Page 54 of About Last Christmas
“And the Vallerton?”
“Her husband bought the nativity set as a wedding present.” His gaze meets mine and holds. “That’s why I want to replace it.”
Now I want to scour the world for it too. If anyone understood this woman’s attachment to a nativity set, it’s me. I’m obsessed with my Garrick piece. Not because of the price tag. Its value lies in the memories tied to it. I purpose to amp up my search. Wait. Maybe I can make this widow the Secret Santa candidate. But as quickly as the idea fills me with sudden joy, reality sucker punches my hope. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to locate a Vallerton. At least, not in this narrow timeframe. Leo doesn’t seem to have a deadline, which is helpful, but I only have until the twentieth of December. While I can’t consider her as the Secret Santa candidate, I can promise that … “We’ll do everything we can to find one.”
“And we’ll do everything to find the perfect recipient.”
As if remembering our purpose, we reach for the letters at the same time, our hands meeting atop.
But instead of withdrawing his touch, he turns over his hand and threads his fingers through mine. “Thanks for listening.”
“T-Thanks for telling me.” I can’t pull my stare from our laced hands. It’s kind of silly. I’m not in junior high. I shouldn’t be giddy over the interlocking of fingers or trying to memorize where the callouses are on his palms. But my reasoning doesn’t keep my body from swaying toward him, and … he matches my movement, leaning closer. His gaze is a slow meander over thecontours of my face. When his hooded eyes settle on my lips, I measure my breaths, waiting for him to close the gap.
My eyelids feel heavy, begging for me to lower my lashes in anticipation, but I fight off the urge, needing to gauge his expression instead.
After what seems like forever, he squeezes my hand before releasing it and leans back against the sofa cushion. “You’ve got icing right there.” He taps the side of his mouth.
Never fail. My awkwardness always ruins the moment. Or perhaps it wasn’t anything, and I read far too much into the moment. I amnotin a Hallmark movie. I’m in my apartment. Not in a chic outfit but wearing an oversized holiday sweatshirt with a puppy in a Santa hat above the words “Fleas Navidog.” So yeah, no whimsical scene here. Just a girl with an overactive imagination on a sugar rush. Plus, I can’t discount what Fletcher told me. Leo might not stay long in Silver Creek. Annoyed and embarrassed in equal measure, I trace the side of my lip with my tongue, tasting the sweet offender.
Leo doesn’t miss the movement, his gaze hot on mine. There goes my daydream again. I refuse to fall for any illusions this time. “Did I get it?”
His eyes darken, and what I wouldn’t give to know what he’s thinking. “Uh, yeah. It’s gone.”
I devote myself to the letters as if it’s my sole mission in life. Which, right now, it kind of is. Some entries are quick nos. Jokes, mostly. One student asked the Secret Santa to kidnap the school principal so he wouldn’t have to serve detention. The author wisely left it unsigned. Other letters express problems I can’t fix for all the money in the world, like the little girl who wished for her parents to get back together. After discarding two more, my attention snags on the most recent sob story. “What do you think of this?” I hand Leo the paper. “Does this say ‘I’m trying to swindle you’?”
I wait while he reads it.
His brows pull lower. “She sounds genuine. Behind on her rent. Trying to make a better life for herself and her toddler.” He hands it back. “You can scout it out.” He lifts a lock of my hair and toys with the edges. “The letter says she’s a hairdresser at Manes on Main.”
The salon is only a few buildings down from mine. How have I never run into—I check the name—Brandy before? If anything, this Santa thing has caused me to look deeper into the heart of the community that has surrounded me my entire life. “Tilly cuts my hair. She’ll feel betrayed if I let anyone else touch it.” I rack my brain until I come up with a solution. “Ah, I can get an updo for the party.”
“There you go.” He smiles at me. “What party is it? Need a plus one?”
I should spray my heart with Leo repellent. Because the more I’m around him, the more I’m drawn. Which makes me nervous. Especially if what Fletcher says is true. If Leo never stays in one place, we wouldn’t work out. My roots, livelihood, and family are all in Silver Creek.
Leo and I aren’t in that familiar place where I can just ask, “Hey, do you plan on sticking around for the next, say, seventy years or so? Because if you aren’t, I don’t want to fall in love with you.” No, I’ll have to figure out a way to discover this information. Let’s hope I don’t lose my heart first. I realize Leo’s waiting for my response. “It’s a holiday function at the senior center that the Mavericks host every year. Which means they try to best their fellow elderly friends in party games.” I shake my head at Leo’s chuckle. “My role is to help wrap presents for the seniors who have an Amazon Prime addiction and distribute snacks.” Expectation fills his eyes, and—darn it—I want him near me. “You’re more than welcome to come keepthe Mavericks in line. Which probably won’t happen but will be a noble effort.”
“What day is it? And will there be karaoke?”
“Thursday at seven. And not if I can help it.”
His expression falls. “I have to work.”
“No worries. What you’re doing is more meaningful than keeping Leonard from spiking the eggnog.” My heart sinks, but this is good for me.
I can’t get attached.
CHAPTER 17
“Are you Greta?”A twentysomething woman with piercing blue eyes and pink-streaked hair approaches as I’m waiting in the reception area of Manes on Main, flipping through a magazine featuring trendy haircuts. Because that’s what one does at a salon. I don’t make the rules.
“Yes.” I smile. “You must be Brandy.”
“Uh huh.” She tucks her phone in a pocket on her smock and waves a hand, her glittery fingernail polish catching the fluorescent lights. “Come on back.”
I’ve passed this place nearly every day for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never been inside until today. This building is old like mine, but whoever designed the interior cleverly blended the vintage with the modern. The original brick makes up a side wall, but the surrounding ones are sleek black. The silver tones from the exposed ductwork pair well with the dark hardwood floors. Of course, this space is all decorated for Christmas from the white twinkle lights framing the storefront windows to the tree nestled in the corner.
Brandy points to a chair at her station, which is overwhelmed with the tools of her trade, her cosmetology license, and picturesof herself and her daughter. “Have a seat, and let’s talk about an updo.”
