Grace looked down at the snow, watching how the streetlights made it sparkle. “It’s all pretty new, but sometimes I wish I could turn it off. The visions, I mean. I never know if I’m helping or just… making things worse.”
Anna didn’t answer right away. She just stood there, arms folded, steam rising from her mug. Then, quietly, she said, “I get that. Especially in the winter.”
Grace frowned. “Why winter?”
Anna laughed, but there was an edge to it. “Because in the summer, I can swim. I’m not just some executive assistant or the mayor’s wife—I get to be myself. But in the winter? The lake freezes. The baths help, but it’s not the same. I get restless. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be warm again.” She shrugged, but her gaze was unwavering. “But I still wouldn’t trade it. Not even on the days when the scales are itching and the only thing I want is to run back to the water and not come out until spring.”
Grace was quiet, absorbing that. She thought about the way Anna had taken charge, called Rick, made it all seem routine. Maybe that was what happened when you stayed in a place long enough… you learned to bend the weirdness to your will.
They started walking again. The Lantern House glowed in the distance ahead. Grace had to admit, she looked forward to the moment when she’d be inside, wrapped in a blanket, the world held at bay for just a few hours.
Anna stopped at the bottom of the walkway and kicked at a drift. “You know,” she said, “you’re allowed to enjoy it. The attention, the being special. I think you’ve spent enough years hiding.”
Grace smiled, this time for real. “Maybe I have. Thanks, Anna.”
Anna winked, all mischief again. “Anytime. And remember—if you ever get sick of psychic stuff, we can always prank call the banshee in the next town over. She’s got a sense of humor, I swear.”
They hugged, awkward in their puffy sweaters, then Anna disappeared into the darkness, footsteps crunching out of sync with the piped-in holiday music.
Grace climbed the steps, fumbled for her keys, and stepped into the Lantern House’s fragrant warmth. For the first time since arriving, she allowed herself to feel it: relief, gratitude, the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she belonged.
She set her things down, and curled up by the fire. The wind outside rattled the windows, but inside, everything was soft light and the steady rhythm of her own breath.
The visions would come again, she knew that. But for now, she let herself rest. She was the only Grace Baker in Holiday Hollow, and that was enough.
10
Grace took her time getting ready, not out of vanity but from a rare desire to savor the moment. She’d never owned a dress like this. But this was the Winter Ball, Holiday Hollow’s answer to the Met Gala, and Anna had threatened dire consequences if she wore “anything less than showstopping.”
The dress was a midnight blue, off-the-shoulder, with a fitted bodice and a skirt that shimmered like the lake under moonlight. The woman at the boutique had insisted it made Grace look like “a Christmas Eve princess,” and Grace had paid full price just to end the conversation. Now, standing before the mirror, she almost believed it. She’d curled her hair, the fringe falling just right over her eyes. A touch of silver at her ears. Mascara and a hint of plum gloss. The effect was subtle until you added the dress; then it was all transformation, as though a nicer, braver version of herself had been conjured from the closet.
She smoothed the skirt, checked her phone for the time, and almost immediately heard the Lantern House’s knocker rattle. She held her breath. Bryant had texted that he’d pick her up at seven sharp, and he was nothing if not precise.
She made her way downstairs, fingers trembling only slightly on the rail. When she opened the door, the sight nearly madeher laugh: Bryant Paulsen, six foot one and built like a Christmas tree farm’s best offering, standing awkwardly on the porch with a box in his hands. He wore a dark suit, crisply tailored, with a tie in a deep, improbable blue that matched her dress perfectly. His hair was still damp, as though he’d been too impatient with the blow dryer. He looked at her with a wide, open stare, the way a kid might look at the year’s first snowfall.
“Hi,” he said, after a pause that stretched just past comfortable.
“Hi yourself,” Grace replied, smiling. “You clean up nice.”
He gave a huff, ducked his head. “You look… I mean. That’s—that’s a really good dress.” He opened the box and produced a corsage: three white ranunculus blooms and a twist of blue ribbon. “I asked the lady at Bloom & Vine what goes with blue and she said this, so—” He held it out, the stems trembling slightly in his grip.
Grace extended her wrist. “It’s perfect,” she said, and let him fumble with the elastic band. He managed, though it took him two tries, and when he was done he seemed surprised at how close they stood.
He cleared his throat. “I think we’re supposed to go next door. Caroline said something about a pre-party?”
Grace grinned. “Wouldn’t be a Hollow event without one. Ready?” At least that’s what she’d come to notice about this place since arriving.
Bryant gave a mock salute, then offered his arm. Grace slipped her hand through his arm, and they set off down the snowy walk to Caroline’s.
The Shepard house was ablaze with light, wreaths on every window and some kind of illuminated reindeer sculpture prancing across the lawn. Inside, the party had already started. Caroline was at the center of it, resplendent in a glittering gold jumpsuit that looked like it had been conjured from a disco ball.Her date for the night, a local businessman named Clive, wore a tux with a red velvet jacket and, inexplicably, an ascot. He looked like he’d been imported from a more sophisticated universe.
Anna and her husband Robert were already there, Anna in an emerald-green sheath, Robert in a suit that managed to look both formal and slightly rumpled, as though he’d dressed up solely to humor his wife. Olivia Brooks and her partner, Walter Pierce, made a striking pair; Olivia in a sleek black number with a plunging neckline, Walter in a dark suit with a silver pocket square and an attitude of casual menace.
Grace felt a moment’s hesitation—did she belong in this company, all sparkle and inside jokes? But then Anna waved her over, already two glasses into the evening, and within minutes Grace was laughing and sipping champagne from a vintage coupe. The conversation was breezy and just a little risqué, Caroline making veiled jokes about her date’s “charitable donations,” Anna recounting her childhood misadventures at previous balls. Bryant stuck close, but even he was less reserved than usual, trading dry quips with Walter and braving a sip of Caroline’s homemade “Festivity Punch,” which he declared, “should be considered as a weapon under local ordinances.”
By the time Olivia herded everyone out to the waiting cars, their little group was a tight, boisterous unit, linked by mutual affection and the giddy knowledge that, for once, they weren’t the weirdest people in the room.
They took Olivia’s car, a silver sedan that smelled faintly of leather, while the others followed in cars behind them. Grace sat between Anna and Caroline, who competed to tell her the most embarrassing ball anecdotes from years past. Bryant rode shotgun, the only one with the sense not to challenge Olivia’s driving. They reached the mansion in under ten minutes, even with the traffic. Holiday Hollow’s one percent had all arrivedearly, eager to claim the best tables and scope out the silent auction.
