Page 17 of A Holly Jolly Mix Up (Sweet Christmas Kisses #12)

Andrew

“Nothing yet. I was sure tonight would be the night we catch them.” I shake my head in disappointment.

It’s been hours since we started tonight’s stakeout, and we’ve had nothing but false alarms and pesky raccoons knocking over trash cans. I can feel the fatigue starting to seep into my bones.

“Let’s walk through the evidence again, maybe we missed something,” Randy suggests, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

“All of the robberies occurred at businesses along Main Street.”

“And they all happened in the dead of night,” Randy adds, rubbing his tired eyes.

“They always break a window to get in and only take small items or cash from the register before leaving,” I continue .

“And none of the businesses had anyone inside when it happened,” Randy finishes with a nod.

“Randy,” I whisper urgently, pointing toward one of the businesses further down the street. In the dim light, two figures, dressed entirely in black, lurk near the entrance.

“Looks like we might finally have some action.” His voice is low and eager as he unbuckles his seat belt.

As we silently exit the car and approach cautiously, my heart races with anticipation. The figures continue to skulk around the storefront, seemingly unaware of our presence. One figure is fumbling with something in their hands—a crowbar glints under the streetlights.

“Call it in. Looks like they’re getting ready to break in,” I whisper to Randy.

“Copy that,” he replies, already dialing on his radio while keeping his eyes fixed on our suspects. “Officer Harrington and I are on scene, potential break-in.”

My heart pounds against my ribs like a sledgehammer as I stealthily make my way closer on foot. Every instinct tells me this is our perpetrator, and there’s an odd satisfaction in being on the verge of catching them in the act. The figure starts to swing the crowbar at the window.

“Police!” Randy shouts suddenly, springing into action. “Drop your weapons and step away from the building. ”

One figure bolts down the alley and out of sight. The other freezes, dropping the crowbar with a clang that echoes in the night. He obediently puts his hands in the air as Randy approaches him, handcuffs ready.

I take off after the runner, determined not to lose him.

“Stop!” I yell, dodging a couple of trash cans in my way. But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he speeds up.

All I see is a dark figure weaving in and out of the narrow passageways ahead of me. I follow him down another alleyway and almost lose him when he makes a swift turn.

Just as I round a corner, he stumbles on something and falls to the ground with a loud thump. Without thinking, I lunge forward to grab him before he gets back on his feet.

“Got you,” I breathe out triumphantly as I place handcuffs on his wrist and keep my knee firmly planted on his back. “You’re under arrest.”

It’s always a good day when you catch a criminal. But it’s an even better day when said criminal has been causing a ruckus in your town and now, he’s behind bars. We turned in our reports, and now, I can blissfully get a few hours of sleep after a long night.

“Are you sure you want to have dinner tonight?” Jane’s concern is written on her face.

After my too short of a nap, I came here to the bookstore to meet for our town paint-a-thon. Jane brought the cookies we made, Nonna is warming up water with an electric kettle, and we’re gathering all the paint supplies.

“You’re right. I don’t want to spend time with you or your family,” I deadpan, and she giggles. “Of course, I’m sure. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“But if you change your mind, everyone will understand. You’ve had a long day already.”

I pull her in close to me and kiss the top of her head. “I promise I’m fine. Now, let’s get to painting!”

“Very well, detective. Just don’t say I didn’t offer you an out,” Jane retorts, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she dips a brush into a can of bright green paint.

“Awfully chirpy for a guy who spent the wee hours chasing burglars,” Nonna chimes in, pouring the boiling water into several cups. She doesn’t seem at all surprised about my morning escapades.

“Coffee have something to do with that?” Jane asks, her eyebrow arched in amusement as she nudges towards the cold drink in my hand.

“I plead the fifth,” I answer, grinning down at her .

The close-knit community of Oakridge Hollow never ceases to amaze me, even after living here for a couple of years.

Everyone genuinely cares about each other, and in times of need, they come together to support one another.

People of all ages are out on this chilly snowy day, painting the wood-covered windows on Main Street to make it look festive for Christmas.

As best as I can, cause I’m not an artist, I start working on Jane’s plywood window. I wasn’t sure what to draw at first, but then it hit me. It’s simple enough to everyone else but extra special to Jane and I.

