Can’t Hurry Christmas by Melissa Baldwin

“Callie, I know this isn’t a typical holiday season for you. I can’t imagine how you are feeling now that…things are different without …”

“You can say his name, Hannah.”

“Joey,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. I know this is a difficult time.”

I shake my head. “Don’t be sorry. I asked him to set a wedding date, and he said he wasn’t ready and didn’t know when he would be. That pretty much told me everything I needed to know. Our goals were not exactly as aligned as I thought they were.”

She places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m really proud of you.”

“Proud? For getting dumped?”

“No. For not settling,” she explains. “And for letting me drag you into crazy holiday chaos instead of spending the night alone, binge-watching TV shows you’ve seen a hundred times.”

I laugh under my breath. “You’re not wrong. This is good for me—I always do better when I’m busy.”

“You might even enjoy yourself at the festive family night,” she says, tying another bow in less than two seconds.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be a blast,” I say flatly. “Hundreds of children, awkward small talk, and tacky decor. I’m all in.”

She giggles. “By the way, Anna’s new friend is coming with us. Her name’s Mia. She’s such a sweetheart.”

“Cool,” I say, biting my lip as I attempt another bow.

“And her dad’s meeting us there.”

I glance up. “Okay?”

“He’s a very nice guy…”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s great. Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

She conveniently avoids making eye contact with me.

“Hannah…”

“Yes?”

“What are you up to?”

“I’m not up to anything,” she says, innocently. “I just thought it might be nice for you to meet a new friend.”

I stare at her. I should’ve known she was up to something. She was very insistent that I go to the festive family night.

She shrugs. “Anyway, he’s single. And nice. He has a good job. And he’s very—”

“Stop right there,” I interrupt. “No setups. You promised.”

“I didn’t set you up,” she says. “I merely mentioned that a single, employed man who also happens to be a devoted father will be in the same vicinity as you.”

“Oh, well in that case,” I say, rolling my eyes again.

She smirks and reaches over to take the mangled ribbon from my hands. “Here, let me help. You’re not exactly grasping the bow tying process here.”

“I didn’t get Mom’s crafty gene like you,” I mutter.

She laughs. “No. But you certainly inherited the moody gene from her.”

“I’m not the only one,” I tell her.

She holds up a perfectly wrapped box, complete with an elaborate gold bow. “See? We make a good team.”

“Always,” I say. “You do the work, and I’m here for moral support.”