I kind of do, too.
“Are you ready to bolt?” Parker asks as we sneak through the crowd.
By the sheer number of people swarming downtown, I’d guess the entire population of Sycamore Falls is here. Probably even quite a few people from neighboring communities, too.
“What makes you say that?”
“Figured all the Christmas cheer might be too much for your Grinchy tendencies.”
“If it means spending time with you, I’m willing to suffer.”
I’d happily endure much worse than large crowds and an overabundance of Christmas spirit if it’s with Parker at my side.
“This is us here.” She guides me down a side alley between two brick storefronts, stopping in front of a metal door and opening it.
I follow her up several narrow flights of stairs before emerging onto a rooftop bar, heaters warming the space that’s decorated for the season, twinkling lights strung overhead with garland lining the tables.
“This is The Wicked Hop, a local brewery my friend owns,” she explains, steering me toward a large gathering of people. A few high-top tables are set up in the center, along with a long table off to the side, boasting a wide assortment ofhors d’oeuvres.
“Auntie Parker! Auntie Parker!” a little girl says excitedly as we approach, all eyes turning our way.
Parker crouches down, her expression bright as she holds out her arms for the small redhead, who I recognize as Haley’s daughter.
“Hiya, Magpie.” She nuzzles her nose. “Are you excited about the parade?”
“Yes!”
“What are you most excited about?”
The little girl scrunches her brow, as if the answer could mean life or death. Finally, she announces, “Santa. But Mr. Jensen’s pugs are a close second.”
Parker laughs, the sound carrying through the air. I can’t help but admire her. She looks so carefree. So happy. What I wouldn’t give to freeze this moment, live in it for as long as possible, if for no other reason than to relish in Parker’s joy. The smooth curve of her cheeks. The sparkle in her eyes. The way her lips curl tightly in the corners.
I’ve never met anyone as absolutely stunning as Parker Holley.
I have a feeling I never will again.
“Maggie, this is my good friend, Callum.”
The little girl looks my way, scrutinizing me with an intensity I don’t quite expect from a small child. Then again, in my experience, kids are much more honest and perceptive than adults.
“But you’re not green.”
I glance at Parker, brows furrowed. “Am I supposed to be?”
“Mommy says you’re the Grinch and you’re trying to steal Christmas from Auntie Parker.”
I part my lips to explain, but before I can, Parker intervenes. “He’s not trying to steal Christmas. He just thinks Holley Ridge is so pretty that more people might want to be able to visit.” Parker glances my way, treating me to a smile that nearly turns my insides to mush. “Isn’t that right?”
“She’s right,” I say, although I feel worse than the Grinch when he told Cindy Lou he was taking her tree up to the North Pole to fix a light.
Maggie toils this over in her head for a moment, then nods, focusing her attention back on Parker. “Can I come ice skate after the parade?”
She carefully lowers her back to her feet. “You’ll have to ask your mama.”
“Okay.” Spinning, she runs off into the crowd of people, all of them doting on her.
“Thanks for that,” I say in a low voice.
