Page 130 of Mistletoe All the Way

But off I go.

It’s the right thing to do.

I toss on a scarf and reach for the doorknob when a sharp thud rips through the air, then there’s a caterwaul, the scrabbling of paws, and the splattering of ornaments.

I don’t even have to look, but I do, turning my face to assess the carnage of the tree.

Betty is lying prone on the floor, ornaments littered everywhere, and the criminal cat off in my bedroom is licking his leg, as if the tree toppling is totally not his fault. It’s the tree’s fault.

And this—the felled tree—feels like a metaphor.

“You naughty devil.” I shut the door to the bedroom, keeping the cat safe, then quickly sweep up the ornaments. I’ll deal with the rest later.

I’ll deal with everything else later.

I’ll deal with it alone, like I do nearly everything.

I draw a sharp breath, and march out, leaving my loneliness behind.

“And the winner is…”

Wilder Blaine pauses, letting the anticipation build as the sun dips low and all the contestants except one wait by the steps of the gazebo. Henry, J.J., Sebastian, and Stephen are here, and they all look excited. Mostly. Stephen’s Santa hat is droopy and sad and that feels fitting.

I focus my attention on Wilder, and in that stretched-out moment, as I stand next to my grandma and “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” plays on the town square sound system, I hope once more that it’ll be Noah.

That he’ll have won.

That I can—I don’t know—accept for him. Or his grandfather or Chris can. They’re both here, and so is his grandmother, along with his dad and his wife. Phillipa’s here with me, and so’s Aurora, and they’re both fixed on the stage, eager to learn who won the prize in the town’s biggest-ever winter competition.

But Noah’s not, and my heart feels a little hollow even as I’m surrounded by all these people.

“Henry Rojas,” Wilder announces, “is our first-ever Mr. Holiday.”

And a funny thing happens. I cheer. Genuinely. Instantly. And loudly from the center of my heart as my grandma’s guy jogs to the stage in a very well-deserved victory.

Henry’s smile is cheeky, boyish as the seventy-five-year-old accepts a red-and-green medal with the words Mr. Holiday on it.

As he thanks the town, I squeeze my grandma’s hand. She squeezes back.

It was silly to think I was alone. Lately, since she moved back here, I’ve had her. “Congratulations,” I say to her.

She can’t stop beaming. “He really knows how to work it,” she says, then waves flirtingly to him, and he blows her a kiss.

“I couldn’t have done it without the support of the beautiful, brilliant Penny Langston.”

My heart aches from the words I would have liked to hear from Noah about me.

But I’m glad she got them.

Later, after I help Coretta and Henry with the tree deliveries, I meet up with my friends at the Candy Cane Diner.

I find them at a booth in the back, and I slide in across from my two best friends. After we order and set down the menus, Phillipa gives me a sympathetic look. “He’s really gone?”

I roll my lips together, sealing in a sob. “He is.”

“Oh, sweet friend. I know it must be hard for you.”

“Harder than I’d thought,” I admit, but then I shrug and add, “he had to go.”