Page 94 of A Love Like Christmas Time
“I don’t think the doubts will ever go away,” Nic says, her voice breaking. “I still have them, too.” She clears her throat. “For me,” she says, holding my teary gaze, “that doesn’t mean it has to be the same for you. I’m only trying to give you a perspective on the other side. I realized that holding on to the hope, that being the only one working hard to keeping that little candle flame of it alive, is ultimately more painful than extinguishing it.”
I let her words sink in. Fuck. That metaphor makes surprisingly much sense.
Do I hope that my parents will one day wake up, decide to accept me as I am, and actually be interested in me? Yes.
But is it going to happen? Or is it a more likely scenario that I will spend the rest of my life not only burning myself out trying to please my mother, but now also by having to mediate between her and my father?
I let out a deep sigh that turns white in front of my face. The choice suddenly seems simple. Too simple for a cold winter afternoon on a Christmas market. But it’s time. It feels right to shake that weight off my shoulders. Right here. Right now.
“Let’s hope they won’t pull a Jay and turn up here,” I mutter and break into a teary chuckle.
“Well, your parents have money, even with the divorce. They don’t need yours,” Nic points out with a shrug. “But if they do, tell me. I regret not letting you throw a pumpkin at Jay. That could be our time to shine.”
“I doubt it would come to that. I never even told them where I moved,” I say absentmindedly, freezing fingertip sliding over my phone’s screen as I pull up my dad’s contact. There it is. A picture from when I was five years old, me sitting on his lap, a birthday cake in front of me.
Two more taps, and he’s blocked. I’m waiting for the sky to open up, a singular ray of sunshine falling on me like a spotlight as a choir of angels sings Hallelujah.
What happens is more profound. It’s the ability to breathe without worry obstructing my lungs. It’s anxiety rolling off my shoulders and the soft, nagging voice of self-doubt in the back of my head, shutting up for once.
“Oh, wow.”
“It feels freeing, doesn’t it?” Nic whispers, and I glance up at her, nodding. Before I can change my mind, I pull out my mom’s contact and do the same.
“One day they might realize what they’re missing and try to win you back,” she says and links her arm with mine again. “Please promise me to make them work for it.”
“Unlikely. But I promise,” I say with a nod and squeeze her arm. “Thank you, Nic.”
“You’re very welcome.”
We continue our stroll, past hand-woven wreaths from Courtney, wooden carved figures that Dimitri is selling, abunch of sweets such as caramel apples and crêpes, waving at our boyfriends as we pass out booths.
Lastly, we reach the other end of the Christmas market right in the park’s center square. The same stage that got erected for the autumn fair is standing in the exact same spot, only this time decorated with pine garlands and snow instead of hay bales and pumpkins.
“What the hell is going on over there?” I ask, nodding toward the opposite end of the square, right where a giant Christmas tree is waiting for the grand lighting ceremony tomorrow. A crowd of people has gathered around it, excited murmurs echoing all the way to where we’re standing.
“I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
As we get closer, we realize they’re not, in fact, admiring the Christmas tree or something lying under it. They’re gathered around the hot drink stand to its left.
“Naughty List Shots?” Nic reads out amusedly, staring at the wooden sign above the stand.
We slip to the side of the crowd, trying to see what’s going on there. The number of people huddling is making me a little queasy, but curiosity wins.
“Your turn, beautiful!” we hear a loud voice shout, and our heads slowly turn to each other, amused grins tugging at our lips.
“Kieran?” we ask in disbelief, at the same time and slowly but determinedly make our way through the crowd.
We stop at what resembles a wooden bar.
I can’t believe my eyes. Kieran is standing behind the counter dressed in a Santa costume—thirst trap style,as I lovingly like to call it.The red velvet top’s cleavage goes down to his belly button. The fabric sits so tight over his muscles that you can see the top part of his six-pack, every movement makes me fear for his buttons. His Santa hat is crooked, and I’m shocked he isn’t freezing out there.
He’s even wearing a long, luscious beard, twirling his fake mustache around his finger as he flirts with a woman I haven’t seen in Wayward Hollow before.
“I re-gifted a mug my ex gave me to my boss,” the woman confesses with a giggle, her face almost as red as Kieran’s costume.
“Oh, that’s naughty, indeed,” he drawls and puts a shot glass in front of her without breaking eye contact. “That’s savage. I love it. Drink this, and you might make it onto the Nice List. And if not, at least you’ll be drunker. Bottoms up.”
The woman giggles and throws back her head to down it. The crowd cheers when she puts the glass back on the counter and Kieran gives a satisfied nod as the woman slips a bill into his donation jar.
