Page 35 of Christmas With the Jerk

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The gravity of it is sinking in. Not only are we stuck in Boston, but there’s nothing we can do about it. The meeting is canceled, the roads are impassable, and the airport is shut down. We’re literally snowed in.

“So... what now?” I ask, breaking the silence.

Thorne shrugs, but I can see the frustration etched on his face. “We wait, I guess. Not much else we can do.”

I swallow hard, trying to keep the rising panic at bay.

Waiting has never been my strong suit. I’m used to pushing forward, making things happen. But now I’m at the mercy of a storm that doesn’t care two figs about our plans or our deadlines or that we have no way to get home.

I glance back at the TV, the swirling storm cloud taunting us with its power. Two days. We’re going to be stuck here for at least two more days. Depending on when we can get a plane out of here.

Thorne sighs beside me. He’s probably feeling the same weight of the uncertainty and the helplessness. But at the same time, I feel this strange sense of solidarity with him that I never imagined possible a few days ago. We’re in this together, whether we like it or not.

And for the first time since we started this trip, that doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.

Then I glance over at Thorne, and something clicks.

This is out of our control. We can’t do anything about it, and sitting here stressing isn’t going to change a damn thing. So why not make the best of it?

I stand up, stretching out the tension in my back. “Alright,” I say, grabbing my phone and turning it off. “If we’re going to be stuck here, we might as well enjoy it.”

Thorne raises an eyebrow. “Enjoy it? You mean, sit around and wait for the snow to bury us?”

I roll my eyes. “No. I mean, we’re in this hotel with a ton of Christmas stuff going on downstairs. There’s a whole festive atmosphere, and I’m done being a spectator. We both said it was too bad we were working. Well, now we aren’t working.”

He crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “You’re saying we go down there and act like we are on some kind of holiday vacation?”

A grin spreads across my face as I remember what I saw earlier near the lobby. “Why not? There’s a wreath-making station down there, and you, Mr. Grinch, are coming with me to make one.”

Thorne blinks at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I cross my arms, mirroring his stance. “We’re making wreaths, and you’re going to love it.”

He opens his mouth, probably to argue, but I cut him off. “Look, we can either sit here, sulk, and drive each other crazy, or we can go downstairs and make the best of a crappy situation. Your call.”

For a second, I think he’s going to argue again, but then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. But don’t expect me to enjoy it. I’m a hostile prisoner. Taking part under duress.”

“Oh, I fully expect you to hate it,” I say, grabbing my coat and flashing him a mischievous smile. “But you’re still coming.”

We head downstairs, the warmth of the lobby hitting us as soon as we step out of the elevator. It’s bustling with activity—families gathered around, kids running around in Christmas pajamas, couples sipping hot cocoa by the fireplace. The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, mixing with the soft sound of Christmas music playing in the background.

I spot the wreath-making station set up near the grand staircase, and I nudge Thorne toward it. He gives me a long-suffering look, but follows me without protest.

The table is covered in all kinds of holiday greenery, ribbons, pinecones, and ornaments. A few people are already there, working on their wreaths, chatting and laughing. I grab a wreath frame and start picking out some pine branches, ignoring the skeptical look on Thorne’s face.

“Come on, it’s easy,” I say, handing him a frame.

He takes it reluctantly, holding it up like he’s never seen a wreath in his life. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.”

I laugh, grabbing a pine branch and demonstrating how to attach it to the frame. “You just stick the greenery in and wrap it with wire. Then you can add whatever decorations you want. It’s really not that hard.”

He watches me for a moment, then hesitantly starts copying what I’m doing. His fingers fumble with the wire at first, but soon he’s getting the hang of it.

“See? Not so bad, right?” I tease, nudging him with my elbow.

He shoots me a mock glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

---