Page 7 of Never Sleigh Never
Note to self: Always check the bathroom stalls.
Three
Tater Tot Hotdish
Logan
Brie McKenna. For everyone else, she wears a sunshine smile, yet around me, she flips the setting to permafrost. Now, eighteen years later, nothing has changed—except she’s somehow more beautiful. As she glared her ice queen daggers in my direction, there was still a little sparkle in her eye. Perhaps she’s daydreaming that one of those daggers takes me out. But for a split second with her body pressed against mine, hands on my chest—her guard slipped. If I had to guess, it’s because she didn’t know whose arms she’d fallen into.
She always hated me. I’m not sure why. That’s not entirely true. In elementary school, I might have saved all the open swings for my friends. And I would always get picked for the lead in the school play. Also, during the music class lip-sync battles, I always picked the song she wanted to perform. Nothing is more entertaining than three boys singing and dancing to “...Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears. The class enjoyed it; Brie not so much because everyone was over the song when it was her turn.
It seems, even after all these years apart, that hatred has never left. Sure, the population of Mount Holly has slightly increased since I left, but it’s still not big enough for us to avoid each other. This will make for a very interesting holiday.
From the side of the road, I stare as her taillights vanish over the crest of the hill. If she plans on going back to town, she’s driving in the wrong direction, but I’m sure she knows that.
“Hey boss!” Matt, a hired worker, yells. “Where do you want this?”
I twist to face him. He points to a large, enclosed trailer. “Put it in the far corner.” I nod toward the northwest side of the field. Is it a wild idea to come to Mouth Holly and organize a Christmas carnival and have it up and running in three weeks? Yep. I’ve also been sitting on this for two years. It’s now or never. A line of idling trucks sits on the freshly laid gravel, white exhaust curling into the cold like thought bubbles. I play conductor in a hard hat, sending crews to their marks. Thankfully, I’ve got a site diagram with placements for the big stuff—games, food row, and Santa’s pavilion. On the south side of the field is my favorite add-on. The ice rink. As a professional hockey player from Minnesota, the “State of Hockey,” it only made sense. Plus, what kind of holiday celebration would it be without a hockey tournament?
Several hours later, the sun dips below the horizon and stars twinkle above us. With the back of my hand, I wipe the layer of sweat off my forehead. Day one is in the books. I’m exhausted, but there’s more work to do tomorrow. I walk the perimeter to confirm everything is locked and secured. Mount Holly doesn’t have a reputation for criminal activity. In fact, it’s a community where most people leave their doors unlocked, but I’ve lived in the city for the past eighteen years, and I’m not taking any chances.
I pull my truck into the driveway of my parents’ light-blue colonial-style house. Not much has changed over the years, only a bigger porch and new landscaping. I kill the engine and push open the door. My boots crunch over the thin crust of snow leading to the cement walkway. I jog up the few stairs until I reach the front door. I rap my knuckles against the wood before twisting the knob and stepping through. Before I can close the door behind me, a pair of arms wrap around me in a comforting hug. The scent of vanilla and sugar waft around me. My mom. If I had to guess, she’s been in the kitchen baking all day.
“I’m so happy to see you.” Her head rests against my chest.
“I saw you two days ago,” I murmur, hugging her back.
“I know, but I never get to see you twice in one week, and now it’s permanent.”
Before the move, my mom and stepdad flew to Chicago to travel back to Mount Holly with Josie. They helped her tour her new school while I wrangled movers so I could make the drive to Northern Minnesota. While Josie is used to moving, the dynamic of a big city to a small town is a big change for an eleven-year-old, but it’s one that will be best for both of us.
Mom pulls away and leads me into the living room. Josie’s curled against the armrest of the couch next to my stepdad, John, who’s in the recliner. When my mom told me about a house two streets over on the market, I immediately called the realtor. We did a video walkthrough, and with no hesitation, I bought it. Being close to my parents was a big selling point to move back to Mount Holly. Josie needs stability in her life, and my parents can help give her that. Plus, they adore their granddaughter, so they were more than willing to help.
Josie stops mid-page flip from the Home for the Holidays magazine. It’s the same magazine she always looked through with her mom. They’d scour every page to find the most beautiful tree or the location with the best decorations. Every year, they have a “Favorite Hometown Christmas” competition. Josie’s mom mentioned wanting to enter as soon as the carnival was up and running. But not the inaugural year—she wanted all the kinks ironed out first.
Josie glances up, and her eyes widen. “Daddy!”
The magazine tumbles to the floor as her big, bright hazel eyes meet mine. She launches herself at me. As far as looks go, it’s the only thing she got from me. Everything else is all Brooke, including her sass and her big heart. All the same things that made me fall in love with her fourteen years ago.
Bending down, I hoist her into my arms.
“Hey Peanut.”
“I missed you, Daddy.” Her arms cling around my neck like a spider monkey.
“I missed you too. Did you get to see your new school?”
She nods. “I did. It’s much smaller than my old one.”
“Highland Park has a lot more people than Mount Holly.” I press a kiss to the top of her head.
John stands from the armchair and wraps his arms around my shoulders and pats my back. “Good to see you, Logan. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you permanently back in Mount Holly. Only seeing you and Josie a few times a year was never enough.”
“Yeah.” I try for a smile that doesn’t quite make it. “I’m excited to be back.”
“Your voice says otherwise,” my mom says.
She could always read me. She calls it a mother’s intuition. I call it creepy.
