Page 81 of Cross Check Christmas
"Well, me specifically. But I'm willing to share." I peek into the bag. "Though maybe not the bear claws."
"Ice Queen indeed," he teases, pulling me close.
"Don't make me withhold pastries, Ellis."
We step out into the crisp morning air, our hands finding each other naturally as the bakery door chimes behind us. The world feels magical—like anything's possible. Fresh snowblankets Main Street and Christmas lights still twinkle in shop windows.
A few steps down the sidewalk, an older gentleman approaches a vintage Coke-label red pickup truck parked near the curb—the kind you’d expect to find hauling a Christmas tree in the back.
The man is wearing a red plaid coat and wire-rimmed glasses, his white beard neatly trimmed. My breath catches. It's the same man from the toy drive.
As he climbs into the driver's seat, he turns and looks directly at us, and I swear his eyes actually twinkle with such warmth and knowing, that I feel a flutter in my chest. The truck rumbles to life, and as he pulls away, a deep, jolly laugh floats back to us.
The sound echoes down Main Street, mixing with the jingling of the truck's old engine.
Hendrix and I lock eyes, both wearing matching expressions of wonder.
"Was that?—?"
But then we say,” Nah!” in unison and burst out laughing.
Hendrix pulls me close, his hand warm against my cheek. When his lips meet mine, the world melts away—the snow, the cold, even Tucker and Daisy’s silly bet. There's just Hendrix… and the way my heart soars when he kisses me, like every Christmas wish I've ever made coming true at once. Then, just like something straight out of one of those movies they’re filming at the Ellis house, snow falls gently around us.
And as Hendrix kisses me, I realize that sometimes the best Christmas doesn't come wrapped in paper and bows or a perfectly executed pageant. Sometimes, the best Christmas comes with a generous dose of unexpected chaos. And a little bit of meddling small-town magic.
