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“Neither do I.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. I’ve never done this and you’ve never let anybody do it, so we’re both going to be bad at it in different directions.” His chin came down on the top of my head. “I’d suggest practice.”

“Practice.”

“Frequently.”

“Now that sounds manageable.”

We were not alone, of course. We had not been alone on that street since the fifth of November.

Pearl stood a short distance away, failing to hide a grin. Frank was smiling so hard it looked unfamiliar. Colette already had her phone out, and Owen watched from near the tree. He had put us in the same room on purpose the first day.

Griffin looked at all of them, then put his hand up about six inches, which for him is a parade. “You can stop pretending not to watch,” he said.

“We weren’t pretending,” Pearl said.

“Clearly.”

Pearl reached me first and wrapped both arms around me. Colette announced that she had been right about December all along and would accept acknowledgment in pastry. Frank pointed toward the third lamppost and told Griffin the bracket was still loose.

Then somebody’s kid ran into the back of Frank’s legs at speed and the whole thing dissolved.

Colette checked the time. “The choir is back on in four minutes, and somebody still has to move the last riser.”

Griffin kissed me once. “Ready?”

“Apparently, love in Holly Creek comes with assigned labor.”

We went to move the riser together.

CHAPTER 23

GRIFFIN

Mrs. Morrison flagged me down at half past nine on Christmas Eve with the best problem I’d encountered in twelve years of project management. “The line’s around the block,” she said. “Forty minutes’ wait for an eight-minute loop, and the Hendersons are handing out cocoa to keep people from defecting. I need faster boarding, Mr. Cole, and somebody to manage that queue before it strangles the cocoa cart.”

I looked past her to the sleigh lot at the end of Main. Chester and Maple stood in harness, their breath steaming, bells bright against the red sleigh Richard Morrison had built in 1986. This was its fortieth Christmas Eve. Nora had known from the start and kept Mrs. Morrison’s confidence until the committee announced it. Colette put it on a banner within a day. The line stretched past Donnelly Hardware and around the corner.

“We can stagger boarding,” I said. “Run a numbered ticket system from the cocoa cart, so people can enjoy the rest of the festival instead of standing in line. I’ll have Rosie print times on the back.”

“Tickets.” She said it the way she’d once said light maze.

“Tickets that come with free cocoa.”

“Better.” Her mouth softened. “You know, the year Richard started these rides, six people showed up. Four of them were related to us.” She watched a father lift his daughter over the sleigh rail, the girl’s mittens already reaching for Maple’s mane. “His first ride was a Christmas Eve. Forty Christmas Eves now, and the line goes around the block.”

“He’d be proud of it.”

“He’d be insufferable about it.” She straightened the blanket over the seat with hands that had done it ten thousand times. “Speaking of decisions, I’ve made one. Next year, the first ride of the festival is spoken for. Yours and Nora’s. Don’t argue with me, I’ve buried two committee chairs who tried.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Now go count something. It’s what you’re for.”

I went and counted things. It turned out to be a useful morning for it.