoulders for a better view. No one else looked nervous.
Bryant met her eyes. “We’re ready for anything,” he said. “Even if it’s nothing.”
She swallowed, scanning the crowd one last time, wishing she could shake the certainty that something was about to go wrong. Her breath fogged the air in quick bursts, matching the pace of her heart.
The weatherman raised his arms for quiet, and the hush rolled over the square. Grace looked at the stage, at the crowd, at her friends clustered around her in a shield of warmth and hope.
“Please let me be wrong,” she whispered, so soft it was lost in the stillness.
The weatherman gestured to the mayor, who strode toward the podium and took the microphone.
Grace held her breath as the ceremony began, the hope and the terror mingling in her veins like the first sparks in a string of lights.
5
Mayor Whitaker, a broad man with a wide smile and a shock of white hair, stood in the center of the stage, both hands resting on the grand podium like he was bracing for a sudden earthquake. Next to him was Martha Lane, head of the Chamber of Commerce, her cherry red coat pressed within an inch of its seams. Fire Chief Rick Dalton, ruddy-faced and impatient, adjusted his hat repeatedly. Tom Caldwell, owner of the local flower shop and tonight’s business sponsor, peered at the crowd as if searching for his own family. The children’s choir assembled behind them, a wall of angelic faces topped with identical Santa hats, shuffling feet and picking at their sashes.
And then, off to the side, Tessa Monroe, already poised with a microphone, her blonde hair helmeted in so much hairspray it might have been sculpted from marzipan. She was live on Channel 5, likely narrating the event with a blend of snark and civic pride.
None of them looked like they were about to die. Not the way Grace’s vision had shown her, anyway.
The mayor tapped the microphone. “Welcome, one and all! Tonight, we gather to remind ourselves what makes Holiday Hollow so extraordinary. Community. Resilience. And aboveall, the wonder of the season.” His words rolled out in perfect campaign cadence.
Grace’s eyes roamed the stage, its battered planks decked in a dusting of snow and swaths of velvet ribbon. At first she thought the odd reflection she caught beneath the mayor’s shoes was just ice. But as he gestured, she saw it again, a flat slickness spreading, glossy and alive. She blinked hard.Water. A slow, deliberate puddle, inching from the left side of the stage, creeping along the wooden seams.
She looked at Bryant. He was surveying the crowd, but his eyes occasionally flicked to the people on the stage. She considered calling out, but the words caught in her throat. He’d already checked, had the staff check. “Everything’s secure,” he’d said. “No reason to worry.” She was probably just seeing things—panic’s mirages. Still, the glinting surface grew, snaking toward the base of the choir riser.
The mayor continued: “In a year that’s brought its share of hardships, let’s remember that the light we share tonight is a symbol of hope. Of togetherness.” He grinned, teeth dazzling. “Now, before we light the tree, I’d like to thank a few of our heroes.” He nodded to Martha, who took a nervous half-step forward.
Grace watched the water splash as Martha stepped in it, and it was in that moment that she realized the water was actually there. It wasn’t just in her head.
She opened her mouth to scream, but her voice emerged as a whisper. “Bryant.”
He didn’t hear her, not with the crowd howling at some corny joke from the mayor. Grace looked to the ladies, but Anna and Caroline were locked in some dramatic debate over at the cider tent, and Olivia was inspecting the stage with narrowed eyes, but she was too far to intercept.
The mayor was winding up the speech. “We couldn’t do this without you, Holiday Hollow! And now, I’d like to invite our special guests to join me in lighting the tree. Let’s count down together from ten!”
The crowd roared their assent.
Grace saw the water shiver forward, then split into two prongs, each one gliding under the boots of the children’s choir. The girl on the end—pale, brown curls, biting her lip—looked down and frowned, but didn’t move.
“Bryant!” This time Grace shouted. She waved her arms like a lunatic. He spotted her, brow furrowing.
She pointed, frantic, at the stage floor. “Water! It’s spreading—look at it!” The words sounded shrill, even to her own ears.
Bryant gave her a slow, skeptical shake of his head, mouthing, “We checked.”
The crowd started to chant, “Ten! Nine! Eight!” like a mob at the gallows. The mayor beamed, Martha clapped, Tessa edged forward for her camera shot.
The puddle widened, glossy as oil.
Grace lost the last of her hesitation. She shoved past the barricade, pushing through a knot of teenagers and a startled elderly woman. “Bryant! Please—” She was screaming now, and she didn’t care if she looked insane.
