Page 36 of A More Than Mayhem Christmas

“Dad?” a voice calls from behind Tom. “What’s going on?”

Another voice. “Yeah, what’s going on?”

Tom moves to the side, revealing the twins, Lincoln and Liam, approaching.

Logan burps. “I think I may have drunk too much. My vision’s blurred, and I’m seeing double.”

“Ha-ha,” Lincoln deadpans. “We’veliterallynever heard that one before.”

“Literally never,” Liam echoes, then asks, “What are you guys doing?”

Tom side-eyes them, answering for us, “Apparently they need ingredients to make a wedding cake.”

“Huh,” the twins respond, in sync.

Logan sighs. “Now I’mhearingdouble.”

I say, trying to defuse the situation, “We’ll be out of your hair in, like, two minutes.”

Logan lifts the plate he’s helped himself to. “This is really good, Mr. Preston. Did you?—”

“Yo, that’s mine,” Lachlan, the youngest Preston at fourteen, appears out of nowhere and steps into the room, taking the plate from Logan and reapplying the cling wrap. He sets it back in the fridge, closes the door, and stands in front of it, arms crossed.

Logan looks from Lachlan to the twins and back again. “Did I just time travel?”

I chuckle. I can’t help it. Then I quote a line from my favorite movie. “Where we’re going…” I wait for someone to finish it for me, but all I get is dead stares. I mumble to myself, “1.21 gigawatts.”

“There should be stuff in the pantry,” Tom says after a beat. “I’m going back to bed.”

Liam sighs, then quickly moves around the room, grabbing a bunch of ingredients for me. Just between me and me, I’ve always liked Liam the best, even going back to the days when I coached him in little league. Of all the Preston Punks, Liam gives me the least amount of shit. He hands me flour, some cans of fruit, milk, eggs, sugar and whipped cream. “This should do you.”

I open the carton of eggs, collect one, and crack it over Logan’s head. Then hand the carton back to him. “We have plenty of these. Thanks, Uncle Twinny,” I tell him, using Katie’s name for the twins. She can’t tell them apart yet, and I understand completely. Based on appearance alone, I only started to tell them apart last year.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Lachlan asks, looking up at Dylan.

Dylan squares his shoulders, crosses his arms, andgrunts.

Lachlan nods once, then glances my direction. “Cool dude.”

“We better get started on this,” I tell them, lifting the ingredients. “We’re working against the clock.”

The Preston boys file out of the kitchen without saying a word, switching off the light as they leave.

I hand Dylan our supplies so I can lock up and then get back on the golf cart. It’s not until we’re back at the cabin and have the ingredients set out on the counter that I realize we didn’t even get everything the recipe needed. “Shit.”

Dylan shoves me out of the way, then rolls up his sleeves. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I got this.”

“You burned the cookies,” Logan reminds him.

Dylan chuckles, turning to Logan. “You’re not even supposed to be on our team.”

“Yeah,” I joke. Then mock, “You don’t even go here.”

“Fuck y’all,” Logan laughs out, retrieving a mixing bowl. “Best cake wins. Winner takes all.”

“Defineall,” Dylan questions.

Logan pulls out his wallet, slams it on the counter. “Whatever is in there.”

---