"Ivy!" Vinnie's delighted squeal echoes through the hall. "Tell me we haven't missed Danny's yearly holiday conspiracy theory."
"Just in time." I scoot over on the ancient wooden bench that's probably witnessed a century of town drama.
Ethan follows behind her. His sharp jawline softens when he smiles, which is constantly around Vinnie, and there's something endearing about how he straightens his already-perfect posture before sliding into the seat next to her. "The drama club has the most amazing concept for the tree lighting ceremony—"
"You're such a nerd." Vinnie teases as she settles between us, her petite frame vibrating with anticipation. "But like, a hot nerd, so it works."
Margaret calls the meeting to order with an unnecessary but traditional gavel tap, and we make it through basic announcements before she adjusts her reading glasses, peering at her notes with practiced diplomacy.
"Now, about the creative suggestion in the box regarding a potential drag Santaperformance—"
Vinnie suddenly becomes very interested in her cuticles.
"—we'll circle back to that discussion. Moving on to Christmas tree—"
"WAIT!" Danny pops up like a jack-in-the-box, his weathered cardigan flapping dramatically. "The people deserve to know the truth about Rudolph! That red nose? Classic government surveillance technology. I've been tracking unusual radio frequencies around all known reindeer sanctuaries—"
"Thank you, Danny. We'll file that under 'ongoing holiday concerns.'" Margaret doesn't miss a beat. "Now, about volunteers for the town Christmas tree. Someone with experience in—"
"I'll do it!" My hand shoots up. The resulting silence is broken only by Vinnie's poorly disguised snort.
"You?" She's practically crying with laughter. "Miss Five-Foot-Nothing, who drives a car that could fit in my pocket?"
"I can do it," I protest.
Vinnie wipes tears from her eyes. "What's your plan? Strap the tree to your roof and pray?"
"She could get ten small trees," Ethan suggests, failing to hide his smile. "Stack them like a festive Jenga tower."
"Or," Vinnie's eyes light up with unholy glee, "we could put it on wheels. Like those little carts for dogs who can't use their back legs. Roll it down Main Street—"
"Actually," Dottie's voice carries from the front row, cutting through their increasingly ridiculous brainstorming session, "Greg's got his truck. He'd be happy to help."
I'm ready to protest—because tree-hunting with my ex-best-friend's father is definitely not on my Christmas wish list—but Margaret's already making a note in her binder, and that means it's carved in stone.
"Perfect! That's settled then." She doesn't even look up. "Moving on tothe bake sale . . ."
My mind drifts as Martha, owner of the Sweet Crumbs bakery, launches into her annual dissertation on optimal cookie-pricing strategies. I've been seeing Greg and Dottie around town, and it's different. Like watching two teenagers who snuck out past curfew. Holding hands at the farmer's market, sharing milkshakes at The Sugar Spot like they think no one's watching.
Caleb would get such a kick out of this.
I immediately shove the thought away. I haven't let myself think about him in weeks. But I miss him. God, I miss him.
"Earth to Ivy," Vinnie whispers, poking my ribs. "You're doing that thing where you space out during Martha's cookie manifesto."
"I'm strategizing," I whisper back. "About the tree. Maybe if we tied enough balloons to it—"
"Upstyle?" Ethan chimes in. "Because I'm pretty sure that violates several town ordinances."
"Ivy?" Margaret calls. "The caroling routes?"
"Oh! Yes." I fumble with my planner, grateful for the distraction. "I've mapped out five that should cover the whole town without overlap. And I was thinking we could add some non-traditional songs this year? Mix it up a little?"
"Great, you'll coordinate with the high school choir? Ethan can help with that." Margaret says smoothly.
Ethan nods, already pulling out his phone to make notes. He's the only teacher I know who genuinely enjoys extra-curricular activities.
"Next, the Christmas light display—"
