Page 46 of No Business Like Snow Business

“In trouble with who?”

I shrugged. “The town council? The county? People with allergies?”

“Who’s going to say no to cats? Especially if we get them right before Christmas.”

“You’ll have to give them appropriately Christmas Falls-y names,” Sterling said a bit hoarsely, staring straight ahead as we approached downtown.

Martha leaned forward to tell me, “Just go straight through town and out the other end. Then keep driving.”

“What names would you go with?” I asked Sterling, to get him to focus on something besides his nerves.

“I don’t know. Carol?”

“No, that’s terrible. Carol’s not a cat’s name. Is it? I don’t think it is.”

“Mittens, then?”

“Oh, that’s smart. Winter-themed. But is it Christmassy enough? We’ll put it on the shortlist.”

My phone buzzed again. The next time we sat at a red light, I took it out.

My stomach dropped like dead weight.

Text after text from Steven.I’m not home, I’m downtown.

Meet at the Museum?

Where are you? I’m at the museum.

Where are you?

I scrolled up, already knowing what I’d find. The text from Martha, the one meant for Sterling:I’m coming to see you. Don’t go anywhere yeti.

“It’s green,” Sterling murmured, and I was confused until I looked up at the light and jammed on the gas.

Martha made a startled sound, and Sterling went, “Whoa there.”

I eased back a little. “Sorry.” I’d deal with the Steven situation later. Or, I’d deal with it as soon as we reached Win’s. I’d just send Steven a text saying the first text had been meant for someone else.

That would definitely go over great.

thirteen

STERLING

Uncle Freddy and Kyle lived on a farm about twenty-five miles outside of Christmas Falls. Once the awkwardness inside the car diffused a little, Martha told us enthusiastically that Freddy—Win—and his husband grew hydroponic tomatoes year-round, and had grown an award-winning pumpkin last year as well.

“I keep telling them they ought to have a Christmas tree farm,” Martha said. “But they say they’d never be able to compete with the Milton Falls Tree Farm.”

She told us this as she directed Harvey to pull into a long, winding gravel drive. At the top was a gorgeous log home with vaulted ceilings and smoke pouring from a stone chimney. The high windows glowed gold, and I could already make out the silhouette of a Christmas tree in the great room. “Wow,” I said, forgetting my nerves for a moment.

“Yeah.” Harvey craned his neck to see out the window as he shut the car off. “This is incredible.”

He’d seemed kind of jumpy the past twenty minutes or so. Maybe he was as nervous as I was about meeting Freddy. Or maybe, just maybe, this had something to do with the name I’dseen on his phone screen out of the corner of my eye when we were stopped at that light.

Fucking Steven.

If everything worked out here at the magical hydroponic tomato cabin, and I could get through this meeting without Freddy hating me or me hating myself, I was going to go full Christmas-morning-Scrooge, wishing everyone I passed on the street a Merry Christmas and offering them giant turkeys and shit. Except Steven. For Steven, I’d wish for him to have a really nice, expensive winter hat eaten by a reindeer. I’d wish he’d get snow in his boots so his goddamn socks would be wet all day. I’d have liked to wish far worse on him, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t be in keeping with the Christmas Falls spirit.

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