The trolley bus rolls past on Bellevue Avenue with a guide speaking into a microphone:
“On your right, folks, you’ll seeThe Jade Bryan House,recently added to the Historic Holiday Tour?—”
I nearly swallow my tongue.
“NO,” I whisper.
“YES,” Tristan beams.
People start gathering, snapping pictures.
Susan fans herself dramatically.
“Honey, I could start CHARGING MONEY for this.”
“This is RIDICULOUS,” I groan.
But the madness multiplies.
Carolers show up.
Like, full Dickens costumes, lanterns, harmonies — the whole winter wonderland package.
And I realize exactly how insane this is going to get.
I don’t even see him at first.
I hear him.
His voice is like warm whiskey being poured over ice.
“Need help?”
I freeze mid–tree selection.
He’s standing there in a navy peacoat, cheeks flushed from the cold, hair wind-tossed — the human form of a winter romance novel cover.
And then?—
He puts on a Santa hat.
Like… seriously puts it on.
Adjusts the little white ball.
Tilts it at a cocky angle.
I stare at him.
“…Leo.”
“Yeah?” he asks, stepping closer.
“You’re wearing a Santa hat.”
“Baby,” he murmurs, lowering his voice just for me, “I’ll be anyone you want me to be.”
My whole body turns red from the neck down.
