Page 68 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"I wish you were real," she replies quietly.
"I am real. Holden Clark Pierce is real. He's just also an idiot," I say.
"An idiot with one callus," Finn adds helpfully.
"The proudest callus in Vermont," I say, and despite everything, Wren almost smiles.
Sterling honks again, and Delia snaps.
"That's it. Giuseppe, get the sugar. Mrs. Patterson, you're on lookout. Teddy, create a distraction."
"What kind of distraction?" Teddy asks.
"Interpretive dance. You're dressed as Santa. Make it festive," she commands.
As I leave, chaos erupts behind me. Teddy's already starting some kind of Santa shuffle while Giuseppe and Mrs. Patterson sneak around Sterling's car with sugar bags.
"This town is insane," Sterling says when I get in the car.
"This town is perfect," I correct.
"You've lost your mind," he observes.
"Probably," I agree. "But I found something better."
"What? Love?" He says it like it's a disease.
"Purpose," I tell him. "And yes, love. And a callus I'm weirdly proud of."
Through the rearview mirror, I watch smoke pouring from Wren's windows. The committee rushes back inside, and I catch a glimpse of her wielding what looks like a fire extinguisher.
"Should we—" Sterling starts.
"They've got it," I say, watching the organized chaos. "They've always got each other."
As we drive away, Wren appears at her window. She sees me looking and gives me a very precise middle finger.
It's the most romantic gesture I've ever received.
"I'm going to fix this," I promise, even though she can't hear me.
"You're going to lose everything," Sterling warns.
"Everything I never wanted," I clarify, pulling out my phone to draft my resignation.
"The board will destroy you," he continues.
"Let them try," I say. "I've got a town full of people ready to commit festive vandalism in my defense."
"That's not a legal defense," Sterling points out.
"It is when the town lawyer is in on it," I tell him.
In the side mirror, black smoke pours from Wren's window. The committee has formed a bucket brigade while she directs traffic with that candelabra like some kind of apocalyptic orchestra conductor. Sterling mutters something about insurance liability.
I watch until we turn the corner, memorizing the scene—the chaos, the community, the woman I love standing in the middle of it all, flipping me off with perfect precision.
This is what I'm fighting for. Not because it makes sense, but because nothing else ever has.
