I rolled my eyes. “You’re annoying.”
The smile broke free across his lips. “A bad banana with a greasy black peel.”
“Do you know all the lyrics?” I let out a frustrated sigh. “You really are obsessed with Christmas, aren’t you?”
He frowned. “I’m not obsessed with Christmas. I like it the normal amount.”
I pointedly glanced at the hot cocoa cart. “This is not the normal amount.”
He laughed again. “This is business.”
“I don’t know what’s worse—being able to recite the Grinch at will or turning everyone’s favorite holiday into profit.”
He shrugged, leaning even closer. “When I first started the landscape business, I only had enough work for eight months of the year. Sure, I had more work than I knew what to do with during the spring and summer, but I would starve over the winters. Christmas Brights was built so I could survive year-round.”
This was a fatty piece of information, like the choicest part of the steak. It made so much sense and clicked into place several missing puzzle pieces to the mystery that was Sam Autry.
He must have seen my wheels spinning because he added, “It was hard, slow-going work, especially when it came to city contracts. But I’ve gradually built it into something everyone loves. And now my winter business supports my summer business and vice versa. We’re expanding into Johnstown and Clearwater this year, and I’ve built a drive-through experience between Mistletoe and Wesley called Wonderland. I wanted it to open before Thanksgiving, but we’ve had some delays. It will hopefully be open next week.”
“You’re Mistletoe’s very own Santa Claus,” I told him, forcing a sarcastic tone.
His smile was small, soft. “I’m a businessman who happens to love this season.” He leaned even closer. “Unlike you.”
I drew back, surprised at his second accusation and how close we’d accidentally gotten. “I don’t hate Christmas,” I repeated on a frustrated growl. “I just . . . I don’t always have good memories of it, okay?” I looked back to the fire, unable to meet his eyes. “You know my mom, don’t you?” The words came out harsh, bitter. “She wasn’t ever all that concerned with my feelings or experiences.”
There was a long silence that stretched between us. I hadn’t meant to bring up my mom to Sam. I didn’t want to know what he thought about her or what had happened between them. I didn’t want to ever hear him say her name or talk about her.
But I’d been the one to make it unavoidable. For as hard as I went out of my way to never hear about the two of them in the same sentence, I’d been the one to invite him into the conversation.
After a little thought, in a low voice I almost didn’t hear, he said, “Yeah, she’s a fucking piece of work. You’ve always deserved better.”
His words shocked me so badly, I jumped to my feet. Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and my chin wobbled as if it didn’t remember the cardinal rule to never cry in public. Or the secondary rule—never cry over Celine Haden.
Or the third rule—never show Sam Autry stupid vulnerability just because he pretends to care.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” I told Sam, Teagan, everyone-ish, my voice thick and cracked. “See everything Cooper’s put up.” And then I ran—well, not ran, per se. But I did walk quickly, still-too-hot tumbler of boozy hot chocolate in my hand, blanket discarded on the cold ground.
Up and about, the park was even more spirited than I initially thought. Every detail seemed to be carefully curated. Ornaments on frosted pine trees. Sam’s Christmas Brights team in Santa hats and a string of light-up plastic bulbs around their necks—so we’d be able to spot them in the dark. The movie screen was decorated as well, with the opening credits toChristmas Vacationbeginning to roll.
The whole town seemed to be out and about tonight. It felt like a scene from a Hallmark movie. Everyone was in good spirits, overly friendly and helpful.
There was food at our campfire, but in an effort to distract myself from the infected open wound that was my motherhood/childhood, I got in line for funnel cake that boasted holiday flavors like hot cocoa, peppermint white chocolate, and sugar plum fairy.
I felt Sam step into line with me. Without looking at him, a prickling awareness cascaded over me. Maybe I smelled him before I realized it. Maybe I heard him and didn’t register. But in my heart of hearts, I knew I’d been built with a Sam Autry radar that alerted me any time he was near.
He leaned forward, his face hovering over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Holly. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t be mad at me.”
The audacity of this man. First making me feel things I didn’t want to—in public no less. Now apologizing for it? As if that would appease me?
Ugh. But why did it calm my frayed nerves and soothe aching parts of my chest?
“It’s fine,” I told him tightly. “She’s just . . . she’s a sore subject.”
He stepped forward so we were directly next to each other, his shoulder casually brushing against mine as we slowly made our way forward in line. “Do you talk to her?”
I shot him a confused glance, surprised at how sincere he sounded. “We text,” I told him. “When she remembers I’m alive.”
“I’m sure she always remembers you’re alive.” In a softer, gentler voice he added, “You’re a hard person to forget.”
