A long week.
A long festival that I'm definitely going to survive without committing fratricide.
Probably.
“It means filler footage,” I explain, turning back to my documentation. “Shots of details that help tell the story between the main segments. Crackling fires. Steam rising off hot chocolate. Hands wrapped around mugs.”
“So... vibes.”
“Sure. Vibes.”Gross. May I never have to use that fucking word again.
Holly appears behind him, looking significantly more put-together despite the early hour.
She's got a clipboard—because of course she does—and the focused expression of a woman who has decided chaos will bend to her will today.
“Caleb, I need you. Roman's trying to rearrange the hot chocolate station and Everett's about to strangle him with garland. If he upgrades to string lights, we might actually have to hide a body and I can’t fit anything else on this to-do list.”
“Ooh, festive violence.” He bounces off the couch. “My favorite.”
He takes off as quickly as he spun in, leaving Holly and me in the golden peacefulness of the alcove.
She stays quiet, watching me with that too-knowing stare that makes my skin itch.
If she doesn’t stop it, she’s getting the flash treatment I gave Everett.
“You okay?” she finally asks.
“Documenting,” I say, way too sharp for the lie it is.
“Mmhmm.” She moves closer, running her fingers along the edge of the display cabinet. “You know, when Chance and I first got together.Together, together.I spent about three months convinced I was going to destroy everything. His friendship with Nick. My relationship with my brother. The entire delicate ecosystem ofour families.”
And she’s laying down full Little House on the Prairie energy
Subtle.
Sooooo fucking subtle.
I’d laugh if she wasn’t tiptoeing straight toward the landmine I pretend doesn’t exist. I lower my camera and keep from choking her because she means well. “Did you?”
“Destroy everything?” She laughs softly. “No. We’re definitely good now. There were some tense moments. Nick threatened to murder Chance at least twice. But mostly...” She shrugs. “Mostly, the people who love you just want you to be happy. Even when it's complicated.”
“Complicated. Too bad I’m far past complicated, it's not even a compatible upgrade anymore.”
“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” Her gaze lands on my camera. My 1954 Lecia M3 with what’s becoming one of my favorite lenses… newly released last year.
Because this model’s such a steady classic, it blends old soul with new tech like it was born for it.
Shit.
Make that double shit.
There’s no clean answer—just a mess of ones I don’t dare unwrap.
Holly squeezes my arm. “I'm not going to push. Just… don't shut the door on yourself, okay? Sometimes the thing that terrifies you is the thing that fits.”
Before I can respond, Nolan's voice cuts through from the lobby.
“They’re here.” Classic Nolan—calm voice, doomsday energy.
