“Anyone?”
I could hear the smile straining in her voice.
I kept my head down. Maybe if I looked busy enough, distracted enough, I wouldn’t be volunteered. Or worse, feel guilty enough to raise my hand.
No one moved. Just the usual awkward shuffling and the communal prayer thatsomeone elsewould do it.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
And waited.
Because there was no way I was getting roped into this.
Right?
I glanced around the room, nerves coiling tighter with each heartbeat. Familiar faces dotted the folding chairs—Mrs. Henderson from down the street was fiddling with her red knit scarf like it had wronged her. Greg, from the auto shop, leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, eyebrows knit like he was solving a word problem instead of facing a room full of unmet needs. Even Leo was here, posted near the front, his face unreadable—stone-still and way too calm, like he knew something no one else did.
No one moved. The silence grew heavier, thick with discomfort and holiday guilt.
I swallowed hard, heat prickling the back of my neck. It would be so easy to stay still. To say I’d already done enough. That the toy drive was contribution enough. That someone else—anyoneelse—could pick up the slack this year.
But that itch inside me wouldn’t stop. That tug—the one that always pulled me toward the things I wasn’t ready for but somehowhadto do anyway—was louder than my excuses.
My hands clenched around the fabric of my coat. Maybe this was my chance to prove something. Not to anyone else—but to myself. That I still had it in me. That I could rebuild, reconnect, contribute… even if it scared the hell out of me.
Before I could let doubt slither in and wrap itself around my ankles, I took the deepest breath I could manage and stood.
The legs of my chair scraped back on the tile with a screech far louder than I meant. Heads turned. All at once, I was visible again.
God help me.
Before I could even form the wordsI’ll do it, a chair scraped behind me.
“I’ll take the route,” Cavil said, his voice steady and certain—like this was just another errand on a to-do list.
My head snapped toward him, heart stuttering. My stomach dropped so hard it felt like the floor had vanished beneath me.
No, no, no.
The meeting organizer lit up like a Christmas tree. “Perfect! And Callie can ride along—she already knows the stops!”
What?!
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I couldn’t even muster a half-hearted protest. People nodded and grinned, someone shouted, “Great pairing!” and the whole thing snowballed faster than I could stop it.
I looked at Cavil, but he didn’t look at me. He just kept facing forward, jaw set like this meant absolutely nothing to him.
I, on the other hand, was unraveling.
“Callie?” the organizer prompted, her voice sweet but expectant. “You’re good with that?”
I blinked. My gaze swept the room, full of hopeful, kindhearted faces. All of them waiting. I couldn’t exactly screamhell noin the middle of a community meeting. I couldn’t explain that riding around in a truck with Leo’s brother for days wasn’t just awkward—it was personal. Complicated.Loaded.
“Uh…” I stalled, voice faltering.
“You’ve got this!” someone called out cheerily. Another thumbs-up from across the room.
I could feel it—everyone rooting for this tidy little Christmas miracle.