I stand back to admire my handiwork. A cozy house in a snowy forest, our first meeting. A bookstore in a small town, our reunification. And a few of my favorite moments with her: a Christmas tree, Mr. and Mrs. Claus, and cookies.

“Andrew, that’s...” Jane trails off, staring at my painting.

“Do you like it?” I ask, reaching for her hand. She intertwines her fingers with mine, her smile making me feel like I just won a million bucks.

“Like it? I love it!” she exclaims. “It’s us.”

“Exactly.”

Then she grins broadly at me. “Andrew Harrington, is there anything you can’t do? ”

“Just one thing,” I murmur, leaning into her ear. “Resist you.”

Nonna clears her throat loudly from behind us, causing both of us to jump apart.

“If you lovebirds are done flirting,” Nonna begins, “we still have some painting to do.” She winks at Jane and points to the next plywood-covered window with her paintbrush.

With a warm flush on our cheeks, we pick up our brushes again, but not before I steal one last glance at Jane. She’s concentrating on her painting, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth. She’s adorable.

An hour later, I’m picking up a Berry Crumble pie from the bakery, which smells divine. While painting, I ran into Dolly, the owner of the bakery, and asked her what would be best to bring to the Brooks’s house for dinner.

She insisted on the Berry Crumble pie, saying it was the perfect blend of sweet and tart, not overly sugary, just enough to make the taste buds dance. Plus, she’d just pulled one out of the oven, so it was warm and fresh.

As I walk into Jane’s childhood home with the warm pie in my hands, her mother comes rushing towards me.

“Oh, you’re here! Come in, come in,” she exclaims, taking the pie from my hands and helping me out of my coat. The house is already filled with a delicious aroma that makes my stomach rumble.

“I hope you’re hungry. We have a big feast prepared,” Jane’s father chuckles from where he’s standing near the fireplace.

“I wouldn’t dare come to a dinner unprepared,” I reply with a grin.

“Oh good. You’ll fit right in,” he laughs.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Harry. Jane told me you won the neighborhood competition.”

“Again,” Harry adds with a chuckle, looking proud. “It seems the Brooks are unbeatable when it comes to outdoor Christmas decorations.”

“I can only imagine the hard work it took...and how many trips to the attic to find all those decorations,” I tease.

Jane winks at me from where she’s helping her mom in the kitchen. “That’s the Brooks’s spirit for you,” she calls out, earning a round of laughter from everyone in the room.

Somehow, the nerves that I’d anticipated feeling don’t appear.

Instead, there’s a comfort that washes over me like a warm blanket.

There’s laughter. There are conversations that feel like they’ve been ongoing for years.

Somehow, Jane’s parents make me feel like I’ve always belonged here.

And the food—Jane was right, her mom can cook .

Harry jumps up with a clap of his hands. “Crazy carols time!”

My head furrows as both Greta, Jane, and Nonna giggle collectively. I can tell from the shifty eyes going around the room that something is afoot when Harry heads over to a speaker and puts his phone on it.

I turn to Jane, wondering what’s about to happen, and she gives me a smirk.

“You’re in for a treat.”

“I’m not a singer, by any means,” I plea.

If they think I’m going to sing, they are wrong. I can fake an emergency and run from here like my pants are on fire. What’s that I hear? The Midnight bandits escaped jail? Happily on my way.

Once at a Christmas party, my captain told me I sounded like a coyote howling with a sore throat when I sang. Let’s not embarrass myself or make anyone go deaf.

“Good thing that’s not a requirement. You just need to sing in a crazy voice, hence ‘crazy carols.’”

“You want me to sound ridiculous?”

“That’s the name of the game,” Harry replies.

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Two teams, each team picks a card, and you’ll sing the song based on what the card says. Ready?”

Jane and I both stand up and each pick a card .

“Holly Jolly Christmas” starts, and we take turns singing the verses: I rap, and Jane channels the Cookie Monster.

The three of them are bent in half, laughing hysterically. Greta even has tears in her eyes.

This is my future family. Never have I known anything more concretely in my life.

I love Jane, and I’m all in.