Page 44 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
Ryder’s face is, as usual, an unreadable stone. But his posture’s a little less rigid, and I swear I see the tiniest twitch of his shoulders.
Maybe he’snotabout to file a formal complaint against the holiday season.
“I don’t get it,” he says flatly. “What’s the big deal with all of this?”
I grin, trying to keep it light.
“It’s not a big deal. It’s the little things. Like this.” I wave my hand at the twinkling lights hanging from the trees, the ones that are obviously supposed to make you feel all cozy inside. “It’s magic. It’s tradition. It’s joy. Can’t you feel it?”
He doesn’t answer right away. I feel him sigh more than I hear it. But I don’t give up.
“Okay, okay. Maybe you can’t feel it yet. But seriously, there’s something about all of it that makes you feel like the world’s been reset. Like everyone can just take a break from their usual whatever and, I don’t know, breathe. Be happy. Don’t you want that?”
I can’t see his eyes through the dark rim of his coat’s collar, but IswearI feel him soften a little. He doesn’t give in completely yet, but there’s less ice in his voice when he speaks again.
“Doesn’t sound like something you’d get behind,” he mutters. “Sounds like sentimental nonsense.”
I snort. “It’s only nonsense if you’ve never been kissed under mistletoe.”
He almost smiles at that.
Almost.
Instead, he just gives a low chuckle. Barely a sound, but it’s there. Progress.
I keep going, the overzealous Christmas elf that I am.
“Seriously, though, Aunt Evie used to tell me that the best part of Christmas was that everyone could forget about the mess of the year and focus on the good stuff for a few weeks. The little things. Family, friends, and silly traditions.”
I point at a nearby bakery window with a sign advertising gingerbread cookies. “You know, like Christmas truffles. Which, so that you know, are mandatory for your Christmas initiation. Not optional.”
“Christmas truffles?” His tone is flat, but there’s the tiniest edge of curiosity there.
“Yep. And hot cocoa. We could get the best gingerbread in Boston.” I give him my most convincing smile. “I’m serious. You haven’t really done Christmas until you’ve eaten a gingerbread cookie that’s borderline illegal, it’s so good.”
“Sounds intense,” he says, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes now, a little something I can’t put my finger on. And for once, he doesn’t appear to be regretting all his life choices.
I take this as a win.
“You might not believe me now,” I say, practically bouncing on my heels, “but wait. One bite and you’ll be wondering how you lived your life without it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You really think I’m going to let a cookie change my mind about Christmas?”
“Change your mind?” I give him a look. “No, no, no. I’m just giving you the chance to experience the magic. Think of it as a gateway drug to actual Christmas joy.”
For a moment, we stand there, looking at each other, the snow falling between us.
And then, finally, he smirks. It’s small. It’s fleeting. But it’s there. My heart does a little happy dance.
“I’ll have one cookie,” he says, a smidgen less tight than before. “But only because you won’t stop talking about it.”
“Yes!” I punch the air as if I’ve just won Olympic gold. “We’re doing this. You won’t regret it.”
Ryder looks at me with a mix of resignation and amusement, which, I’m pretty sure, is as close as I’m going to get to him enjoying Christmas. But hey, I’ll take it.
We turn the corner toward the bakery, and I can’t help but feel a little warmer, even with the snow piling up around us. Maybe I can get through to this grumpy silver fox after all.
After we’ve devoured the truffles—which were so good I almost shed a tear—we’re still not done. Oh no. I’ve got an entire holiday experience planned, and Ryder is in for the ride whether he likes it or not.
