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“The key, R2, is not to be intimidated.”
Even Rey hears it as her voice shakes, and not just from the cold. Her little canine companion whined his agreement, though soon following up with a sharp bark - keep moving! - when she seemed as though hesitating.
As they’d made their way slowly and incrementally along the steep trail and past the ominous signs posted in lieu of holiday decorations, as the bright lights from the town had faded into the distance, as she'd made her way further and further along the snowy path up the mountain, it had become harder and harder to convince herself that she was acting in the Christmas spirit. Thankfully, she had R2, and she’d leaned more and more on the emotional (and at times physical) support flowing in steady waves from her sturdy red-coated dachshund as they’d struggled through the snow.
Still.
This stupid quest of hers, to invite the so-called local 'Grinch' and invite him personally to Christmas dinner with everyone, seemed less and less like a good idea.
Particularly given all the (literal) signs warning her away.
'STOP'
"He certainly doesn't make it easy for people to find a way in, does he, R2?"
The path was getting harder and harder to follow, her feet sinking deeper and deeper into the deep, freezing snow, and if she had any sense, she’d have turned back ages ago. She couldn't feel her feet, and her mitten fingers had to be blue. Looking down at R2 (more properly, 'R2D2'), she could read the concern in his soft, dark brown eyes as he looked up at her. She’d snuggled him as much she could before making this journey, wrapped him in both his winter coats and ensured he was wearing his boots to protect his dainty paws. To be honest, though, he was probably better protected from the elements than she, dressed as she was in her threadbare gloves and her secondhand coat.
It didn’t matter; she reminded herself. She was cold, but she was in no danger of being overcome by exposure, and it was important what she was doing.
Even if she couldn’t entirely explain why.
It just felt wrong; the way people pursed their lips when they looked up the hill - got silent and still.
The way they shushed their children when they asked about the old mansion snuggled up here, all but buried in snow and shadow. Gazing up at the old grey mansion now, its soft Victorian glory enhanced by icicles forming a frosting, resembling nothing if not the gingerbread houses her young students had struggled to make, she wonders.
For all she knows is that she's exactly where she's always meant to be.
For that’s the important thing, she thinks, isn’t it?
She may not know what has driven her to make this journey, just that she’s compelled to do so.
More, she wanted; she needed to find out who awaited her at journey’s end.
It was a truth she knew well, knew well how it felt - to be alone. It was a reality that pierced even more in this season of joy - and of families. Perhaps that was why it stung how her colleagues and neighbours spoke of this place and its occupant. The way they refused to call him by his real name. The way they simply referred to him as 'the Grinch on Old Alderaan Hill'.
That is, when they bothered to refer to him at all.
It is just-
It burned her ass how they referred to him. She’s never met him, had never met anyone who had, but, damn it; people had no right to be so mean.
So she’s on his porch, now, frozen, knee deep in fresh fallen snow, surprised by music - ‘Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow’- drifting on the night air. As she hears heavy feet approach the door from the inside, she feels the way the deep voice echoes through her as he questions her presence there.
"What?"
She'd expected many things following her diffident knock, but as the door opened and a very grumpy voice rang through the quiet night, she hadn't expected this.
She'd known Christmas grinches weren't actually green; nevertheless, she hadn't expected this one to be so broad - tall. But as her gaze travels up, up, up, all the way up from where her eye had landed on a wide chest, it takes a moment for her to realize.
He's enormous.
And handsome, with his pale skin marked with a smattering of delicious moles set off by raven-dark hair - yes, very handsome, the sour look on his face notwithstanding.
"Merry Christmas," she starts, her voice shaking and not only from the cold that burrows itself into her very bones, and then her world shifts.
For as she hadn't anticipated the Grinch of Old Alderaan Hill to be tall, or for the house itself to be filled with light and decoration, or for the smell of mince pies fresh from the oven to fill the air - she hadn't expected her quarry to be kind, as he ushers her and her little hound into the blessedly warm haven that is his home.
"You look about half-frozen," he grumbles as he escorts her into a bright kitchen, passing her tea and fresh pastries as he gives her a woollen blanket to wrap around her legs and rest in her lap. She can't help but notice as he snuggles R2, making sure he finds a warm nest on the rug in front of the fire and has a juicy treat to reward him. She can't help but notice how solicitous is the Grinch as he urges her to take her comfort at his table. She can't help but notice how the pastries he passes her, still warm from his oven, melt on her tongue - delicious.
