Page 12 of A Very Grumpy Christmas

The guywho’s been writing to you. Take the profile down.

There’s a long pause,and I wonder if I’ve crossed a line. My palms are sweating, and I almost want to take it all back, but then her reply comes through, and I can practically feel the heat in her words.

You’rethe one who’s been leaving me notes, and now you think you can just tell me what to do? Who do you think you are?

I groan,running a hand through my hair. This is going terribly. I take a deep breath and type out my reply, trying to explain myself without sounding like a complete asshole.

I don’t wantyou to meet anyone else. I’ll explain everything, just... take the profile down.

There’s another long pause,and I can almost hear the frustration in her silence. When her next message comes through, it’s clear she’s had enough.

Either you meetme under the mistletoe at the town holiday party at 9 PM, or I’m done taking orders from you. If you don’t show, I’m putting this profile to good use.

My heart lurchesin my chest as I read her words, the ultimatum hanging in the air like a threat. She’s not playing around anymore. I’ve pushed her too far, and now I’m backed into a corner. I either meet her at the party, face-to-face, or I lose her.

I close my eyes, my chest tight with anxiety. This is it. I’ve run out of time.

I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. There’s so much I want to say, but none of it feels right. In the end, I don’t reply. I can’t. I have to figure this out, and the clock is ticking.

I’m so worked up, and I know that I need to find something to keep busy, so I head to work. I find Huxley in the garage, tinkering with one of the helicopters. He glances up as I approach, wiping grease off his hands with a rag.

“Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s up?”

I pace back and forth, the anxiety gnawing at me. “I messed up, man. She’s going to be at the holiday party. She told me I either meet her there at 9 PM, or she’s done.”

Huxley raises an eyebrow, leaning against the workbench. “And you’re freaking out because...?”

I glare at him. “Because I’m not ready, Hux. I can’t just show up and... what if she takes one look at me and regrets everything? What if I ruin this? I mean, she’s expecting some handsome, charming guy and I’m--,” I throw my hands out, my words cutting off.

He lets out a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Kip, you’ve been writing to her for months. She’s falling for you, not some other guy. If she’s into you in those letters, she’s going to be into you in person. You’re overthinking this.”

I shake my head, the doubts swirling in my mind. “You don’t know that. The guy she’s falling for isn’t the real me. It’s the version of me that I wish I could be, the guy who isn’t broken.”

Huxley rolls his eyes. “You’re not broken, Kip. And she’ll see that. You just have to show up.”

I stop pacing, staring down at the floor. “What if I don’t go?”

Huxley’s expression hardens. “Then you lose her. And you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what could’ve happened if you’d just had the guts to show up.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s right. If I don’t go, if I let my fear win, I’ll lose Ginger forever. And I can’t let that happen.

“I have to go, don’t I?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Huxley grins. “Yep. And it’s going to be fine. Hell, this could be the best Christmas of your life.”

“Or the worst,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. The thought of standing under the mistletoe, waiting for Ginger to show up, only for her to take one look at me and walk away—it’s terrifying.

Huxley slaps me on the back. “Come on, man. You’ve got this. And hey, maybe we can make it easier on you. You know, blend in a little.”

I frown, not understanding what he’s getting at. “What do you mean?”

Huxley’s grin widens. “We’ll volunteer to help out with the party. That way, you can be there without all the pressure of just waiting around. You’ll have something to do, and you’ll look like a hero for helping out. Win-win.”

I blink at him, considering the idea. It’s not a terrible plan. Volunteering would give me an excuse to be there, to keep myself busy, and maybe it would help with the nerves. And if it means I get to be closer to Ginger, even better.

“Yeah, okay,” I say slowly, nodding. “I’ll do it. But... I’m not sure this is going to end well.”

Huxley laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we head out of the garage. “Hey, worst case, you get rejected, and we go to your place and get drunk. Best case, you get the girl. Either way, you’ll finally know, and you can stop living in limbo.”

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