Page 8 of A Very Grumpy Christmas

I watch as she reads my note and takes a deep breath. She’s not smiling like she usually is after I leave her and note, and a pit starts to form in my stomach, growing by the second as I watch her. She looks like she’s debating something, and my mind races as I try to figure out what she’s thinking.

Suddenly, Ginger pulls something out of her bag—a pen and a scrap of paper. My heart lurches as I watch her scribble something down, her movements quick and sharp, as if she’strying to get the words out before she changes her mind. Then, with a determined look, she tucks the note under her own windshield wiper and walks away.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I wait until she’s disappeared down the street, my mind racing with what she could’ve written. Did she figure it out? Does she know it’s me?

Or worse—does she want it to stop?

When she’s long gone, I force myself to move, my legs stiff and heavy as I approach her car. My fingers tremble as I reach for the note she left behind, my pulse pounding in my ears. The moment I open it, my breath catches in my throat.

Meet me.

The words arebold and underlined, like she’s daring me to step out of the shadows. Like she’s tired of waiting, tired of the mystery. She wants to know who I am, and now I’m faced with a choice I’ve been both dreading and looking forward to from the moment that I wrote that first letter.

I should be happy, right? I mean, if she wants to meet, then she must have liked my letters. She must be interested in me.

Right?

I’ve spent months dreaming about this moment, imagining what it would be like for her to finally know. But now that it’s here, all I can feel is panic. My scars feel like they’re burning under my skin, a constant reminder.

She thinks she’s falling for someone who doesn’t exist. The man in those letters isn’t real. He’s a fantasy, a version of myself that I’ll never be. And if she finds out the truth… she’ll hate me. She’ll look at me like everyone else in town does—with pity, or worse, disgust.

I crumple the note in my hand, my chest tight with fear. Then I hurry to straighten it back out. I can’t bear to destroy anything that Ginger gives to me.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Do I meet her and risk everything? Or do I keep hiding, keep pretending that this is enough?

I know the answer. I’ve known it for a while now.

I can’t keep hiding.

But the fear is paralyzing, and I’m not ready. Not yet.

With a heavy sigh, I shove the note into my pocket and head to my truck. I need to head to work and wrap up a few things, but even as I drive toward the helicopter hangar, my mind keeps drifting back to that note and the decision I’ll have to make.

By the time I get to work, Huxley is already there, prepping one of the choppers for the morning flight. He glances up as I approach, wiping grease off his hands with a rag.

“Hey, wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he says with a grin. “Miss me?”

I grunt in response, trying to shake the tension from my shoulders as I grab my gear. I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m not in the mood to explain. Not yet.

“Everything okay?” Huxley asks, his voice softening. He knows me well enough to pick up on my mood, even when I try to hide it.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Just… stuff on my mind.”

Huxley arches an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he changes the subject, knowing that I’ll talk when I’m ready.

“So, have you made a decision? Are you going to the town’s holiday festival?” he asks, his tone casual. “The one with all the mistletoe and terrible music?” He asks as if I need a reminder.

I shrug, trying to play it off. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. What about you?”

He snorts. “Hell no.”

I glance over at him, narrowing my eyes. “Why not? No holiday spirit?”

“Not interested.”

“Cora will be there,” I point out, and he tenses.

We haven’t talked about it much, but I’ve seen the way that he looks at her, and I know that he likes her just as much as I like Ginger.

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