Page 6 of Pretty Relentless

“Three. We’ll do presents and eat dinner. Great-Grandma Pierson is going to come over for a bit too after church. I think Grandma wants to do games.”

Annabelle smirks. “I hope it’s Scrabble. Remember last year when Fletcher threw the board across the room when I beat him?”

I chuckle, heading toward the diner. Fletcher is my brother’s oldest. He’s eighteen and competitive as hell, especially in the classroom. So to lose to his younger cousin was a blow to his ego. “I’m guessing the Scrabble board will be put away this year,” I tell her, finding a parking spot right on the street in front of the diner. Turning off the truck, I spin my attention her way. “Even though itaccidentallywent flying from the table.”

My eleven-year-old daughter giggles the sweetest sound. “Yeah,‘accidentally,’” she repeats, using her fingers to make air quotes.

“Come on. Let’s go have breakfast, and then you can help me get a few last-minute gifts,” I state, grabbing my keys and slipping from my truck.

“Can we go to the bookstore?” she asks, her brown eyes full of hope and excitement.

I pause on the sidewalk outside the diner. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I know,” she sings. “What better time to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior than with a new book?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes and offering me a big grin.

Laughing, I open the door and follow her inside. “We’ll see. We have to get something else for Bethany,” I tell her, referring to my sister’s youngest daughter.

“I know just the thing! At Thanksgiving, she was talking about the Star Friends books! We can get her some of those.They’re really good,” she says as Ellie walks over to where we stand.

“Hey, guys. Have a seat wherever,” Ellie states with a friendly smile. “Chocolate milk?” she asks Annabelle, who eagerly nods. When Ellie glances my way, she adds, “Coffee and water?”

“You’re the best, Ellie,” I tell her, following behind Annabelle as she heads for one of the available booths.

Frannie’s Diner is a local staple, serving the best home-cooked meals around. Fran still works, but not nearly as much as she used to. Ellie Dexter has been managing this place for years, starting here in high school. When she got pregnant at seventeen, it was Fran who took her in, giving her a job and a place to stay when her parents kicked her out. She married TD, the local police officer and football coach, last summer, and they seem pretty happy.

Annabelle and I just got our coats off and placed on the booth seat beside us when Ellie returns with our drinks. “Are you ready for Christmas, Annabelle?”

“Yes,” my daughter proclaims. “I get two whole days of Christmases. Today with my dad and tomorrow with my mom.”

“Well, that sounds like a lot of fun. And a lot of gifts,” she adds with a chuckle. “Are you having the French toast or the pancakes today?”

“French toast,” my daughter replies.

“Whipped cream and strawberries?”

“Of course!”

Smiling, Ellie turns her attention my way. “The usual for you?” she asks, remembering every detail of my usual order without making one note.

“Please,” I reply, tearing open two sugar packets and dropping the contents into my coffee.

“Coming right up!” she proclaims, spinning around to put our orders in with the kitchen.

The bell over the door chimes, and as usual, everyone turns to see who’s arriving. Since it’s so close to Christmas, we don’t have a lot of tourists in town right now, which means the newcomers are most likely local. I turn, spotting TD and Ellie’s son, Brody, entering the diner.

TD gives me a wave in greeting, but his attention is drawn quickly to his wife. They share a smile, and as if two magnets drawn to each other, they both move and meet in the middle of the diner. “Hello, wife,” he mutters right before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

“Husband,” she murmurs, practically singing that one word. Then, she quickly turns her attention to Brody. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Mom,” he mumbles, his hair slightly askew and his eyes heavy.

She chuckles. “Booth or table?”

“Counter,” TD states, slapping Brody on the back of the shoulder and guiding him toward the far end of the room, where the long counter is situated.

“I’ll be up in a few,” she chimes in behind them, making a few stops to refill cups of coffee.

“Brody looks a little tired,” I say when she reaches our table.

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