I open my mouth to make an excuse, but Sandra speaks first. "We wouldn't miss it." She looks at me, challenge in her eyes. "Right, Diesel?"
Normally, I avoid town events like the plague. The forced socialization, the small talk, the seasonal cheer—all of it grates on my nerves. But the hopeful expression on Sandra's face makes it impossible to say no.
"Right," I agree, ignoring Sage's shocked expression. "What time?"
"Seven in the town square," Sage says, recovering quickly. "Dress warm. It gets cold once the sun goes down."
Outside, Sandra bumps her hip against mine playfully. "Look at you, agreeing to attend a Christmas event. The town will be shocked."
"Only for you," I say, meaning it more than I probably should. "Don't expect me to sing carols or anything."
"No promises," she teases, linking her arm through mine. "I'm very persuasive when I want to be."
That she is. We spend the afternoon at my place, lounging on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. It feels domestic in a way that should probably scare me, but instead just feels right. Sandra fits into my life, into my space, like she was always meant to be here.
As evening approaches, we get ready for the tree lighting. I lend her a warm beanie and scarf, both of which swamp hersmaller frame in a way I find unreasonably attractive. She's beautiful in a way that goes beyond physical appearance—there's a light in her, a warmth that draws me like a moth to flame.
The town square is packed when we arrive, colored lights strung up between buildings, a massive unlit tree standing in the center. Vendors sell hot chocolate and cider from stalls, and the air smells like pine and cinnamon.
I've lived in Crimson Hollow for five years and never once attended the tree lighting ceremony. Yet here I am, willingly submitting to Christmas cheer because a woman I've known for barely two weeks asked me to.
And the weird part? I don't even mind. With Sandra's hand in mine, her body close against my side, even the off-key carolers seem charming rather than annoying.
We run into the Kane brothers, all looking surprised to see me at a town event. Roman raises an eyebrow when he spots our linked hands, but his smile seems genuine as he unloops his hand from his wife’s.
"Sandra, nice to finally meet you," he says, extending a hand. "Diesel's kept you all to himself."
"Can you blame him?" she responds with a laugh, shaking his hand. "I'm pretty great company."
"Clearly," Roman agrees, glancing at me with newfound respect. "You've accomplished the impossible—getting Diesel Torres to attend a public event willingly. We were taking bets on whether we'd ever see it."
"Who won?" I ask dryly.
"Sage," Roman says. "She put twenty on 'the right woman could drag him anywhere.' Looks like she was right."
Sandra beams at this, squeezing my hand. "I prefer to think of it as enthusiastic cooperation rather than dragging."
Roman laughs. "I like her, Torres. Don't mess this up."
"Working on it," I mutter as he moves off to join his brothers.
The ceremony begins with the mayor giving a speech about community and holiday spirit. Children from the local elementary school sing carols, their high voices carrying across the square. I’m not hating it, especially when Sandra leans into my side, her head resting against my shoulder.
"Thank you for coming," she says quietly. "I know this isn't your scene."
I press a kiss to the top of her head. "It's not so bad."
And it isn't. There's something about experiencing this through Sandra's eyes that makes it different. Her delight at the children's singing, her gasp when the giant tree finally lights up, bathing the square in multicolored light—it's contagious.
After the ceremony, we wander among the stalls, sipping hot chocolate and admiring the decorations. Sandra gets pulled into a conversation with Ellie from the lodge, and I’m standing slightly apart, just watching her.
She's animated as she talks, hands gesturing, smile bright. People are drawn to her naturally, her warmth and genuine interest in others creating instant connections. It's a skill I've never possessed and always found slightly suspicious in others.
But with Sandra, it's not an act. She genuinely cares, genuinely connects. And somehow, miraculously, she's chosen to connect with me—grumpy, antisocial me.
"She's something special," a voice says beside me. I turn to find Sage, her eyes on Sandra.
"Yeah," I agree, no point denying the obvious. "She is."
