“Thanks, Haley.” I give her one more hug, then politely excuse myself, continuing toward the makeshift stage at the foot of the enormous tree as the local high school choir entertains the crowd with a rendition of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”.
Once the song comes to an end, I climb up the steps and make my way toward the microphone. Warmth fills me as I take in all the people here for tonight’s ceremony.
“Hello friends and Merry Christmas.”
Everyone claps and cheers, smiles lining their faces, many familiar, some not.
“I’m not going to stand up here and bore you with a long speech. I don’t actually have one prepared. Every year, I tell myself I’ll jot down what I want to say. And every year I end up winging it. Just like my parents did. My dad once told me there was something magical about letting the moment dictate what to do or say. And this is one of my favorite moments of the year, being able to look out over this crowd and see all these familiar faces that have made it a tradition to come to Holley Ridge the first Saturday of December to celebrate the start of the Christmas season.”
A feeling of nostalgia fills me as I recall standing out in that crowd and watching as my parents stood where I currently do. At the time, I was just a foster kid whose only wish was to have a home for Christmas. I never could have imagined that next year, this place would become my home.
“One of my earliest childhood memories is standing out where you are, waiting to finally see the tree all lit up,” I continue. “Walking through the festival and smelling all the delicious smells. Waiting in line to see Santa. Singing Christmas carols with the choir. It was all so magical.
“And the second my dad flicked the switch, and the tree lit up…” I shake my head, my chest expanding from the memory. “It’s hard to explain how that made me feel, especially as a small child. It’s a memory I will always keep with me, no matter what the future holds. Just like I hope you all hold dear the memories you make tonight.”
Another round of polite clapping fills the air, several people in the crowd hugging or kissing.
Once the applause dies down, I clear my throat. “Now, without further ado, I give you the Holley Ridge Christmas Tree.”
I walk toward the switch by the tree and flip it, the tree lighting up the night sky, the choir belting out “O Christmas Tree”.
While everyone’s attention is drawn to the towering Norway spruce dozens of community volunteers carefully helped decorate over the past several days, mine remains focused on the crowd, wanting to remember everything about the way they admire the tree.
Families snuggle together. Couples share an embrace. There are even a few heartfelt kisses as people allow the spirit of the season to fill them with joy.
But as I continue scanning all the faces, I notice one person standing alone off to the side, as if he doesn’t belong.
As much as I initially hoped to chase Callum off with an overabundance of holiday cheer, I can’t help but feel bad for him. Not just because I don’t believe anyone should be alone at Christmas, but because of the way he shut down when I joked about him having to take dance classes for a wedding that didn’t end well. Or maybe never even happened. I didn’t mean anything by it.
Based on his reaction, I sense there was a certain level of truth to my words. I should have brushed it off. Forgotten about it and focused on finding a way to save Holley Ridge. Instead, all I’ve thought about since then has been Callum Reed and the story behind his sudden departure.
A part of me wants to believe he deserves being dumped and left heartbroken. But the compassionate side of me — which is technically all of me, apart from the tiny sliver reserved for people trying to screw me over — feels for him. I know what it’s like to feel all alone. To think you don’t have anyone.
I climb down the stage and skirt through the crowd, accepting congratulations from everyone I pass. I don’t linger, though, wanting to get to Callum before he decides all this holiday cheer is too much and leaves.
The thought surprises me, considering less than forty-eight hours ago, I wanted him to leave and never show his face here again.
“So what’s the verdict?” I ask as I approach, his eyes focused on the tree, as if memorizing every twinkling light and ornament.
“It’s quite…”
“Excessive? Superfluous? Pointless?”
He shifts his gaze from the tree, the reflection of all the lights sparkling within his dark orbs. Then a soft smile tugs on his mouth.
“Beautiful, Parker. It’s absolutely beautiful.”
I bite on my lower lip, fighting against the grin wanting to break free. I’ve never cared about anyone’s approval or praise. For some reason I can’t quite explain, I want that from Callum. Want to think I’ve finally opened his eyes and made him understand why this place is so important.
It’s not just the land or the property. Or even the business. It’s this feeling. Giving people a moment of joy in their hectic lives. And hopefully, they can bring that feeling home with them. Let it last until the next holiday season.
Quickly tearing my eyes from his, I step back, clearing my throat. “I wanted to apologize for the other night.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he insists, but the tight set of his jaw indicates it still bothers him, even if he’s trying to pretend otherwise.
“I think there is. So…I’m sorry.” I hold out my hand. “Truce?”
With a furrowed brow, he eyes my hand for a protracted beat. Finally, he places his gloved one in mine and we shake. “Truce.”
