Page 59 of Mistletoe All the Way

“Machiavellian?”

“A little.”

“It is,” I say with a sigh, then try to move past the resentment. “Anyway, it won’t happen since the law isn’t how I want to contribute to the world. That’s what I realized that first year of study. That I want to contribute in a different way.”

“What do you mean?”

But before I open up, I flash back to the day I met Noah—when I said I preferred happy news, and he gave me a look like that was ridiculous. I don’t need another person telling me I’m silly or flighty.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, then motion to my phone, using it as a cover. “Let me make sure the video looks good. I have this whole idea for a montage I want to post after the parade.”

He stops braiding, the ribbon slipping between his fingers. He catches it before it falls, then curls his hand around it and strides over to me, resting his palm on the stall door. “Why wasn’t it for you anymore? The law.” He sounds so determined to know.

“Noah,” I sigh, unsure if I want to make myself vulnerable. I’ve learned to be cautious about opening myself up, thanks to the way my parents scrutinize my every choice.

“Seriously. Did someone hurt you?” He says it like he’d kill anyone who did.

“No,” I say quickly, wanting to reassure him.

“So what changed that year?”

I hesitate, not wanting him to laugh since some people do. “I saw how much of the law was about righting wrongs, which is great in theory, of course. It’s wonderful and noble, and I’m glad it exists. But the more I studied cases, the more I felt trapped in this state of negativity. The world felt dark; news felt dark. I got overwhelmed, and I didn’t want all that negativity to define my life.”

He nods, his eyes focused only on me.

And even though this feels vulnerable—and even though I don’t love opening up—I realize he’s shared with me too. More than I’d expected him to. So I keep going.

“I wanted to do good in the world,” I admit, and a part of me hates how earnest I sound, but another part of me knows that’s why I’m good at my job—I believe in what I do. “I know it sounds cheesy, but I wanted to highlight good news, happy news, the positive things happening in a dark, broken world. The ways people give back—through science, and through community programs. Like the hockey team’s charity work, or the mayor’s recycling initiatives. It’s so easy to get caught up in the belief that all is lost, and that we’re never going to be able to treat each other with true empathy again. But what if I could do my small part to help people focus on the ways they connect with each other? Or even just to focus on the stories about what makes something special, or highlight things like this contest that brings joy to a town. There’s so much negativity out there, and I thought, why not focus on what’s uplifting?” I ask, wondering briefly if I’ve said too much. “It probably sounds silly to you, I bet.”

“No,” he says, firm and clear.

“No?”

“Well, yes. I can see why you’d worry it would sound silly—since I’m kind of a prickly, rude ass.”

I laugh. “A little.”

“But I get it,” he says, his voice low. “You want to spread more kindness.” He moves closer to the horse, stroking her muzzle. “Is that why you like Christmas? Because you want to”—he waves a hand around, like he can’t believe he has to say this—“bring joy and stuff?”

I laugh softly. “Was that hard for you? To say the word joy?”

“Very.”

I don’t think too long on his question. “Yes. To me, Christmas has always been the perfect time of the year. Maybe not in my home, since my parents were always working or going to dinner with colleagues, but I didn’t let that stop me. I devoured Christmas books at the library when I was in grade school. I did all the Christmas crafts in school. I imagined the perfect family Christmas, and I had pieces of it with my parents—enough for me to want more and find it in other ways.”

He tilts his head, curious perhaps. “What do you mean?”

“My parents are a little… cold. They celebrate the holidays but it’s all about dinner, and parties, and impressing their country club friends. My grandmother didn’t live here then, so when I was old enough to stay home without a sitter, I raised myself on Christmas movies. My parents would go to this or that holiday party for this or that firm, and I’d put on my Christmas jammies, sneak some hot cocoa mix from the pantry, make some on the stove, then curl up on the couch and watch all the classics. Home Alone, Elf, Christmas Vacation, even Love Actually. So scandalous, since that’s rated R.”

A smile teases his lips. “Let me guess—you identified with Buddy the Elf.”

I toss a piece of hay in the general direction of his arm.

He laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes,” I say with a harrumph.

He laughs, the loud, satisfied kind. “You’re a natural jolly.”