Page 81 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
She looks at me, really looks at me, and I see the moment she makes a decision.
"I forgive you," she says simply.
"Just like that?" I ask.
"No, not just like that. Like this—after watching you destroy your inheritance, change your name, learn to change oil badly, and save me from Malcolm," she explains. "After a few kisses that tasted like Giuseppe's chaos flask and felt like home."
"Home tastes like chaos flask?" I ask.
"Our home does," she says, then looks surprised at herself. "I mean?—"
"Our home," I agree, pulling her closer. "I like the sound of that."
Inside, someone screams. We look through the window to see the gingerbread nativity has completely collapsed, covering half the committee in frosting and dread.
"We should help," Wren says.
"In a minute," I say, not moving.
"Teddy might be trapped," she points out.
"He's resourceful," I say.
"Giuseppe's crying," she observes.
"He always cries," I remind her.
"Malcolm's having a breakdown about structural frosting," she notes.
"Now that's a bonus," I say, and she laughs.
"We're terrible people," she informs me.
"The worst," I agree, staring at her and not the chaos inside. "Want to go be terrible together?"
"Yes," she confirms, and kisses me once more—number eighteen, or twenty-one, or who's counting anymore—before we head inside to help with the great gingerbread disaster.
Inside, Malcolm's trying to explain to Anastasia why the frosting-to-gingerbread ratio matters while Teddy emerges from the wreckage wearing what looks like a candy cane crown. Giuseppe's already planning Nativity 2.0 with 'better structural integrity.'
Wren takes my hand, sticky with frosting, and we wade into the chaos together.
This is home—not a place or a building, but this moment, these people, this beautiful disaster we've chosen. Even Malcolm, covered in frosting and shouting about optimal cleaning techniques, is part of it.
Though we'll never tell him that.
Chapter 15
Wren
The next morning finds me in my shop, surrounded by committee members who look like they've survived the frosting apocalypse. Teddy still has candy cane pieces in his beard, Giuseppe's suit is more icing than fabric, and Delia's taking inventory of damages with the intensity of a war crimes investigator.
"Seventeen thousand dollars," she announces, looking up from her clipboard.
"For what?" I ask, pausing in my attempt to untangle mistletoe from Holden's hair. He fell asleep on my couch still wearing half the decoration.
"Gingerbread structural damage, frosting cleanup, three broken tables from the trust falls, and therapy for the janitor who found Teddy trapped in the manger at 2 AM," she lists.
"The janitor needs therapy?" Holden asks, wincing as I pull a particularly stubborn sprig free.
