Page 38 of About Last Christmas
I fumble the hanger, dropping the jackets onto the rug. Why can’t I ever have a Hot Girl moment? Instead, I’m in my Unhinged Cringe era. Sadly, I don’t think I’ve peaked yet. Well, there’s something to look forward to.
Leo sweeps the coats from the floor and gently hands them over.
I hang them in the closet and say over my shoulder. “So … youarein the calendar? Like for real?” I realize my tone’s half-scandalized, half-accusation and completely high-pitched.
His head tilts. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s for a good cause.”
I shut the closet door and lean against it. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d go for that kind of thing.”
“Interesting.” He flattens his palm on the wall, right above my shoulder, and leans on that outstretched arm. His smile builds into a wicked grin. “What exactly do you think the calendar’s about, Greta Carlton?”
Fire climbs my spine, and his proximity is making my head swim. “The chief made me think it’s … you know, one of those.”
“Mmm.” He shakes his head, and his face dips closer. “I’m still not seeing it.” His voice pitches low. “Just how are you picturing me?”
That’s enough of that. I playfully push his arm away. “Shut up.”
He chuckles. “Only curious where your imagination was going.”
With a roll of my eyes, I lead him down the hall and pause at the archway to the den. It’s at this moment, reality hits. This place isn’t Leo-proof. I’m at once shy and feeling awkward all over. Beside me stands Remington Orileo Mathis from a prestigious family. The man’s probably used to butlers serving him food, chandeliers winking at him, and dishes trimmed in gold leaf. We have red Solo cups that have Sharpied names on them. The names are necessary because once Pap accidentally drank Bruce’s Sprite spiked with Metamucil. The hall bathroom has never been the same. Point is, this scene no doubt looks ridiculous. In the den, four card tables are draped with Gran’s kitsch tablecloths and decked with paper plates. Around these card tables are eleven old guys in various shades of flannel.
Leo leans over and whispers, “Seems I’m not in dress code.”
I huff a laugh. “Neither am I.”
“No, you’re cuter.” He tugs one of my apron strings, bringing me closer to him.
Pap catches this exchange, and his eyes narrow. I brace myself for a rude comment, but instead, he waves me over. “Greta, come settle a dispute.”
I don’t budge an inch. “If this is about whetherGremlinsis considered a Christmas movie, we’ve been over this. I’m not about to take another anonymous vote.”
Pap’s shoulders lower. “Denny rigged it.”
Denny, the quietest of the golden guys, smiles slyly and continues scratching answers onto a crossword puzzle.
I face Leo and lower my voice. “You sure you’re prepared for this?” I feel like any second now I’m going to hear “The Greta Carlton Show is filmed before a live audience.”
Because—between the outdated decor and the antics of the golden guys—Leo no doubt thinks he stepped into an ’80s sitcom. All we’re missing is the laugh track. Though I’m sure Leonard could locate one fairly quickly.
I gesture toward the Mavericks. “I hope noise and inappropriate jokes told by old men won’t spoil your pumpkin pie.” Then I think to ask, “You already ate dinner, right?”
He shrugs. “There was leftover Domino’s at the station.”
I gasp. “Today is not the day for leftovers.” While I love carbs in every form, I can’t allow this. With a raised finger, I signal Leo to wait and address the Mavericks. “Okay, gentlemen, the pies are on the buffet. Mom’s almost done with the topping. Then you can help yourselves.” I turn to Leo. “You. Follow me.”
He chuckles. “I like when you’re bossy.”
I don’t think it’s me being bossy as much as it is an impulse. A reflex. A need pops up, and I feel it’s my duty to step in. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. “We have an extra guest,” I call to Mom as we enter the kitchen.
She’s scooping out the whipped cream into serving dishes, not glancing up. “Did Professor bring a date? He mentioned last week that he had the hots for the deli lady at Thatcher’s Market.”
Love and lunchmeat. I don’t even want to know. “You remember Leo Mathis from the parade?”
Leo respectfully says hello, even as Mom’s grin widens.
“Delighted you came!” There is so much inflection in her voice that she’s practically singing.
He smiles. “Thank you for having me.”
