And I had a feeling he was right.
Epilogue
Grant
“Come here, let mefix your tie.”
Valerie crooked her finger and rounded the front of the car, her heels sliding through the winter slush. I caught her before she could slip, my hands circling her waist.
Today, she smelled like warm vanilla and sugar. I knew the exact name of her shampoo now. I typed it into my phone this morning while she was brushing her teeth, in case she ever ran out and I was standing in the aisle, surrounded by a sea of bottles.
She lifted onto her toes, straightening the knot at my neck. Then her hand smoothed down the length of polyester flamingos in Santa hats.
Her mouth twitched. “Best twenty dollars I ever spent.”
“Next year, I hope you find one with pineapples wearing sunglasses in a blizzard.”
I drew her against my chest, looking over her shoulder as the house loomed behind her. She snorted into my coat and wrapped her arms around my back. She waited, knowing I needed to steel myself for the coming storm. The Delaneyestate never changed. Every year, it gleamed like a mansion under glass, cold and untouchable.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one dragging your feet? They’re your in-laws.”
“I can face anything with you.”
Her confidence made my chest ease. But the warmth in her tone had me sliding my hand around her wrist to tug her back to the car.
“That’s it. We’re leaving and spending Christmas under the covers.”
She laughed, the sound way too musical in the shadow of the stony estate. “Grant, stop. We’re doing this. But I’ll make you a deal.”
“Is this another one of those fake-it games?”
She shook her head, a tendril of hair slipping free to frame her cheek. “We need a code word. Something that if either one of us says, we leave immediately. No questions asked.”
“Okay… how aboutSanta needs his elf?”
Her eyes flared, and she smacked my shoulder with a shocked laugh. “Grant Delaney. I amnotsaying that in front of your parents.”
“Then say it quietly,” I said, deadpan.
She snarled, looping her arm through mine and tugging me toward the walkway.
“The word ismistletoe, and that’s final.”
We reached the front steps, the heavy oak doors gleaming beneath a perfect evergreen wreath. The faint hum of sound met us before we even crossed the threshold.
Valerie froze. “Is that… organ music?”
“It is,” I said, pushing open the door to a gust of warm air. “Guess my grandfather didn’t get the choir this year.”
Her eyes widened as the first dramatic chord ofJoy to the Worldrolled through the foyer. “Oh, no. This is way more intense than I imagined.”
“Just say the word, Spells.”
“Mistle—no.” She notched her chin higher, a brave toy soldier in a red dress and matching heels marching into the line of fire.
The entryway impressed like a museum exhibit—marble floors, towering staircase, a crystal chandelier big enough to power the North Pole.
