Page 15 of The Naughty List

“There!”I can’t help the grin from spreading across my face as I put the final touches on the mistletoe booth. It’s not exactly in my job description…making the hot cocoa stand and the kissing booth…but I figured I could help Meri and Brighton cut costs if I used their lumbar and supplies to create some of the magic as opposed to going out and buying it.

Plus, half of my college degree is creativity based, so it feels kind of nice to be using it while also doing what I love. I’ve always had quite the knack for painting and creating things from scratch, and it just so happens the Winters family has had everything I needed for both of these projects.

I head over to the oversized utility sink in the barn and rinse my paint brushes, setting them in a red Solo cup to dry out.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” a voice I’ve come to know as Elliott’s reverberates throughout the barn and I turn to find him staring at my finally finished projects. “Mom sent me down here to tell you dinner is ready,” he says, not taking his eyes off the mistletoe booth. “Also, the snow is really starting to come down out there. It’s getting nasty out.”

I look over to the windows of the barn and see he’s definitely right. It’s seriously looking like a winter wonderland out there. “I didn’t even realize,” I say, noting how much time has passed since I started working. “Thanks again for keeping an eye on Sawyer. Is he up at the house?” I ask, assuming. “If that boy gets even a whiff of food within a few miles radius, he’s on it. Meri’s cooking will have him in a food coma.” I let out a laugh, feeling so much lighter now that both of these projects are done and everything else on my to-do list has been checked off over the last few days.

Meri has invited me to dinner every single night I’ve been here. I haven’t always accepted, but on the nights I do, I sleep like a baby. Her food is incredible. It’s like a cooking show every single night. Everything looks like it could be pictured in magazines and it tastes even better—somehow. If that’s even possible. I’m excited for Sawyer to have a home-cooked meal like this. Once I’m done with this project and we are settled back at home with a normal routine, I need to make sure I’m cooking meals like Meri’s. I’m not naive enough to think they’ll be anywhere near as tasty. But my nights of ordering in takeout or heating up Ramen need to be over. It’s not just me anymore.

“Yep. Mom has him helping her with the potatoes. He’s been mashing for a while now.” He further examines the booth and comments, “You’re really talented, Tillie. This looks like something a professional would do.” He stops and then shakes his head. “Not that you aren’t a professional, but you know what I mean. Like…a set designer or something. I don’t know the name for it but damn, these are incredible.”

I thank him, even though I’ve never been great at accepting compliments, and I take a moment to look over what I’ve done. The actual building aspect of things was the hardest part. A couple of the farmhands lent their help with it, but for the most part, I did it all on my own, and I’m proud of it. I admire the candy cane-esque pattern I’ve painted on the wood. “Shoot!” I say, immediately realizing what I’ve forgotten.

Elliott’s brows quirk as I hurry over to one of my endless bins I’ve been digging decorations out of and grab mistletoe from it. I hang it on the hook in the center of the booth and it becomes the focal point of the booth—which I’m totally fine with. The booth itself is cute but everyone will be there to kiss underneath the mistletoe.

“Almost forgot the best part,” I say with a chuckle, backing away from the booth and giving it one more look over. “Perfect.”

Elliott walks up to me with his arms crossed over his chest, and his scent, something else I’ve grown familiar with, permeates from him. It’s dark and mysterious, woodsy and airy. It’s a scent I’ve really come to like—annoyingly enough, since it’s Elliott’s.

Although I’ve also started to have quite the soft spot for him, too.

Between how I’ve seen him care for his parents, the way he loves his brother and this farm, and his thoughtfulness for the staff, he really is a great person. Even if our first meeting told me the exact opposite.

“I mean, I’m totally down to test the booth if you need someone,” he says with a grin, and I nudge him as I walk past him.

“Let’s go, lover boy,” I say, knowing there’s no way he hasn’t felt the switch flip a bit over the past couple weeks. “Don’t want to keep your mother waiting.”

FOURTEEN

ELLIOTT

As soon aswe walk into the main house, laughter echoes through the hallway. Swirls of butter and herbs greet us before we see any person. My stomach grumbles at the thought of filling my stomach with my momma’s mashed potatoes and garlic butter chicken. If we’re lucky, Clara brought dessert from Ivy House.

Without a doubt, Mom is living her best life right now. For a long time, our house was the after school, after games, weekend hangout spot. Merilyn Winters may only have two boys by birth, but she definitely took on the role of “mom” to so many of Bennett and my friends when we were kids.

But with me moving to Boston and Bennett all settled in his cabin on the northeast side of the property, the main house has been pretty quiet. The six bedroom cabin was big when it was the four of us here all the time, so I can only imagine how small Mom feels in this big empty house somedays. Bennett and Clara make a point to spend Sunday dinners with my parents, but for the most part, it’s just Mom and Dad.

Not tonight though.

They’ve got a full house tonight.

Bennett needed no coaxing once he found out that my mom was making garlic butter chicken. No one in this town can compete with Clara’s baking, but I learned real fast that there is a difference between cooking and baking the first, and last, time I went to their cabin for dinner. Not only was it awkward as hell because they’re so touchy feely every second they’re within range to do so, I forced myself to eat a whole bowl of crunchy pasta and sauce that tasted like she took ocean water and put some tomatoes in it.

Noelle, Clara’s best friend, has been staying at the Blackbird Inn—a bed and breakfast in town—for the last couple weeks. I don’t dare ask what happened. My mom offered her the guest cabin, but Noelle said that she was “stimulating the small town economy” by staying at the B&B. You know, rich people shit. She’s here tonight though.

As soon as she sees Tillie walk in the room, her eyes light up and she waves Tillie over to where she’s standing with my mom and Clara, each of them, with a glass of wine in their hand.

My mom turns, sees Tillie, and immediately goes into hostess mode. She’s offered her four different wines before she looks in my direction. If I weren’t under Tillie’s spell myself, I might be a little hurt.

“Hi honey,” she says, pointing to the drink cart on the back wall. “There’s whiskey on the cart and beers in the fridge. Bennett brought some fancy blueberry beer from Maine, but there’s also Sam Adams. Your dad, Bennett,” she pauses and glances at Tillie, “and Sawyer are in the living room. Your brother pulled an old gaming system from his room and hooked it up on the big TV.”

She shifts her attention back to Tillie. “Whatcha drinking, sweetie?”

“Just water, please.” Tillie offers my mom a small, tight smile. “I don’t really drink, and I’ll need every ounce of clarity to make it home tonight.”

The thought of Tillie driving home in this shit makes my stomach knot. This whole day has been a mix of rain, sleet, and snow. We were expecting a wintery mix, but nothing like we’ve gotten. Bennett even closed the tree lot early and sent all the farmhands to the bunkhouse early so everyone could take hot showers and enjoy a warm meal.

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