As she inhales the blessed piping hot beverage he presses into her grasp to warm her frozen hands, as she tries in vain not to burn her tongue on the sweet, hot taste of her tea, sweetened liberally as it is with honey and lemon; she watches his graceful dance.
The timer dings, the big oven door opens; trays heaping with dainty fragrant pastries emerge to be plated in front of her. (She can't resist stealing one or two. Or three. Four.) The oven door opens again; cookie trays of uncooked delights go in.
The timer chimes - is reset. Treats are pulled from the oven to be plated on the table, left to rest and cool.
Over and over, it goes, this graceful dance, even as she watches him produce dozens of tasty treats from the hot oven.
The night has been long, the journey cold and dark, the tea heats her from inside while the kitchen is cozy and warm, and she still feels it as her bones thaw - so she blames it on shock, the time it takes her to recognize the dainty delicacies.
It is only with the latest batch of tiny, ornate bites of seven-spice cookies in the shape of wreaths that it finally becomes clear.
The cookie wreaths he places oh so carefully on the cookie racks to cool - she's seen those cookies before.
"Santa's Elf."
Staring in shock, she watches him work, and her suspicions can’t help but be confirmed. It has to be him: ‘Santa’s Elf’. That's what her students call him, the benevolent angel who'd dropped off dozens and dozens of the loveliest treats for the bake sale she'd been running. The one she'd been so sure would fail from the scarcity of baked treats - until she'd been saved by those many, many tins of delicacies that had arrived with no note but an elaborate 'S.E.' marked in flowing, green script.
As Cindy Lou, her sweetest, most mischievous student, had watched her grateful bemusement and smiled.
"Told ya, Miss. Tradition."
As the little minx had winked.
"Santa's Elf always comes through."
“You’re-”
The tall Grinch, who doesn’t look, or act, like a Grinch, glances at her, a quirk on his full lips and a smile of amusement warming his brown eyes as they dance, changing colours in the shifting light of the kitchen.
“I’m?”
It seems absurd even given the red-trimmed apron which covers his massive chest, its white background emblazoned with a saying that reads ‘I’ll ring your bells, baby’.
“Santa’s Elf.”
He laughs again, the rich, thick sound warming the kitchen more efficiently than the oven and is more addictive than the sugar whose sweetness lingers on her tongue.
“Guilty.”
It doesn’t make any sense.
“But- how?”
Why?
The way the people in town talk of him, the lack of lights decorating his house, and the lack of decorations outside in general. All those scary signs she and R2 passed on their cold trek up the hill here - the decided lack of welcome as she and R2 had approached.
It doesn’t make any sense.
“I like baking.”
She certainly can’t deny that; the evidence is everywhere on the massive oak table before her as it fills ups with yummy goodies for her to try.
“And I like secrets.”
This time it’s a satisfied smirk on those plush pink lips.
Her head is spinning.
“So- you do actually like Christmas?”
He turns, another tray of perfectly baked cookies in his mittened hands, plating the treats perfectly for her perusal.
“I love Christmas.”
He almost looks offended that she might think otherwise, even as she feels her eyebrow rise in skeptical inquiry.
“I just don’t like people,” he continues and there’s a shrug in his voice and his broad shoulders as he turns to resume his work. “People look at me sideways, avoid my house, call me the Grinch - all of that’s fine; it means they leave me alone.”
And then he laughed, a great big, belly laugh, and though there was no jelly to his belly as it shook, Rey still found herself laughing along with this big jolly Christmas elf.
Yet- that can’t be right, can it?
"You can't just ignore Christmas because you are sick of people's antics..." she starts slowly, trying to express concepts she'd never considered.
You couldn’t just set boundaries like that, no matter how much you wanted to - could you?
"I never said I was ignoring Christmas," said the soft-spoken man in front of her, gesturing at the spread of cookies before her as proof. "I love Christmas. I love celebrating Christmas with the people I love."
That she could certainly understand.
"It's the performative, materialistic aspects of it that I have no time for." He is smiling again, and she can’t help but wonder - are those dimples?
"Plus, it gets really loud, sometimes, down in the village this time of year."
She can't help but laugh; sometimes, yes, it really, really does; between the music blaring and the people, so many people, always there, talking so loud, sometimes she can't hear herself think.
He seems to understand as he cuddles R2 again as her dog all but buries himself in his arms as he comes looking for treats.
"I do really enjoy the carolling, though."
