Page 23 of Mistletoe Love Match
He plastered on a grin and accepted the call, but Calliope’s beefcake of a brother’s face didn’t greet them.
A kid glared at him from the other side of the screen. “Oy, boyo,” Sebastian, Calliope’s seven-year-old nephew, barked in a surly British accent.
What was up with the kid? He and Sebastian had become great pals over the last few months. He loved spending time with him, but he’d never seen the boy like this.
“Hey, Sebastian,” he said, treading carefully. “I thought your dad was calling me.”
“Don’t you ‘hey, Sebastian’me, boyo. I’m using my dad’s phone. I need to get ahold of my auntie Calliope. She isn’t answering her mobile, and Aunt Callista said she was riding with you to Rickety Rock. I don’t know where she is, and that’s your fault. You had one job, mate. Auntie Calliope is supposed to be here for Christmas Eve. We always spend Christmas Eve together, and she’s not here.”
The Cress family had spirit in spades.
“Your aunt is just fine, Sebastian. She’s safe, and she’s right here.” He went to pass the phone to Calliope and found her sporting the same gruff expression as her nephew.
“Oy, boyo,” Calliope shot back with a stern bend to her accent. “Is that how you talk to adults now? Granny Fin, your dad, Callista, and I taught you better, yeah?”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry, Auntie Calliope. I was worried about you.”
“Come on, lad, you don’t have to act like that,” she said, her tone softening. “Now, apologize to Alec.”
The kid mustered a weak grin. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to act like a right tosser.”
Alec couldn’t let the kid feel like whatever a right tosser was on Christmas Eve. He held the phone so both he and Calliope could be in the frame. “I get it, buddy. You care about your aunt Calliope.”
“Of course he does. I’m his favorite aunt,” Calliope teased, resurrecting a wry grin.
And then it hit. Alec must not have checked his voicemail. “Hey, Sebastian, did my brother mention that he got a message from me?”
The boy scrunched up his face, pondering the question. “I don’t think so, but I haven’t seen him that much. He’s been in the den talking with my dad with the door closed, and before that, he was with Aunt Callista.”
In the den with the door closed?
Ice prickled down Alec’s spine. There was only one reason Anders would seek out a one-on-one with the boxing champion. His brother wanted to get the man’s blessing.
“Have Anders and Callista been together a lot since you all got to Rickety Rock?” Calliope pressed.
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they’re always together. You know how my friend Phoebe loves hot dogs?”
That was an odd response.
“Yeah,” he and Calliope answered in unison, then traded confused looks.
“Phoebe says that Anders looks at Auntie Callista like she’s a hot dog bun and he wants to be her hot dog.”
Sweet Jesus!The kid had no idea how dirty that sounded. Calliope pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“Why aren’t you here yet?” Sebastian continued, bringing the phone closer to his face. “Did you stop because you had to pee? Phoebe always has to pee. That’s because she started drinking chocolate milk every time she eats a hot dog. She eats so many hot dogs that she has to drink a lot of chocolate milk. She drank a gallon at lunch today, then burped, and it echoed through the whole house. She’s blooming amazing.”
This kid was hilarious. He had a sneaking suspicion that, in a decade or so, Sebastian would be looking at Phoebe like she was a hot dog bun.
“Why is there a fireplace behind you, Auntie?” Sebastian continued.
Calliope glanced over her shoulder. “We’re at a place called Mistletoe Cottage. It’s near Mistletoe Manor. We have to spend the night here. The highway patrol closed the roads because they’re icy and too dangerous to drive on.”
Sebastian pulled back the phone. The kid stared at them slack-jawed before his face lit up like they’d told him they’d hijacked a hot dog truck for his friend. “Mistletoe Manor?” the child exclaimed and set off, sprinting through the house. “Phoebe, Oscar, Aria! My Auntie and Alec are with the Krangles,” the kid yelled, tearing through the old Victorian like a maniac.
What the hell?
Barely three seconds passed before the faces of four seven-year-olds crammed into the frame. It was his sister’s friends’ kids: Phoebe (the hot dog enthusiast), Oscar, and Aria.
