Jett Thorn didn’t hate Christmas—he just didn’t see the point of it anymore.
The endless lights, the jingling music, and the forced cheer of strangers—it all felt hollow. Christmas used to mean something to him, back when his parents’ laughter echoed in the kitchen and his little sister couldn’t stop singing carols off-key. But those days were gone. Now, he spent his days in Pinehaven, a quiet town tucked away from the world, where he could avoid the festivities entirely.
The smell of cinnamon and pine hit him as he walked past the town square, where volunteers were setting up for the annual Christmas festival. He slowed his pace, eyes drawn to the scene against his better judgment.
At the center of the chaos stood Callie Hawthorne, Pinehaven’s resident Christmas enthusiast, wrestling with a tangled strand of lights. Her dark curls bounced as she tried to toss them over a high branch, muttering something Jett couldn’t hear over the carols playing in the background.
“Need a ladder, or are you just hoping the lights will climb up on their own?” Jett called out, his voice dry as winter air.
Callie turned, startled, then narrowed her eyes. “You could always help instead of heckling, Scrooge.”
“I’d hate to deprive you of the satisfaction of doing it yourself,” Jett replied with a smirk, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.
Callie rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “You know, you’re practically a Christmas miracle. Most people would just ignore me.”
“Most people have better judgment,” Jett shot back, but something made him step closer.
“You’ve officially lost your chance to leave,” Callie said, stepping off the ladder and crossing her arms. “If you’re going to loiter in Pinehaven, you might as well pitch in. The tree won’t decorate itself.”
Jett groaned. “Hard pass.”
Callie grabbed his arm before he could turn away. “Come on, Jett. What else are you going to do? Brood in your cabin and glare at the snow?”
He hesitated, caught between annoyance and the faintest flicker of curiosity. Callie grinned as if sensing her victory. “One hour of tree duty,” she said. “And I’ll leave you alone.”
Jett sighed. “Fine. But only because I’m already cold and standing here.”
Callie didn’t waste a second putting him to work. She handed him a box of ornaments and gestured toward the branches. “And try not to be a Grinch while you’re at it,” she teased.
“It’s not Grinch-like to question the appeal of tinsel,” Jett muttered.
“Blasphemy,” Callie replied, feigning outrage.
By the time they finished, Jett found himself strangely reluctant to leave. Callie’s laughter had a way of chasing away the quiet ache in his chest, and for the first time in years, he didn’t mind the glow of Christmas lights.
Later that evening, Jett walked home through Pinehaven’s quiet streets. The snow muffled his footsteps, and the lights strung across the town square shimmered against the dark sky. Somewhere nearby, a group of carolers sang, their voices soft and full of warmth.
He paused outside the bakery, drawn to the golden glow spilling through the window. Inside, a group of kids decorated gingerbread houses, their laughter loud and unfiltered. One little girl smeared frosting on her face, giggling as her friend tried to stick gumdrops to the roof of her house.
The memory hit him before he could stop it: Emmy, his little sister, doing the exact same thing at their kitchen table years ago. Their mom had tried to scold her but couldn’t keep a straight face.
Jett blinked hard and turned away, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. He quickened his pace, the cold biting at his skin, but the ache in his chest was harder to ignore.
The next day, Callie cornered him near the coffee shop.
“Great timing,” she said, grabbing his arm before he could escape.
“For what?” Jett asked warily.
“I need backup.”
“What part of ‘I don’t do Christmas’ do you not understand?”
“All of it,” Callie said with a grin.
To Jett’s surprise, she led him to a bench near the gazebo, where a small projector was set up. A handful of Pinehaven locals gathered around, bundled in scarves and holding steaming mugs of cocoa.
“It’s tradition,” Callie explained, handing him a cup. “We watch the worst Christmas movies Pinehaven has to offer. Think of it as community service for your holiday spirit.”
The movie—a hilariously awful tale about a dog saving Christmas—was so bad Jett couldn’t help but laugh. Callie elbowed him every time he tried to stifle it, her grin as wide as the screen in front of them.
“This is ridiculous,” Jett said, shaking his head.
“Ridiculously awesome,” Callie corrected.
A few days later, Jett found himself reluctantly helping Callie with the final decorations for the festival. As they worked, Callie held up a sprig of mistletoe.
“Hold still,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “It’s tradition.”
Jett arched an eyebrow. “Tradition for who?”
“Everyone except Scrooges,” Callie replied, smirking.
Before Jett could respond, a gust of wind sent the mistletoe tumbling from her hand, landing squarely between them. The nearby volunteers burst into laughter and whistles.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jett muttered.
“Rules are rules,” Callie said, her cheeks pink.
Jett hesitated, his usual sarcasm failing him. Then, without thinking too hard, he leaned in and kissed her. It was quick and soft, and when he pulled back, Callie’s eyes sparkled brighter than the tree behind them.
On Christmas Eve, Callie stood in the square, watching the glowing tree as the festival wound down. The air buzzed with the remnants of warmth and laughter, but she felt a pang of loneliness amidst the crowd.
Then she noticed the lantern.
It sat at the base of the tree, its golden light flickering against the falling snow.
Jett emerged from the shadows, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “It’s yours,” he said, nodding toward the lantern.
Callie’s throat tightened as she stepped closer. “You remembered,” she whispered.
“Turns out, I’m not terrible at this holiday thing,” Jett said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Callie turned to him, her tears spilling over. “Jett, you’re full of surprises.”
By the following year, Jett had become a fixture in Pinehaven’s Christmas celebrations.
“Come on, people!” he shouted, adjusting a wreath on the gazebo. “We’ve got a schedule to keep!”
Callie watched from a distance, her arms crossed and a smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve come a long way, Thorn.”
Jett turned, mock-scowling. “Don’t make it weird, Hawthorne.”
Callie walked up to him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Too late.”
As the first snowflakes of the season began to fall, Jett looked around at the glowing square, his heart full in a way he hadn’t thought possible.
Maybe Christmas wasn’t about the decorations or the music or the perfect traditions. Maybe it was about finding joy in unexpected places—and sharing it with the people who mattered most.
For the first time in years, Jett felt like he belonged.
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