Page 50 of About Last Christmas
“Tell me.” Leo leads me to the bench, and we sit.
“She told me about the real-life Saint Nicolas. How he gave to those in need. How he used his inheritance to help the poor.” I can see everything so clearly now. “She told me to never stop believing in Santa. Not exactly the made-up one, but to believe in the message behind it, like the power of giving, the strength of love. She reminded me of that every Christmas since.” Always believe. She even wrote those words in her last letter.
He strokes his thumb over my knuckle. “She was a wise woman.”
“She was also the Silver Creek Secret Santa.”
His brows rise. “Seriously?”
I nod. “I found out a week ago. I was shocked she never let on, but looking back, she told me in her own little ways.”
He reaches over and adjusts my scarf, his thumb grazing my neck. “Your gran did a lot of good.”
“She wants me to continue the tradition. But I don’t know where to start.” I exhale the air from my chest, feeling the pressure of the task. “I thought it would be simple. Like, justpick the person whose story hit me in the feels. I’ve already been duped twice.” I tell him about my experiences so far. “Then I remembered what you told me at that gala. You said you could pick out the fake from the real. I thought … we can strike a bargain.”
Interest lights his eyes. “What kind of bargain?”
I shift under the weight of his stare. “Maybe I can help you with your search for the nativity set, and you can help me find the right candidate. I feel so lost right now.”
“Deal.”
I blink. “Don’t you want to, uh, think about it more?” At least longer than half a second.
His grin unleashes. “No. In this bargain, I’m the winner.”
Time to wave the caution flag. “You might not be the winner because I can’t guarantee we’ll find an authentic Vallerton. It helps that Rene Vallerton was a local artist. It boosts our chances, though I can’t promise anything. Only to help you search.”
“Got it.” He glances pointedly about, and I can’t help but follow his searching gaze.
“What are you looking for?”
“Mistletoe. There’s got to be some around here.” His teasing smile steals my very breath. “So we can seal our agreement.”
“A handshake works.”
His head lolls toward me. “It lacks a festive touch, but okay.” He sticks out his hand, and I slip my fingers in his. His hand’s warm, calloused, and perfectly engulfs mine. “Does this make me your elf?” He gives a gentle squeeze. “Because I remember how you feel about elves.”
I sputter a laugh. No doubt he was referencing my destruction of Josie’s light display. “That was a one-time thing. I’m generally pro-elf.”
“Good to know.” He releases my hand. “When do we start?”
Oh man. Am I prepared to spend more free time with Leo? It’s so tempting.Heis so tempting. “I have some obligations at the beginning of the week, but, usually, I have Sundays and Mondays off. And most evenings free.” Because I have no life. “I can also do early mornings before the shop opens.”
“I can do Sunday and Monday night and any mornings.”
“Perfect. How about we start Tuesday morning? Say seven? We can meet at the shop.”
“Sounds great.” He points to the restaurant across the street. “Should we celebrate our bargain over pizza?”
Monday morning finds me at Brewtiful Grounds, sitting across from Fletcher Thomas, who’s sipping his peppermint macchiato made by the pageant princess herself. Tilly’s behind the counter, giving me a thumbs-up every five minutes.
“I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.” He sets his coffee down and graces me with a compassionate look. “A lot has changed since we last met.”
“It’s harder than I thought it would be.” My mind’s eye can picture the stack of letters still on my counter, taunting me. “But I have a plan in motion.” Leo. He’s the plan.
He smiles. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re adapting. It was a lot to pile on you.”
I take a sip of my vanilla gingerbread latte. “Yeah, it was. Plus, you weren’t entirely truthful with me.” All this time. He knew something—ahugesomething—about Gran that I was clueless about. Though that wasn’t the only secret he withheld from me. “Fletcher?”
