Page 74 of Grump Hard
The town where the love of my life is now slipping her hand into mine, and a chipmunk is assuring me that he’ll be staying with us from now on as he slides into my coat pocket.
“What happened?” Holly asks, giving my fingers a squeeze.
I shake my head as a dazed smile creeps across my face. “Cheeks’s decided he wants to live with us, I guess. If that’s all right with you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, of course. Duh. I mean, someone has to keep us in line.”
Cheeks clucks his agreement from my pocket, making those who speak chipmunk laugh, and the rest of the company look slightly confused.
But that’s all right.
They clearly still love us anyway, even when we’re being the very strangest, most authentic versions of ourselves.
What more could a person ask for?
We head out on foot for The White Out diner, sticking to the cleared roads. On the way, the old men regale us with stories of how this storm compares to the Blizzard of ‘64, while Hattie fields calls from the electric company, updating her on when power should be restored to the outskirts of town.
We order every kind of pancake, sausage, bacon, and three omelets to share, and I begin the process of getting to know the people who raised the best girl in the world.
Holly’s parents are, as expected, wonderful and kind. George and Caroline seem to take instantly not only to me, but to the rest of the Ratcliffe clan, as well. By the time we finish breakfast two hours later, I have a sneaking suspicion my siblings have two new surrogate parents they can count on for life. And that I’m on my way to being part of a truly extraordinary family.
I’ve also learned that chipmunks have excellent taste in pancakes.
The Fall Fest short stack with pecans, raisins, slivered carrots, and enough pumpkin spice to make every bite shimmy on your tongue is by far the best I’ve ever had.
We celebrate Christmas Eve with a buffet of cold cuts, cheese, and fruit, deciding we’re all still far too full of breakfast to warm up the ham and sides Cook left for us in the fridge. Cheeks feasts on sunflower seeds and strawberries before insisting on being tucked into his new bed in an empty guest room to recover from the excitement of the past twenty-four hours.
Once he’s settled, we crack open a few of Grandfather’s best bottles of Bordeaux and play charades by the tree.
Turns out, I’m nearly as terrible at acting as I am at singing.
My team loses—repeatedly, spectacularly—and Holly and Bran laugh so hard at my pathetic attempts to communicate, they give each other the hiccups.
The old Luke would have refused to continue engaging in such pointless tomfoolery.
The new Luke just pulls his sexy girlfriend into his lap as she wipes tears of laughter from her eyes.
Once the three of us have lost our fifth and final round to Elliot and Ashton, we bundle into coats and scarves and make our way up to the widow’s walk, just like when we were kids. The night is clear and bitterly cold, the sky a deep, inky black scattered with stars. Fresh snow covers the trees and every inch of the estate, wrapping the world in a peaceful hush.
Holly tucks herself against my side, and I wrap my arm around her, bending to press a grateful kiss to her cheek.
“I forget how beautiful it is up here,” Ashton breathes, tilting her head back to gaze up at the endless sky.
For a moment, as her lips part in wonder, I suddenly see her as a little girl. That toddler with pink cheeks who clung to my hand as we watched these same stars spin when we were young.
Before my father ripped me away. Before I was forced to numb the part of myself that so desperately wanted to be right here, with the people I loved, pretending to believe in magic so hard that the pretend became a magic of its own.
And just like that, I know what comes next…
“It is beautiful,” I agree. “It reminds me of a night back in business school, when I was cramming for finals with Santa.” I feel my siblings’ gazes snap my way, but I keep my focus on the stars as I add, “We had a statistics test the next day and somehow got to talking about the probability of spotting a man in a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer streaking through the sky. He told me the chances were slim, but not statistically impossible. Not even close.”
There’s a beat of warm silence, then Elliott adds, “I think he told me something similar when we were chatting about the chances of finding true love online.”
“What did he say?” Ashton asks, clearly delighted. “Do we have a shot?”
Elliot nods. “A decent shot, yeah. But only if we’re honest about what we want, who we are, and what dreams we most desperately want to come true.”
Ashton nods. “That tracks.”
