Page 31 of Never Sleigh Never
After Josie and I hung the ornament on the tree, I popped some ibuprofen, guzzled down a bottle of water, and drove to the carnival. When not in school, Josie likes to help when she can. It makes her feel important. Josie helps John with some decorations, well, more like bossing him around about garland symmetry. Brooke would’ve loved that—both the garland and the bossing.
By lunchtime, I leave Josie with John and head to town to grab lunch for everyone. It’s mostly a skeleton crew on weekends, but a few of them have nothing better to do, so they’d rather collect overtime, and I’ll gladly take the help. I park my truck outside the Jolly Biscuit and climb out as an icy gust of wind blows past me. For a brief moment, it eases the pounding in my head and keeps all thoughts of Brie at bay.
As I approach the large front window of the diner, I peer inside and freeze. Her hair is a dark ribbon down her back, resting on a cream-colored sweater that falls off her shoulder. It’s exactly like the sweater from our coffee shop run-in. Except this time, she’s missing the red underwear. My lips twitch into a smile. Then everything from last night slams into me. Fuck. Her weight on top of me in the snowbank. Inches away from a kiss I shouldn’t want. Through the window, I see her throw her head back in laughter. I can almost hear it. Sweet. Infectious. As if she doesn’t have a care in the world. And for a second, I hate that I’m the reason her laughter usually comes with an eye roll. It’s Mount Holly. Unless I become a hermit, we’ll always run into each other. Might as well get the awkwardness out of the way.
“Logan, it’s so nice to see you.” Mrs. Whitman rests a soft, wrinkled hand on my forearm, interrupting my thoughts.
I shift my gaze from the window to the older woman, catching a subtle scent of baby powder. “Good afternoon, Doris. How are you?”
“I’m just dandy. I’m meeting the gals for an afternoon lunch and chat.”
Which really means it’s time to unleash all the juicy gossip.
“Are you going to come in, or are you going to wait till you turn into a popsicle?” My gaze drifts from Doris to Brie. She reaches for the door handle, but I step behind her and pull it open.
“Let me get that for you.”
“Always such a gentleman.” She winks and breezes by me, heading straight to her waiting table.
The aroma of butter and maple syrup wafts around me, replacing the powdery accords. For half a second, I forget the part where I almost kissed Brie last night. It was nothing. It meant nothing. I got caught up in the moment. That’s all. Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll convince myself it’s true.
I fall in line behind her, working up the confidence to speak. I’m not the nervous type, but something about Brie turns my palms into slip-n-slides. She spins and—whump—walks right into my chest.
“Whoa.” My hands grip her biceps. “We need to stop running into each other, literally. But… I’m glad to see you.” Her face is like a poker table, devoid of any expression. Does she still hate me? Hate me extra? Or have we graduated to tolerate with caution? With standing so close to her, my brain votes kiss her, which is exactly why I release her like she’s a hot stovetop. “Can we talk for a minute?”
That went… spectacularly not to plan. Probably because there was no plan. Instead, I used Josie’s call as a fake emergency and bolted like a coward. Brie discombobulates all my coherent thoughts. If she didn’t hate me before that conversation, she certainly does now. It’s for the best. I’m not here to fall in love. I’m here to give Josie a better life and leave a lasting legacy in Brooke’s honor.
Leaning forward over the steering wheel, I rake my hands through my hair. Locking myself away and becoming a recluse isn’t looking so bad. A knock rattles my window. Glancing to my left, Willa stands on the other side holding two plastic bags full of takeout. Shit. Lunch. I roll down the window.
“In your hasty getaway, you forgot these. I didn’t make a bunch of food just for you to order and dash.”
“Sorry.” I grab the bags from her and set them on my passenger seat. Digging in my pocket, I pull out some cash and pass it to her. “This should cover it. And keep the change for the delivery service.”
Her shoulders hunch as she runs her hands up and down her arms. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on between you and Brie, but whatever it is, don’t hurt my best friend. It hasn’t been easy for her to get where she is, and then the added stress of the festival is keeping her on edge.”
I give her a tight-lipped nod. “I can say with full certainty that my being in town isn’t creating a stress-free holiday.”
She smiles at me. “Just play nice, okay?”
“Got it. Thanks again for always taking my lunch orders for my crew.”
“Thanks for the business. I’m going to get back in. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Bye, Willa.”
The next morning, I’m up before the sun, mostly because I couldn’t sleep, which is becoming a more common occurrence as of late. The common denominator: Brie. By the time I pull into the carnival grounds, the sun has barely breached the horizon. Luckily, my mom’s an early riser, so she came over early to see Josie off to school. A couple hours to myself while I add the finishing touches to the s’mores house Josie wanted is exactly what I need. No interruptions. Just a man with his thoughts. Which might not be the best thing, either. I clip the battery onto the drill. The hum of the power tool mixing with the crisp, dead air of winter is meditative, until tires crunching over gravel ruins my zen. I set down the electric drill and step out from the s’mores hut. Bright headlights shine directly at me like an interrogation. Shielding my eyes, a black figure steps out of the SUV and moves in front of the headlights. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the new light. Brie. Did I just manifest her?
She comes to a halt only a few feet away from me. She crosses her arms over her chest, papers clutched in her hand. “You need to shut down your carnival.”
Not the good morning I was hoping for. I sigh. “Not this again,” I mutter under my breath. “What did I do now?”
“I’m already in charge of the Holly Jolly Festival in Mount Holly?—”
I mimic her stance. “So you’re saying you have a monopoly on the Christmas festivities that happen in Mount Holly?”
“No. I’m saying according to the bylaws—sections forty-five to forty-seven to be exact—there can only be one holiday event within Mount Holly city limits. And I already have all the permits for mine.” She uncrosses her arms and waves a stack of papers in my face. “So I’m sorry, actually, not sorry—but you will just have to take your carnival elsewhere.”
I rip the papers out of her hand and skim them. She’s wearing a smug like it’s custom-tailored. When I’m finished, I hand the papers back to her and chuckle.