And that sentiment Rey can certainly share; it had always been one of her favourite aspects of Christmas - the way people put their voice and their time into expressing their joy in the season through song, trusting in only their breath and will to sing their unquestioning delight with the season.
As the music they made echoed through the dark night.
Looking at her companion, she sees the same soft fondness, and this, plus the gentle way he buries his big hands in her dog's soft fur, encourages her to be brave. As she does her best to fulfill the quest she had set out with this morning.
"I actually came here with a purpose," she starts and relaxes at the encouraging smile he gifts her.
"I was starting to wonder about that," he muses as she reaches for her backpack, now wondrously once again dry after sitting next to the radiator.
Opening it, she's relieved to see the tough blue and tan canvas had protected its precious contents, packed this morning with the help of her charges. It's an ornate card in sturdy paper stock, decorated with all the care and enthusiasm of her class of third graders, complete with a fair amount of glitter to act as snow for a coterie of prancing reindeer.
The invitation it spells it out is clearly spelled out:
Come for Christmas Dinner, Mr. Grinch. Please.
"I told them it wasn't the best way to address you-" she hastens to add, but she needn't have worried. He's smiling, clearly charmed.
"It would be hard for anyone to turn down an invitation that adorable."
Hope springs.
"Then-"
It couldn't be that easy, she thinks, but then nothing tonight had gone remotely as she'd dared imagine.
"You'll come for the celebration?"
It would bring such joy to her students, it had been their only request after they had spent the morning rehearsing the centrepiece of the town's celebration - a beatific if slightly clumsy nativity play to take center stage Christmas night. As the final song had faded, Cindy Lou approached her with a request.
Can we invite everyone to the play?
Hence, after an afternoon spent carefully putting together the glittery invitation the Grinch now held under her supervision, she had dressed herself and R2 in all the layers she had and headed up the hill. She had made her way through the night and the snow to find herself here - had found herself all the way to this kitchen and this conversation with this surprising, delightful, charming man.
"The kids would be over the moon."
He hits her with mournful, pleading eyes of which R2 would be proud.
“And I expect you expect me to come to Christmas dinner - with everyone?”
Then he sighed, a long-suffering sigh, to match a hint of a growl, but she’s seen too much by now; she’s peeked behind the curtain now, and she's seen the truth of him. She's seen all that he is, so she sees how he plays with her.
“Yup,” she confirms, smiling, unrepentant, sure of her victory and her prey.
This time the sigh fades into a grin that, she’s sure, deliberately highlights his devastatingly attractive dimples.
“Well. If you- I mean, your lovely charges, ’ he corrects himself, ‘insist.”
She giggles a little, though she never giggles, but then she relaxes with him, and she’s relaxed with him.
“Tell me,” he asks, still working, “do they still put up that big hideous tree in the village hall?”
The central attraction - after her kid’s nativity play, of course - it is, as always, 12 feet tall, that tree, evergreen and broad as a barn.
“Of course.”
“Good,” he hums as he moves the warm pastries aside - closer to her - she notes; as he makes sure to freshen her tea so it’s again piping hot, he pushes all else to the side. Space now available, he pulls a thick stack of richly embossed, though tiny, cards, one inch wide by three long.
“Will you tell me of your students?”
And so she does, one after another, all thirty of them. Speaking, telling him of each one in turn, lingering on the details of their remarkable personalities, she notes how he listens to her descriptions as he inscribes each card with a student’s name. When he’s done with each one, he pulls a basket from a side cupboard one filled to the brim with gloriously vibrant candy canes, almost a foot tall every one.
Each soon has a card attached via a crimson ribbon.
"Their parents are going to hate you for giving them access to that much sugar," she notes, fond, amused, seeing how he signs each card with an ornate abbreviation, again in cursive emerald green - an 'S.E.' - for 'Santa's Elf'.
"They'll cope," he smiles, apparently unconcerned with the wrath of a multitude of sleep-deprived parents. "It's their teacher whose good opinion I care for."
She sips tea, enjoying watching him.
"Good thing tomorrow is the last day of school."
There’s a flash of his warm gaze and, again, that hint of dimples.
"Good thing indeed."
As he finishes, he places the candy canes back into the basket for hanging on the big tree after he drives her home. The tree is ready, waiting, she assures him. The village is lit, the decorations are hung, the wreaths on the doors glisten with snow, and the children await Christmas morning with bated breath.
"And you, Rey?" he asks, eyes suddenly dark. "Are you ready for Christmas Eve?"
She simply nods yes.
