Page 53 of This Broken Heart

It’s hard to miss. It’s two stories tall and strung with Christmas lights and beach-ball sized ornaments.

I’ve seen it about twenty-five times and if you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it enough.

But Erin’s eyes go round. This girl is a sucker for Christmas joy. No surprise there. She’s basically the human embodiment of holiday spirit.

I hate this festival, but I love the look on her face.

35.

Erin

From the way Josh was moping around, I set the bar very low for this event. I am pleasantly surprised. This is no small affair. It’s a sprawling festival with vendors and food trucks. The air literally smells like cinnamon and spice. It’s enough to take the edge off this morning’s embarrassment. Reese is helping, too. She’s a chatterbox, but so am I. It’s easy to keep the conversation going with this particular Olson.

I glance up at Trace, who’s busy pointing out every festive detail to his grumpy dad. It’s my responsibility to watch Trace. And quite frankly, I’d feel a little less awkward about being here if Josh let me do my job.

But he’s holding onto Trace like the kid’s a human shield.

We thread our way past an absurdly long line and just as I’m thinking,let’s avoid whatever this is, Trace notices the end of the rainbow leads to a balloon guy. He’s dressed up like a Christmas elf, twisting balloons into swords and crowns and little dogs.

“Balloons!” Trace crows. “Can we get a balloon, dad?”

“That’s a long line, Trace.”

“Please?” Trace whines.

Josh glances at me and I shrug. So we plant ourselves at the back of the line, resigned to our fate.

We’re only in the line for about five minutes when the wail of a fire engine sails out across the crowd.

Reese grins ear to ear. “It’s Santa, Trace! Look!”

We all turn to see a fire engine rounding the corner. A guy in a Santa suit sits on top, waving his mittened hand to the crowd.

“Can I go talk to Santa?” Trace asks.

Josh squints at the line. “You don’t want a balloon?”

Trace bites his lip, torn.

“I’ll take him over there.” Reese says. “You two hold our spot.”

Before we can respond, Reese helps Trace scramble down from his dad’s shoulder. The two disappear into the crowd, hand in hand.

Josh and I glance at each other uneasily before digging our phones out of our pockets. I’m doom-scrolling on Instagram, not even registering the pictures rolling by when someone calls out. “Joshy Olson.”

Joshy?

I look up in time to see a very handsome, very tall blonde sweep in to wrap Josh in a bone-cracking bear hug. He braces his hands on either side of Josh’s cheeks, squeezing a little so Josh is making a fish face. “Where you been, man? We never see you these days.”

Josh shakes him off, rubbing his cheek. His expression is annoyed, but there’s laughter in his eyes. “Fuck off, man.”

The blonde presses his hand against his chest. “Language, Josh. This is a family event.”

Josh shakes his head. “Erin, this is my idiot friend, Dusty.”

Dusty turns the full wattage of his blinding charm on me. He’scute.

It shouldn’t surprise me. Beautiful people tend to travel in packs. But Dusty looks like a walking, breathing Calvin Klein ad. He’s got a scruffy jaw and fascinating blue eyes. Just looking at him makes me blush. Judas. I need to pull it together.