Page 5 of About Last Christmas
“Bruce!” I wave down my parade wingman.
He sees me just as he’s entering his truck. By the time I reach his Ford Maverick—becauseof coursehe has this model vehicle—he’s eyeing me beneath his Bass Pro Shops hat. “You need a lift?”
“Nope, but I’m glad I caught you.” Every year, Bruce Struthers pulls the store’s parade float. He is kind enough to return the trailer to my grandparents’ storage unit. Like Leonard and Pap, he’s one of the Mavericks. “I need to grab something off the float.”
He steps aside and makes a sweeping “be my guest” motion. “Did you see they put that surfing elf by the fountain this year?”
I pause my climbing onto the trailer. “Yeah, I, uh, heard about that. Smart move.”
He gives a slow nod. “Oh, and Ned almost set himself on fire.”
I crane my neck to look back at him. “Santa Ned?”
“Yep. Fumbled his cigarette, and it got caught on his boot. That stupid fur trim went up in a blaze.”
Was that the yelling I heard? “Poor Ned.”
“The board will probably retract the smoke break from his contract.” Ever since Bruce’s grandson passed the Ohio bar exam, the Maverick has been obsessed with legal terms. “Good thing the ground is covered in snow. Ned rolled until the fire was out. Kids thought he was making snow angels.”
“At least he’s not hurt. I’ll offer to fix the suit,” I say as I find what I’m looking for and hop down. “Thank you, Brucie.” I grin at his eye roll.
I return to where I left Leo, and his brows spike at the large item in my hand.
“Are you serious?” He gives an incredulous shake of the head. “A sled?”
I pat the large wooden contraption. “It’s a rite of passage, Leo.”
“Are you dressed for it, though?” His gaze skims over my Mrs. Claus costume.
“I’ll have you know, I made this thing. And its thermal interlining is doing its job. I can be comfortable in the North Pole right now.”
He offers a warm smile, and I can confirm the man has dimples. “You seem to have everything I need. First the needle and thread, and now a sled.” His dark brown eyes lock on mine. “I’m wondering if you’re even real right now.”
Instead of explaining the sewing kit is because I’m often wearing vintage clothing that tends to be delicate and the sled was part of my “Santa’s Antique Toys” display for my float, I only beam at him. “I’m Mrs. Claus. Isn’t it my specialty to grant wishes? And I bet you wished to go sledding at one point in your life. Am I right?”
He examines the sled, and then his gaze meets mine. The meaning in his expression is as hidden as the stars in the cloud-covered sky.
I realize my error too late. This is always my issue. I dive headfirst, or maybe heartfirst, into things without giving full consideration. I just met him, and I’m already wrangling him into drinks and sledding. I can’t even claim he’s my friend. Oh my gosh. What if he’s in a relationship? What if he’s married? I can’t tell if he’s wearing a wedding band on account of his gloves. I should’ve thought this through. Theonlyhandsome young guys in this town are family men. The single ones live an hour away in the city, where the action is. I’m a horrible person. This guy is no doubt married with littles, and not only do I look ridiculous, but I’m also pathetic. He’s probably looking for a way to let me down gently because he thinks I’m a crazy person.
“Never mind.” I look at the 1970s wooden contraption in my hands as if it’s crawling with termites. “It was a stupid idea, and you don’t?—”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” he offers with a shake of his head. “It’s just?—”
“I know.” I finish for him. “You’re right. We really aren’t dressed for it.”And you have a wife, two kids, and a vacation reserved in Hilton Head, where everyone wears white and poses for pictures on the beach.Meanwhile, I’ll be beachless. Still here. Same day in and day out. I don’t even own a white shirt because I spill stuff on myself.
“Actually, I was trying to get a step ahead of you and recommend a hill.” He scratches the side of his face. “But I don’t know the area that well. I only moved here not too long ago.”
He saidI,not we. Relief floods through me. “I overheard you telling Josie you work for the town?”
He takes the sled from my hands and props an arm over it. “In a way, yeah.”
“Is that how you knew about the lightbulb in the storage room?”
“No, I happened to see it. I don’t work for the borough but a different division. Just started.”
He’s being evasive. But I haven’t shared much information about myself. I didn’t even tell him I owned the antique shop. I don’t know why. Maybe I enjoy being the mystery woman. Living in a small town where everyone knows all your business, it’s refreshing to stumble across someone who doesn’t know my mother had me when she was fifteen and takes more ownership of her schnauzer than she does of me. Someone who doesn’t pity me for being left behind to run my grandparents’ shop while all my friends went to college. For a few years, I felt like George Bailey fromIt’s a Wonderful Life, wanting to travel and see the world but stuck running the family business because a relative’s health started failing. I finally realized that taking care of the antique shop is bringing the world to me. Bringing history to me. It’s a privilege, not a chore. If it hadn’t been for caregiving,I would’ve never realized the gift before me. I smile at Leo. “The perfect hill is right over there.” I point to the edge of the park. “Follow me.”
We pass several displays and weave through to the back region, where it’s roped off. I see a familiar face and grin. “Mitchell.” I wave over Silver Creek’s deputy. We only have two, and Mitchell is my favorite. He’s the older brother of my best friend, Tilly, and has a stache that can rival any actor from an ’80s soap opera.
