Page 7 of A Very Grumpy Christmas

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Hey,” Cora says, nudging me with her elbow. “You okay? You’ve been quiet since we left the bookstore.”

I shrug, trying to play it off. “Just thinking.”

“About Kip?” she asks, her tone teasing but not unkind.

I sigh, shaking my head. “About the letters. About everything. What if... what if I’m wrong, Cora? What if it’s not him? I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

Cora’s expression softens, and she tugs me over to the side, away from the others. “Ginger, you’re not going to make a fool of yourself. Whoever this guy is, he clearly cares about you. He’s been writing you letters for months. And if it is Kip... well, you’d be lucky to have him. He seems like a good guy.”

I bite my lip, feeling the weight of her words. “I know he is. I just... I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Cora gives me a small, understanding smile. “You don’t have to be ready right this second. But don’t close yourself off, okay? You deserve to be happy, Ginger.”

I nod, though my heart is still heavy with uncertainty. Cora’s right, of course. Whoever this mystery man is, he’s taken the time to get to know me, to write to me, to admire me from a distance. Maybe it’s time I let myself open up to the possibility that someone—whether it’s Kip or not—actually wants me.

By the time we finish decorating the square, I’m exhausted. I touch the most recent letter in my coat pocket, the paper crinkling against the fabric as I head toward my car. My sisters are meeting me later tonight for dinner, but for now, I just need a moment to clear my head.

The streets are quiet as I drive through town, my thoughts swirling like the snowflakes outside. When I finally pull into the driveway of Olive’s house, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the evening ahead.

I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring, or if I’ll ever find out who’s been writing me these letters. But there’s one thing I do know.

I’m falling for him.

And if it’s Kip... well, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all.

THREE

Kip

I stand in the shadows,clutching the letter in my hand as if it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. It’s late, and the streets are empty, but my heart is pounding like I’m in the middle of a crowd, all eyes on me.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s too risky. I know that she’ll be out here any minute.

And yet, I have to.

I glance around, checking to make sure no one is watching, before I walk over to Ginger’s car and slip the letter under her windshield wiper. My hands shake as I pull away, and for a second, I think about leaving. Not just this spot, but the whole thing—the letters, the secrets, the cowardice. But then Ginger’s face flashes in my mind, the way her smile lights up everything around her. The way her eyes spark when she reads one of my notes, and I know I can’t stop. Not now. It’s a stupid, childish thing, leaving these letters for her, but it’s all I have. It’s the only way I can be close to her without actually having to face her.

I’m about to slip away when a sound startles me—a door slamming at the coffeehouse down the block. My heart jumps into my throat as I duck behind a nearby building, peeking around the corner just in time to see Ginger walking toward her car.

Shit. That was too close.

I press my back against the cold brick wall, holding my breath as she approaches her car. My pulse races as I watch her reach for the note I left behind. She pauses, her eyes scanning the parking lot for a second before she pulls the paper from under the wiper.

Something’s wrong.

She’s off today.

I watch her read the note, and my body starts to grow cold as I catalog her reaction.

She doesn’t smile this time.

I frown, watching as she reads the letter, her brow furrowing. There’s frustration in the way her shoulders tense, and I can feel the anxiety bubbling up inside me. She’s been reading my letters for months now, but I’ve never seen her look like this.

She’s upset.

I hate that I can’t do anything about it. I hate that I’m too much of a coward to walk up to her, to tell her that it’s me, that I’m the guy who’s been pining for her from afar. Instead, I stand here, frozen in place, watching her.

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