"You've hung your stocking? Put out cookies and milk for ole St. Nick?"
The air grows thick.
"Maybe tomorrow night, he can send an eager elf your way to keep you company as you wait."
As his eyes ask questions only she can read.
"If he did, would you like to invite him in?"
The air outside may be frosty, but Rey could live forever in the heat of this kitchen, luxuriating in the heat of his gaze.
"If, let's say, a very tall, very kind elf visited me in Santa's stead," she says, already feeling her smile beginning to spread, "of course, I would find it easy to let him in."
In the hopes he might still be there after the Christmas feast is eaten, the turkey, big enough to feed twenty, carved, is stripped and popped into the soup pot, the presents unwrapped, and the guests have drifted off, she thinks, wandering away into the night to sleep the deep sleep of the sated and the loved.
"Assuming," she continues, all unsaid, "that elf might bring the gifts promised by Santa himself."
It breaks the tension, her little joke; still, the heat remains in his eyes as he watches her.
"Dear Rey, there couldn't ever be only coal for your stocking - I simply wouldn’t allow it."
She might imagine it, the way it drifts unspoken - promises of kisses so heated they'd both have their names inscribed on the Naughty list.
"Well, then," if it's delivered to the kitchen table, this soft invitation that falls from her willing lips, only he will know. "I hope to see this elf on Christmas Eve."
Thankfully he doesn't embarrass her by commenting on the flush flooding her face, smiles, the press of his index finger against her pinky a comfort as their hands nestle near to one another on the table.
"Christmas can't come soon enough."
Tells her simply that it's past time he takes her home - R2 has long ago given up the ghost, snoring in front of the fire - she's yawning almost as hard.
Tells her she needs a treat to carry her home. Indulgent is indeed how she would describe the hot chocolate he gives her for the drive, a tumbler full to the brim with rich, thick melted cocoa and a modicum of creamy milk, topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream, decorated with a mix of evergreen and crimson sprinkles. He presses it into her hand after she's tucked R2, suited and booted, in the back of his car, already warmed for them, and waits until she's settled in his passenger seat. It's a full twenty-minute drive from his drive to hers, but it passes in a blink, the warmth of the company matching the decadence of her drink - she almost wishes she lived further.
There's a warm hug, and "I'll see you soon, Rey," breathed into her hair from his deep, dark, delicious voice before he departs.
And she would be sad, but there’s hope and uncontrollable joy in her heart - for Christmas Eve is tomorrow.
-
There had been another dusting of snow early that morning, giving everything a touch of magic. Rey hums along with the music that drifts through the village as she walks, almost skipping through the open doors of the old hall.
The big tree is adorned with both beautiful decorations and so many gifts that it almost bows over with the weight of them. Each is beautifully and carefully wrapped, only the differences in the paper giving an indication of the identity of the gift-giver. Each is addressed to a child from their village, from the tiniest tot to the grumpiest teen. Each is chosen to cater to individual tastes and interests with the hope that it might bring joy to the treasured youngsters of their home.
Scattered artistically, shining against the evergreen, are the massive candy canes gifted by the Grinch.
For just as he'd promised over hot chocolate and dainties, treats made by hands graceful and broad, the Grinch - more properly Ben Solo - has presented himself to the crowd - a crowd fascinated by his presence, even if afraid to wander near.
I’m often alone but never lonely; he'd told Rey last night. At least, he'd said, until he'd found a kindred spirit he might miss. Yet here he is, ignoring the looks, his hat and coat marking out his chosen seat, located, she notes, in the very first row, as he speaks quietly to the parents of Cindy-Lou.
He's an old friend, they told her, as his parents were before him. While he smirked as she stared, he swore to her quick.
"Today, I'll behave just like Saint Nick."
And as he ushered her off to her work with a rush unbecoming-
"Even my presence won't stop Christmas from coming."
Her students are champs, only slightly off-key as they sing “We Three Kings” to close out the Nativity play and soon the big old hall is filled with the laughter of overhyped, laughing children floating over the quiet hum of the equally eager adults.
“Mr. Grinch-” It becomes a chorus. “Mr. Grinch, Mr. Grinch,” she hears child after child giggle as they vie for his attention.
“It’s okay,” she hears his deep, delicious, gentle voice respond, an understanding warmth as light as whipped cream frothing his words.
“You can call me Ben.”
It’s almost lost to the happy din - “Mr. Grinch!”
