Page 12 of The Grumpiest Elf

He ignores me, but his shoulders shake and his voice quivers with suppressed laughter as he calls the attention of the kids, counting down to take the pictures.

Turning away, I catch Nora watching us, and she gives me a knowing grin, but I just shake my head at her. Whatever she thinks she knows, she’s wrong.

CHAPTERSEVEN

Dylan

I’ve just satdown on the couch after my long weekend shift when Dad comes in wearing flannel pants and his newest Christmas sweater. This one is blue with a snowman on it, with a “real” scarf that dangles off.

“I didn’t realize you had an ugly sweater party to go to already,” I tell him when he appears.

“Ha. Ha,” he says. “Hilarious. Just for that, you can come help me shovel.”

“Aw, man,” I protest. “I’m tired. And I just sat down.”

Dad shrugs. “I’m tired too, but the snow won’t clear itself. Come on. If we do it together, it’ll get done faster, and your mom’ll have hot cocoa and the shepherd’s pie warmed up and waiting for us.”

Sighing, I stand and follow him to the garage, resigned to the chore. Honestly, me getting conscripted into shoveling has nothing to do with my comment on his sweater. It would’ve happened anyway, and it was only wishful thinking that he’d let me relax for a few minutes first. We’ve been gone all day, and it’s snowed about six inches since this morning, most of it in the last hour.

He fires up the snow blower, and I grab the shovel to clear the walkway and sidewalks, scraping up the snow that got driven over that the snowblower can’t get up after he finishes with the driveway.

When we’re done, he gives me a side hug. “Thanks for the help, Dylan. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Dad.” That makes him chuckle, probably because I was acting so put out when he told me to help him, but he accepts it.

Dad was right about the shepherd’s pie. As soon as we’re back in the house, the smell has my mouth watering. When we get to the kitchen, Mom greets us both with hugs and kisses.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says to me as I bend so she can kiss my cheek. “You make such short work of it with the two of you.”

“You’re welcome, Mom.”

“Aww, such a sweet mother-son moment,” Nora coos sarcastically as she sets mugs on the table.

“Oh, you hush,” Mom scolds her, though there’s no heat behind the words. Nora just smiles in response and continues setting the table while Mom brings over the food.

Once we’ve all served ourselves and taken the first few bites, Mom says, “Now, we need to discuss some upcoming scheduling. There’s a party at the Hudgins House this week with some fancy, out-of-town business people. They’ve requested a Santa appearance, so we’ll be there for about an hour in the evening on Thursday. Since it’s off-site, it’ll obviously pay time and a half and set up and tear down is included. I’m planning on scheduling Lydia since she’s great with kids and I know she wants as many hours as I’ll give her.”

Mention of Lydia has my ears perking up, and I remember our exchange earlier today. I bury my smile at the way she teased me in a bite of dinner, keeping my eyes trained on my plate as Mom continues. “I’ll need at least one of you to be there, since you both know how to set up and tear down the portable set the best.”

“Not it!” Nora shouts, sitting up straight and touching her finger to her nose. “I already have plans with Joanie and Stacey that night.” Turning to me, she bats her big eyes at me. “I know I’m scheduled to work that day, but if you could cover the afternoon for me, I’d really appreciate it, Dylan.” She clasps her hands in front of her, holding them out to me in supplication. “Pleeeease,” she wheedles, and I can’t suppress a sigh of annoyance at her antics. “Pretty, pretty please, Dylan? With cherries on top?”

When I don’t immediately respond, she picks up her fork again. “It makes the most sense anyway,” she says, “since you’d have to come load up the camera and lights. This way, you can load the portable set in the truck before you come take over, then get the camera and lights before you and Lydia go to the party.”

Mom and Dad are both nodding. “She makes a good point,” Dad says.

My brows pinch. “Wait, Lydia’s working all day,andat the party?” And that means she’ll be helping me load the big pieces of painted plywood that get screwed together to form the backdrop for Santa’s chair. He uses a padded bench covered in red velvet for these kinds of events rather than the throne he sits on at the ChristmasFest. There’s also a variety of smaller pieces—potted trees, garland, and the usual props of books and stuffed animals—to round out the set and make it look good. I hope Mom remembers to tell her she’ll be helping with that part too, because setup and breakdown is a two person job.

Mom nods, swallowing. “But I’m going to offer her the next day off, or at least the morning if she still wants to work part of the day.”

I grunt. I guess that isn’t so bad. Glancing at Nora, I catch her hiding a grin, and I narrow my eyes at her.

“So you’ll do it?” Dad asks, and surprisingly, it’s a genuine question, not the kind where you know the answer he expects and you better give it, or else.

I shrug. “Yeah, fine. I’ll cover the afternoon for you, Nora.” I don’t have plans, anyway. I didn’t keep in touch with my high school friends like Nora has, so I don’t have much of a social life when I’m home.

“Good. It’s not like you have anything else to do,” she snickers.

“Be nice,” Mom admonishes, and I let it stand at that, because anything I’d add would only get me a similar response from her, if not worse.

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