“Try fortraditionalsongs,” Isabel says. “You don’t need to modernize it.”
“These are the songs people want to hear.” Ada jabs at the list in my hand like she’s trying to give me a paper cut. “Real Christmas music, not sad songs about romantic breakups.”
It seems unlikely the choir’s going to belt out “Last Christmas” underneath the tree. Unlikely…but not totally impossible. “I understand, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Honey, are you in charge or aren’t you?” Ada asks.
A throat clears just over my shoulder, reminding me of our audience.
“You know Griffin McBride?” I gesture his way, and their eyes skate over him.
“Oh, yes,” Isabel says. “It’s good to see you back in town. Did you have your fill of Portland?”
His mouth twitches. “Something like that.”
“I don’t know about having him on your crew,” Ada says to me. “Might be dangerous putting him around all that lumber.”
She gives a soft laugh, totally missing that her joke doesn’t land. I shift in front of him as though I can shield him from their laughter over his mistakes from ten years ago.
“Griffin’s doing a wonderful job making my Christmas village. Nobody else could build them so well or so quickly. It’s going to be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, and I owe it all to him.”
They size him up again as though they can judge his carpentry skills at a glance. But when they turn back to me, I know they’re not done talking about the festival. That’s the thing about airing grievances—nobody ever wants to stop once they get started.
“That festival’s so much to handle.” Ada’s words are kind, but they don’t make me feel any better. She makes a sound that’s simultaneously impressed and dismayed. “And you’re adding even more to the celebrations. We just want to make sure nothing falls through the cracks.”
“It’s a lot to get done, and there’s not much time left to do it,” Isabel adds. “You don’t want to let people down.”
The universe has rolled all of my deepest fears about the project into one well-intentioned but still supremely awful conversation. Their fears make sense, though. I don’t have the best track record. Marketing, my mom’s real estate firm, my imaginary fiancé—I have no shortage of stories going around Sunshine about my inability to see things through.
“Hope isn’t going to let anyone down.” Griffin speaking up in my defense sends warm shockwaves through me like he’s switched on my own personal space heater.
“So many people are counting on this,” Ada says. “We just wonder if it might be easier on you if you had more help.”
“I’m sure Helena wouldn’t mind lending a hand with the festival. And your sister, too. Isn’t this the sort of thing she’s so good at up in Seattle?”
Isabel has no idea she just landed a death blow. My brave face crumbles. Lilaisgood at it. I’d thought taking it on myself would prove I’m capable, too, but it seems like it’s just making people wish my sister were here to do everything for me.
“I wouldn’t underestimate Hope.”
Griffin stands so close, his chest presses against my shoulder. He’s warm and reassuring, and I lean into him just a little. Maybe it’s weird of me, but I need it right now.
“I’ve seen her plans,” he says in that low voice of his that doesn’t bend in an argument. “Her festival is going to knock this town’s socks off. She’s giving her all to make this thing a success.”
His support runs a glittery thread of pride through me, even if I’m not sure he believes his own words. The houses are starting to look cute, but the rest? Will it really be enough to pull in as many people as I’m hoping?
“Oh, I’m sure. Nobody doubts how much she loves Sunshine.” Ada smiles at me like she still sees the second-grader I used to be.
Shedoesn’tsay that nobody doubts I’ll actually come through for them. How could she say it, when she just suggested I ask my mom and sister for help?
Griffin glances over at me, and it’s like the tumult of emotions inside me have been printed out for him to read. I never would have described him as a perceptive guy before, and really wish he wasn’t starting now.
“She’s got your suggestions,” he says to Ada and Isabel. “But we need to get going.”
He puts a hand on my lower back, and I mutter goodbyes as he steers me away. Our boots crunch up a block of sidewalk before he drops his hand without a word.
I let us into the warehouse and flip the lights on again. A tremble shivers through me, but I’m not sure if it’s from the weather or from doubt spreading icy crystals in my heart. The hope I’d held that renewing the Christmas festival might change people’s opinions of me just burst in my hands like a gauzy soap bubble.
Instead of going to his collection of tools, Griffin steps closer to me.
