Page 14 of No Business Like Snow Business

I loved my grandma to bits, but in another life she could have been a professional interrogator. I could just imagine her in some kind of military uniform, turning on a light to shine it in a prisoner’s eyes and saying, “Tell me all about the plans.” Except in Grandma’s case, it wasn’t the stolen nuclear codes or anything, it was whether or not I was happy with my life, if I had any plans for the future, and if there was anyone I was interested in. To which the answers were, respectively,Yes,I don’t know,andPlease stop trying to set me up with guys, Grandma,because despite all appearances to the contrary I can actually get my own dates.

“It’s been a while since you had fun, hasn’t it?”

“No,” I said. “I have fun all the time. I’m a fun person.”

“I just meant that you’ve not been your usual self,” Grandma said. She pursed her lips into a disapproving line, so I knew what she was going to say before she even uttered the words: “Not since your breakup with Steven.”

I could hear the air quotes around ‘breakup.’

Which was fair, because did it even count as a breakup when you were never actually in a relationship to begin with? I’d thought we were boyfriends, whereas Steven had thought we were just casual. And Steven’sactualboyfriend, I was sure, would have strong opinions on my use of the word. The fact that Steven hadn’t wanted me to tell anyone we were together should have been a red flag, but the thing about red flags is that they were invisible until you took off your rose-colored glasses.

“Excuse you, I have fun,” I said. “I went on that date with Jett.”

Grandma raised an eyebrow. “And how did that work out?”

“Well, now I have a new friend. Which is great.”

Jettwasgreat, we just hadn’t had any actual chemistry. Whatever we should have been feeling on that date, neither of us had been. But he was a great guy, and I was glad we were friends. It wasn’t as though being friends was a consolation prize or anything. I loved my friends, they just didn’t help me get laid.

Ugh.

And now I was thinking about getting laid, or not, in a car with Grandma.

I was also thinking of Sterling, and how handsome he was, and the ridiculous offer he’d made to pretend to be my boyfriend if we ran into Steven at the museum. He probably would havejust held my hand or something, right? Not thrown me over one of the vendor tables of the Arts and Crafts Fair and ravished me?

That scenario should have been in no way as hot as I suddenly found it.

“Harvey?” Grandmas asked.

“Mmm?”

“You’ve missed the turn,” she said, eyes sparkling as we took a slightly longer route into our neighborhood.

Our house was on Oak Street. It was a small bungalow-style home, a perfect match for all its modest neighbors. It was cream with blue trim, and for most of the year the front garden burst with color from all the flowers that Grandma planted out. In winter, those bursts of color came from the Christmas lights that decorated the front porch. Unlike some of our neighbors—looking at you, Herb Larson—our front lawn wasn’t a blinding display of lights that could be seen from space, but we did just fine. This year I’d found a huge inflatable reindeer for sale at the hardware store, and it towered over the mailbox and the other yard decorations. I hoped we wouldn’t get any storms before Christmas, because that thing would be a pain in the ass to deflate and move.

I carried Grandma’s quilting bag inside for her—that thing got bigger every week, I swore—and said, as I unlocked the door, “Chloe says I should get a museum kitten.”

“That’s what you’re going with?” Grandma asked, shutting the door and then shrugging her coat off. “Not the handsome man that you’ve been seen around town with today?”

Gossip traveled fast in Christmas Falls, especially in Grandma’s circles.

“I’m helping him research,” I said. “And don’t say?—”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“I said not to say it!”

“You didn’t!” She hung her coat on the hook by the door, eyes twinkling. “I was too quick for you!”

“Ugh.” I set her bag down, waiting until she’d gone past me before I took my coat and boots off. “Did you eat yet?”

She headed for the kitchen. “Not yet.”

“Do we have anyleftover soup?” I asked, following her into the cozy kitchen.

Grandma made the best chicken and sweetcorn soup. It was perfect for cold nights.

Grandma opened the refrigerator, a sound of triumph escaping her when she discovered we had soup left.

---