Chapter 1
Carol
Evervale sparkles like it’s been dipped in glitter.The whole town is a snow globe someone won’t stop shaking, white fairy lights strung from lamppost to lamppost, red velvet bows pinned on everything from doors to fire hydrants, and a towering spruce in the square so loaded with oversized ornaments it looks like it might tip and crush a tourist.
People come to Evervale year-round for a curated Christmas.They book cozy cabins with hot tubs and spend too much on cocoa flights, then post about it with captions like “blessed” and “cozy vibes.”
I used to eat that up.
Still do, mostly.
Blake picks a fight before dinner.Of course he does.That’s his superpower, finding the weak spot in a perfect day and digging his clean, manicured thumb into it.
“We agreed,” he says, leaning on my tiny kitchen island, jacket hung just so on the chair, tie still knotted even off duty.“No pressure about timelines.You promised, Carol.”
“Promised I’d turn my uterus into a calendar?”I laugh, but it sounds thin.“I just asked if you wanted to do the carriage ride after the tree lighting, like last year.”
He smiles like he’s a teacher and I’m slow.“You mean the carriage where couples get engaged for the photo op?”
“I didn’t say that,” I say, though I did.
“You don’t need a ring to feel secure,” he says.“You just need to trust me.”
In the mirror, I stare at the plain gold chain around my neck.I bought it for myself.The peppermint candle on the counter crackles like it’s taking sides.
“I do,” I lie.“I just...”
“You just what?”Blake’s patient.Clinical.The kind of man who’ll one day tell me we should take a break like I’m a quarterly report that missed projections.
“I just want to feel like you’re choosing me,” I say.“Like this is going somewhere.”
“It is,” he says, and kisses my forehead like he’s the dad in a Hallmark movie.“We’ll have a nice Christmas.No drama.But I do have to work tomorrow.”
“On Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah, Carol.Some of us live in the real world.”
Then he complains about my late shifts, the cash tips.The way I keep humming, “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”
Hell, what else would I hum?
Unlike him, I work in this small town where every day is Christmas.
He leaves for the city with that tidy, frustrated sigh, promising to call later.I mope at the window watching the taillights of his fancy car bleed into the snowy street, feeling ridiculous for wanting a thing I can’t say out loud without sounding like a cliché.
Forever.
I want forever, and maybe I want it now, on Christmas, the real Christmas.It shouldn’t be the kind of sin that gets me judged.
The phone rings before I can start crying.It’s Sugar Plum from Sno-Globes.
“You wanna grab the holiday shift?”she asks, voice smoking as much as she does.“Ginger Snap called in sick.”
“On Christmas Eve?”I say.“That’s sacrilegious.”
Sugar Plum snorts.“Every day is Christmas Eve around here.”
“Some of us live in the real world, Sugar,” I say, sounding as grumpy as Blake.“What if I have plans?”