He has to crouch all the way down from an impressive height, almost kneeling to look Cindy Lou Who in the eyes as she forces herself through the crowd of small tots to stand before him. And as he reaches a height she might reach as he all but kneels, she launches herself into his arms, her own tight around his neck, seemingly used to being there - as she stage whispers for all to hear.
“You promised you would take us all ice skating.”
A minx is Cindy Lou Who, one who clearly holds a very large, very intimidating and very grumpy - if human-shaped - Grinch in the palm of her tiny palm. Rey barely hears the sigh as he sighs once again that deep sigh she knows to be a show.
“Very well, little tyrant. But remember to dress warm; it’s frigid up on the top of Mt. Crumpit, and I only partake in skating parties on the prettiest of frozen mountain lakes.”
She giggles.
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Grinch! You know we have to go skating at the rink with all the Christmas lights.”
Another big sigh, the put-off vibes he seeks to convey, failing to hide the twinkle in his eyes.
“The one by City Hall?”
An emphatic nod from Cindy Lou’s tiny head follows.
“With all the people and the bustle and-” he sneers even as she giggles again. “all that noise? No, not the one with all that noise, Cindy Lou!”
Rey watches in amazement as the tiny girl playfully swats his broad chest.
“They’re called ‘carols, ’ silly.”
He makes a big deal of clutching his heart as if she’s wounded him.
“The. Horror. Must I really, Cindy Lou?”
Another nod, another little peal of giggles.
“Yup. You promised.”
He does a funny thing with his lip, twisting it with his teeth as if thinking.
“Well, if I must.”
Another deep sigh.
“I can’t promise to be nice, though,” he tells her as if in warning, the effect of it ruined as it is by the way he caters to her every whim.
She pats him again, her gesture reassuring this time, then runs off to find her parents and tell her friends, calling over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry; I’ll help you remember how.”
Thus, as planned, Rey shepherds 30 little ones, heads kept warm by elf hats they’d made in Rey’s class last week, to the rink at city hall. (It’d taken an army of volunteer high schoolers to watch over their younger counterparts as they’d hot-glued on the ears.)
Towering over the little ones all, an expected and welcome surprise is an additional chaperone called Ben, his big right hand held tight by Cindy Lou, his left by the smallest child in class, Myrtle May. As the Grinch - “Ben!” - helps shepherd the little ones onto the ice, tightening skate laces and pulling on gloves. It’s moments later before he takes to the ice himself, looking, if possible, even bigger but graceful and fast.
“He’s really good,” says Cindy Lou, as she drags Rey over as she wobbles widely on skates still new to her. “He can teach you.”
Serious, intent, she confides to the Grinch- “Miss Rey falls a lot.”
She doesn’t fall this day, not even once, and feels she might even grasp the fun of it under the warmth of Ben’s tutelage. For while it is crowded and it is loud, very, very loud, he’s calm - quietly encouraging.
And if the Grinch can do it - skate with an army of hyper tots - so can she.
As the sun sinks low, so much earlier at this time of year, one by one, the tiny denizens of her class slowly drift away to their parents, eager to head home and try desperately and likely unsuccessfully to wait up for Santa.
As they go, they grant little gifts.
A hug for their beloved teacher - “Merry Christmas, Miss Rey” - and a squeeze of a big hand on the part of most for the Grinch.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Grinch.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr.- um, Ben.”
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Grinch.”
For some such as Cindy Lou, though not her alone, there’s a tug on that big hand, insisting that tall, tall man, even taller in skates, squat down so they could reach their tiny little arms around his neck and squeeze a big hug as if to warm his (rumoured) puny, rumoured shrunken (three sizes too small, they say), heart.
“Don’t stay away too long, Mr. Grinch. We’ll miss you.”
At last, it is only she and Ben remaining, on an icy rink lit by twinkling fairy lights.
It grows dark early this time of year in her quiet mountain town, and the lights are as if silent guardians as he walks her home along quiet streets. They perhaps linger longer than they should, as he walks her to her door, her mittened swallowed up by his, but it is hard to say goodbye on this night when magic and love seem to fill the air.
It is hard to say goodbye.
"Remember to watch out for stray elves," he reminds her, "They may show in Santa's stead if he gets delayed."
Much like the children before her, she tugs at his big hand until he leans down to her level, this tall man who she somehow feels belongs in her life, this Christmas and all those that are to come.
"Santa's Elf is always welcome at my door," she whispers.
As she bravely risks her heart with a gentle kiss to his frozen cheek.
