Page 34 of No Business Like Snow Business

“I met your grandmother,” I told him, just to see his expression morph into one of horror. “She invited me to dinner.”

“Oh god.” He buried his face in his hands briefly, before straightening up again. “You can ignore that. It would be too weird, right?”

I almost smiled at the realization I wasn’t the only one trying to figure out what was weird and what wasn’t in this unprecedented thing that Harvey and I had fallen into. “I mean, I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

“You don’t?” His brow creased and then he shrugged. “She does make a mean chicken pot pie.”

A voice yoo-hooed from the next room. Literally yoo-hooed.

“Ooh, my audience awaits.” Harvey’s eyes shone with mischief. “Meet you in the archive room when they’re gone?”

I liked the promise in his expression. “Hell, yes.”

He waggled his eyebrows in a way that was entirely unsexy, but made up for it by being ridiculous, and hurried back to the museum visitors.

I went to the archive room and pulled out the boxes we’d gone through last time. It really was a window into Christmas Past. Well, Christmas Falls Past. There was nothing in here that resembled any Christmases I’d ever known. Looking through the old photographs, the newspaper articles, the faded flyers, it was impossible not to smile at the happiness and joy that still shone through, decades later. I stared at a photograph of a group of people lining up to watch the parade. Had Freddy been in the crowd when this photograph was taken? Had he been as shocked by Christmas Falls as I had been? Had he wondered what they were hiding too, because nobody was this naturally nice; there had to be some angle they were playing?

In the case of Christmas Falls, the obvious angle was that the festival had saved their small town, but that didn’t mean the joy and the kindness wasn’t real. I’d experienced too much of it here to doubt it. The people here actually looked after each other because it was the right thing to do. Which was the sort of mind-blowing revelation I really hadn’t been prepared for.

Had Freddy been as unprepared for Christmas Falls as I was?

I wondered, again, why he’d come here in the first place. Had he been following Cap Guy, or had he only met him once he was here? I might never know. That was life, I guessed. You didn’t always get an answer. And it wasn’t as though the mystery mattered. I cared whether or not Freddy was alive or dead. I cared about finding that out without anyone on the board, or in the family—which was the same thing in most cases—discovering what I was doing. That was the purpose of my visit to Christmas Falls. Except it didn’t explain why, when I looked at Harvey and felt the warmth of his smile, I found myself wondering if Freddy had been happy here too. Had Cap Guy brightened up Freddy’s world? Had he even realized it was so horribly fuckingbeigebefore meeting him?

I pulled out a few more photographs. A little girl sat on her father’s shoulders, open-mouthed with delight as she pointed at the passing parade. A pair of teenage girls bought cotton candy from a stall. A group of kids threw snowballs at each other in what was possibly Sugar Plum Park. I didn’t know if these people were residents, or if they were tourists drawn here by the promise of Christmas joy to be had and shared. The next photographs were of carolers, ice skaters, and elves. I recognized one or two familiar locations around Christmas Falls. That wasn’t so much a sign I’d been here for any significant amount of time, just a reminder that despite its huge heart, this was a very small town.

I went through the rest of the archive box and then started on the next one before it occurred to me Harvey hadn’t come and interrupted me yet. I checked my phone and realized at least thirty minutes had passed. Were the museum visitors really that invested in every exhibit? There wasn’t that much to see, surely.

I put the lid back on the box and let myself out of the archives.

The main area was empty, but I could hear Harvey’s voice coming from the next room. His tone didn’t sound as friendly as usual, and unease prickled my skin as I hurried to find him. When I stepped into the room with the mechanical Santa, I wasn’t surprised to see Steven, Harvey’s ex, standing there. He was pointing a camera in Santa’s direction, but his gaze was pinned to Harvey.

Harvey looked tense, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his arms folded across his chest.

“Hi,” I said, and crossed the room, closing the space between us. I leaned in and pecked his cheek, and ran a soothing hand down his arm. “There you are.”

Harvey unfurled like a sea anemone, and even managed a smile. “Here I am.”

I kept an arm around him as I turned to face Steven. “Stuart, wasn’t it?”

“Steven,” he corrected, his tone a little sharp.

“Oh, sorry,” I lied. “So you’re here for the—what was it, again? Photos of the museum for a new tourist brochure?”

“That’s right.” Steven snapped a quick picture of mechanical Santa. “I didn’t realize you’d be here too.”

I’ll bet.

“Oh, I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d stop by and take Harvey out to lunch.”

Steven’s expression soured, but Harvey’s brightened.

I remembered how I’d offered to play the fake boyfriend with him when we’d just met. It would have gone something like this, I guessed, except nothing about this scenario felt fake at all. Was Harvey my boyfriend? No, what we had was too new, too nebulous, to carry the weight of a label like that. Harvey was someone I liked, someone with whom I had amazing chemistry, and someone I ultimately wouldn’t know for more than a week. I had a life in New York, and he had one here, and a few days wasn’t enough to uproot our entire lives. You didn’t take a gamble like that on a “what if” situation. Hell, in my family there was no such thing as gambling when it came to relationships. New relationships didn’t come with flowers and chocolates in the Van Ruyven family, they came with attorneys. An engagement was accompanied with an ironclad prenup, and a breakup with an NDA. Romantic stuff.

I tried to imagine my parents involved in a spirited discussion about who was better, Nancy Drew or Trixie Belden. I had no idea what they talked about when they were alone, but I bet it was nothing like that.

Their loss.

“I would love to go to lunch,” Harvey said. “I’m sure Steven won’t take too much longer. Will you, Steven?”

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