Page 2 of A Very Grumpy Christmas

I shoot him a glare, but he just chuckles. Huxley’s been my best friend since birth, pretty much. We grew up together, graduated, and both joined the Marines. When I was shot and blown up last year and got out, he did too and joined me here in Wolf Valley. Now we own and run our own tourist helicopter business here in town called Semper Fly.

Huxley is the only one who knows how I feel about Ginger and about my letters to her. He’s also the only one who doesn’t think it’s completely insane. At least, not most of the time.

"You know, you could just talk to her like a normal person," he suggests, his tone light but laced with a hint of seriousness. "Instead of... this."

"She wouldn’t be interested," I say automatically, the words bitter on my tongue.

Huxley raises an eyebrow. "How would you know? You haven’t even tried."

I don’t answer. Instead, I watch as Ginger’s taillights disappear down the road, a heavy sigh escaping my lips and coming out in a puff of white air. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her. It’s just... complicated. When I first moved to Wolf Valley after getting out of the military, I didn’t expect much. I figured that I would move to a small town and try to blend in. I would do my best to enjoy a slow, quiet, lonely life.

Then I saw her and the way she lights up a room without even trying, the way she treats everyone like they matter. She was everything I needed but didn’t think I deserved. Still don’t.

"Man, you’ve got to do something," Huxley says, nudging me. "I can’t keep watching you pine after her. It’s getting nauseating.”

I flip him off as I turn to head to my own truck, and he falls into step beside me.

“It’s Christmas soon and then a new year. You gonna be that creepy guy leaving notes forever? Or are you actually going to tell her how you feel?"

"She’s happy," I say, ignoring the sting in my chest. "She’s fine without me. Besides, it’s better this way."

"Better for who? You, hiding in the shadows, freezing to death? Or her, thinking she’s falling for some fantasy dude who doesn’t even exist?"

His words hit harder than I expect, and I clench my jaw. "I’m not some fantasy," I snap, but even as I say it, I don’t fully believe it. Huxley’s right. The person she’s falling for isn’t the real me. It’s the version of myself I wish I could be. The guy who isn’t broken or scarred, who isn’t weighed down by his past.

But that’s not who I am. Not anymore.

"Look, all I’m saying is, you’ve got to stop playing this game," Huxley says, his voice softening. "If you like her, really like her, then tell her. Don’t let this secret admirer thing blow up in your face."

I stay silent, staring at the empty spot where Ginger’s car was just moments ago. Huxley’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. If I tell her the truth, if I show her who I really am... what then? What if she looks at me the way I’ve always feared she would? With pity, or worse, disgust?

I’ve been hiding behind these letters because they’re safe. It’s easy to be confident on paper, to say all the things I could neversay to her face. But sooner or later, I’m going to have to face the reality that I can’t stay invisible forever. Not if I want a chance with her.

"She’s going to the Christmas party," Huxley adds, almost as if reading my mind. "You know, the one she’s been volunteering for and setting up?" He says, twirling his finger around us at all of the decorations.

I groan. Of course, he would bring that up. Every year, the town throws a huge holiday festival, complete with an insane amount of decorations and an obnoxious amount of mistletoe. It’s supposed to be festive and light-hearted or whatever, but all I can think about is how impossible it would be to blend into the background at a place like that.

"So?" I ask, even though I already know where this conversation is headed.

“So, what happens if she stands under the mistletoe with someone else? What happens if she kisses someone else? Are you going to be okay with that?”

“Fuck no. She won’t do that,” I argue, and he gives me a skeptical look.

“You sure about that? She seems like she loves Christmas. I bet she would, even if it was just for the whole festive tradition.”

“So, I’ll stop her.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “I’ll figure it out.

“You going to shoot any guy who comes near her?” He asks, referencing the fact that we were snipers in the Marines. I don’t bother to respond to that, mainly because the thought has crossed my mind before, and I know that if I answer, Huxley will be able to tell.

"Or," Huxley says with a grin, "this could be your chance. Show up. Talk to her. Maybe even be the one to kiss her under the mistletoe."

I shake my head. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is," he insists. "Look, I know you’re scared, but you can’t keep hiding. If you want something to happen, you’ve got to put yourself out there. Otherwise, you’re just going to spend the rest of your life wondering what could’ve been."

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