The smile that lingers long on her face after he’s gone from her door feels like it belongs there - more, it feels as though it is fated to bloom again and again. She wishes the source of it back again, even as she turns on her Christmas lights.
Thinks of hanging mistletoe - laughs at her whim and knows, deep and certain to the bone, that she needs no enticement for her Ben to gift her all the kisses.
Smiles at whimsy and allows herself an indulgence.
Festoons sprigs of fake mistletoe made from green craft paper in as many places as she can reach. As she watches the minutes tick by so slowly to midnight on the old anagram clock of her stove and as she waits oh so patiently for the knock of a tall elf on her door.
(Or perhaps not so patiently; maybe she belongs on Santa’s Naughty list after all.)
Sings Christmas carols along with the ones that play on her radio and waits impatiently as the quiet, stubborn minutes tick by. Prepares a delicious feast. Plates aged cheddar and thin salami, salty crackers and indulgent green grapes meant to burst bright on the tongue.
She is rewarded when, not a minute past midnight, a knock sounds on her door.
For there stands an Elf in the shape of a tall man once thought of as a Grinch, a white box of pastries in hand. There’s classic Christmas rock playing on her radio; she’s grateful for the way it weaves between them as the snow drift from his hat as he removes it, and his hair springs free, tousled and dark, the thick richness of it only dusted with snow.
As he hands her his gift, he winks.
“Check out the cookie on top.”
The size of her palm and in the shape of the Grinch from the famous children's book, the sugar cookie he has made just for her is delicately decorated with icing of green, white and red. For it is a Grinch who has discovered the joy of Christmas. There's a hint of a smile on his face.
“It’s okay,” his sly namesake says as he watches. “Go ahead; you can bite his head off.”
She laughs and puts him carefully to the side; let’s him live one more day. Draws her companion to sit by the fire, to indulge in a midnight feast of savoury and sweet, and tell stories of Christmases long, long ago.
For Santa Claus, just as Rey had hoped, doesn't make it to her door that Christmas Eve.
Instead, she's graced with a man who finds her as delightful as any might wish. Them two, the tall and small, talk long into the night, snuggled up tight against the storm. As R2 dozes happily at their feet, and as cocoa and companionship warm their souls.
As they remember all the ways how the magic of Christmas, merry and joyful, comes in the night, carried in the hearts of family and those who might as well be. As it finds a home in those who might well be family in all the years to come.
For Rey knew, later, much, much later in the night as she saw her guest - her very own Christmas elf - reluctantly out into the howling storm that he'd be back in the bright morning light, that he would form an important part of her life in all the years to come, just as she knew the feelings they both feel are right.
And she knew, deep, deep done, with a certainty that some might envy, that he'd be there, just as promised, for the Christmas feast.
-
Just outside of Whoville, in a cozy old house tucked snug into the deep, dark forests on the side of Mt. Crumpit, lived Ben Solo - who so many had once called Grinch.
Though they knew him not, the denizens of Whoville always imagined him on Christmas Eve grumbling: "Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!"
But there is always more to the story than appears. For as mistaken as they were in most regards, the residents of Whoville were right in that the dim of the season hurt Ben Solo's head - and for good reason.
For it is true that there's a great deal of clamour this time of year - and! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise!
So, yes, he found it hard to think in the Noise! Noise! Noise! All the rushing and greeting making it so hard to think!
But it wasn't true that he hated Christmas, no, the truth was, he loved it a great deal, just as he loved to SING! SING! SING!, his hand held in those big and small, in the company of friends new and old.
Most especially, he loved it when he found his seat at the Christmas feast, his person surrounded by Whos so happy to welcome him. As they'd all come together to laugh, be merry and feast - FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! As they feasted on Who-pudding, and filled their stomachs with rare Who-roast beast.
As Ben Solo, the Grinch of Old Alderaan Hill, that Grinch who behaved in ways not at all grinchy, made sure to bring all the dainties to fill his neighbours' hearts with joy and their mouths with delicate tastes of vanilla, sugar and spice. Who made sure to bake them every type of sweet sweets.
Who made sure to pass the very first plate to his beloved Miss Rey, seated at his side, having first filled it full to overflowing.
For his heart wasn't three sizes too small, after all.
No, his heart was as large as anyone’s, just as it had never been frozen any more than his feet - and if his heart was tight, it was only because it struggled to hold such joy!
And it was MERRY in Whoville that Christmas day, so VERY! As he, HE HIMSELF! The Grinch carved the roast beef!