Page 37 of About Last Christmas
Grabbing the folder, I skim over the first few letters. Someone nominated their little league baseball coach, asking for a Ford truck because he would always pick up and drop off the kids from underserved neighborhoods to ensure they got to play.Another nominated their high school math teacher, asking for a shopping spree, claiming her wardrobe is embarrassing. Oh, the brutal honesty of teens. As I read through a few more, I realize I need to have some kind of system. But being more organized is like asking me to add leafy greens to my diet. Like, I know it’s good for me, but the reality of me doing that is pretty slim.
Suddenly tired, I flip on a Christmas movie,Miracle on 34thStreet,for inspiration. I’ll take any advice I can get, but I fall asleep before the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade is over.
CHAPTER 12
Some saythat Silver Creek has an unspoken bylaw stating that the Christmas season begins in early November and is in full swing by midmonth, regardless of when Thanksgiving falls. This year, Turkey Day lies only a couple of days before December. So even though Frank Sinatra has been crooning “Let it Snow” over Main Street’s PA system for the past three weeks, Silver Creek residents properly carve out twenty-four hours to be grateful.
Thanksgiving night at the Carlton house is always chaos. The Mavericks, having celebrated earlier with their families, come over for dessert and cards. No surprise there. Though the holiday looks different this year, I’ve promised myself I won’t be sad about missing Gran, if only for Pap’s sake. From my earliest memories, she’d always been here for this day. It’s weird without her. I make it through our small family dinner, mostly because of my latest festive distraction. This morning, I found the perfect candidate for my inaugural term as the Silver Creek Secret Santa.
Mr. Henry Sawyer has been caring for his terminally ill father. In his letter, he requested a heated sunroom because his father always wanted one added onto his home. Mr. Sawyerwent into great detail about how the sunroom would give his dad something to look forward to. I understood where Mr. Sawyer was coming from. When I was caregiving, I would’ve done anything to make Gran happy, anything to give her something to live for.
I’m glad I have the candidate selected because I can focus on running the store. Though now, I must concentrate onnotdropping the pumpkin pies I’m currently holding while Mom’s in the kitchen making homemade whipped cream.
I’m arranging the dishes on the buffet table as voices sound from the foyer, marking the entrance of more Mavericks. Except … one distinct timbre has me abandoning the dessert station.
I peek into the hall to find Leo Mathis wiping his boots off the mat. Beside him, old Leonard is tugging off his trapper hat that has seen one too many winters. Wait. Did Leonard invite him? I don’t understand, since the Mavericks never invite outsiders, but the current of heat pulsing through me is as unexpected as Leo’s presence.
Leonard spots me first. “This fella decided to join us.” He claps Leo’s shoulder.
Leo’s gaze collides with mine. It takes several heartbeats to adjust to seeing this man in my childhood home. His hunter green sweater paired with nice-fitting jeans really works for him. So glad I put effort into my appearance today, but then I remember I’m currently wearing a faded apron that says, “Hot Stuff Coming Through.”
Leonard keeps talking, completely unaware of my wardrobe regret. “After our success at the Christmas parade, the Leo Bros are ready for another gig.”
I laugh. “Leo Bros?” I nod at the younger Leo, who seems to take in stride what sounds like being recruited for a geriatric boy band. “And we have plenty of food. We’re always happy to haveextra company.” Especially one under the age of seventy who talks about things other than bowel movements.
Leo turns his beanie in his hand, a shy smile in place. “I didn’t mean to crash your party.” He leans closer and whispers, “Leonard told meyouinvited me.”
My stomach dips. That’s why he came? Because he thought I wanted him here? Before I can respond, Leonard waves him off.
“Greta never turns away a man at her door.” Leonard’s insinuation has Leo arching a brow.
“Not true.” I take Leonard’s scarf and consider stuffing it in his big mouth. “Go join the other card junkies in the den.”
Leonard frowns. “Card junkies?”
“Would you rather I call you what Gran did?” I ask sweetly, taking his hat and coat.
“Iris Carlton was a great woman with not-so-great nicknames.”
“She was perfection, and you know it.” I pat his jowly cheek. “And I suggest you be nice to me, because lately I’ve been in the habit of carrying on her traditions.”
“You inherited her crazy,” the older man harumphs and shuffles into the other room with all the Mavericks.
“Now I’m curious.” Leo stuffs his beanie in his pocket and unzips his coat. “I’m guessing she didn’t call them the Mavericks.”
“No, the Aceholes.”
I’m not prepared for Leo’s hearty laugh, but it helps warm the drafty spaces in my soul that have been left vacant since Gran’s passing.
His amusement fades into something more tender. “I wish I had met her.”
“Me too.” Those two words left my lips with a husky delivery that did nothing to hide my emotion. Needing to lighten the mood for my sanity, I ask, “How long has this bromance betweenyou and Leonard been going on?” I take his jacket. Catching notes of his cologne and resisting the urge to bury my face in the collar, I move toward the hall closest.
“He’s been texting me since Light-Up Night. He got my number from your phone.”
I whirl toward him. “He did not.” I plugged Leo’s number into my cell the day we decorated the store. The Maverick had my phone during the parade because he wassupposedto connect the Bluetooth to the karaoke machine. We all know what happened there, but what I didnotknow was that the old codger was browsing my contact list.
A smile curves Leo’s perfect lips. “He says I’m listed asMr. February.”
