Page 14 of Grinchland
“Ms. Snow?” she asked. Her soft voice had a hint of reverence to it.
My body froze. Ugh. This wasn’t going to be good.
“Is your daddy home?”
Shit. This was not how I wanted to spend the evening, although I shouldn’t be surprised. I did have Todd leave a citation for her earlier today. I took in a deep breath as I walked out into the hallway that led from the kitchen to the foyer. I’d made a stand, and now I needed to own it.
Clara was standing in the doorway, holding a plate. Her cheeks were bright pink, and she looked flustered as her gaze moved from Isabelle up to me. For a moment, I saw anger flash in her eyes before it disappeared and she was smiling again—a bit too big.
“Hello, Mayor.”
My lip twitched as I fought the smile that wanted to emerge. Was it wrong that I liked the snippy way she said my title? I knew she was trying to be pointed, but it just came across as cute. Especially when she looked so disgruntled.
That was a strange, unwanted thought. I shook my head and cleared my throat, forcing myself back to reality. I needed to never, ever think those words again.
“Ms. Snow,” I said as I nodded to her. When I got to Isabelle, I squatted down in front of her. “Peanut, what has Daddy said about you answering the door when a stranger knocks?”
Isabelle frowned. “It’s not a stranger, it’s Ms. Snow.” She leaned in. “She’s my new teacher.”
My stomach dropped. Right. Clara was the new substitute teacher, I just hadn’t realized it was for Isabelle’s class. This was going to be a disaster. I glanced over at Clara. She had a soft smile for Isabelle, but when she shifted her gaze to meet mine, her smile turned forced.
I tousled Isabelle’s hair, and she promptly swatted my hand away. “Go set the table, love. Looks like Ms. Snow wants to talk to me.”
I could see Isabelle’s whine start to build, so I reached out to touch her hair once more, and she sprinted away. Score. Worked every time. Now alone with Clara, I turned to face her. “What can I do for you, Ms. Snow?” I asked as I folded my arms across my chest and peered down at her.
She was staring straight ahead, her expression focused like she was trying to gather her courage. The determination in her gaze was almost endearing. I valued people who stood up for what they believed in—even if what they believed in was a holiday celebrating overconsumption.
“I baked cookies last night. Thought I’d do the neighborly thing and bring you a plate.” She held up the cellophane-wrapped plate. When I didn’t take it right away, she continued. “I decorated them myself.” Pause. “I’ve won multiple awards.”
I kept my arms folded as I stared down at the cookies. I wanted to take them. My upbringing taught me it was rude to reject a gift, but the other part of me, the part that knew why she was here, refused. She wanted me to crack, but I was as determined and defiant as she was.
These were Christmas cookies, and I’d specifically told her yesterday that Christmas was canceled in Grinchland. It would be hypocritical of me to accept them. Any other cookies, and I’d happily take them. In fact, my stomach was yelling at me. But I remained steadfast, standing there with my arms folded.
“Are you seriously…” She paused and then blew out her breath. “Wow. Never in my life…” Her voice trailed off.
I leaned closer so I could stare down at her. “What did you say?”
She met my gaze and then shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.” She shifted the plate in her hands so she could pull out a folded piece of paper from her jacket pocket. “Care to explain this to me?” She made an attempt to unfold the paper with one hand. After a bit of maneuvering, she was able to shake it open and hold it out for me to see.
Yep, that’s what I figured. She was here because of the citation. I shrugged. “It’s a citation.”
The look she gave me in response was one of pure annoyance. “I thought you were joking.”
I frowned. I rarely joked, and even when I did, I would never joke about a citation. “I thought I made it pretty clear last night that you will be fined if you break the law.” I flicked my gaze down at her with her red jacket and Christmas-patterned scarf. “The atrocities that you put up in your yard knowingly”—I emphasized that word so she knew I knew what she was doing—“clearly break the law here in Grinchland.” I shrugged. “I would do the same with any resident here. You’re no different.”
She furrowed her brow. “But it says, excessive storage of materials.” She looked up at me.
I nodded. “Your front yard is not a dumping ground for your stuff.”
Her eyes widened. “Dumping ground…my stuff…” Her face turned red. “They’re Christmas decorations. They’re supposed to go on my lawn. They’re supposed to be”—she paused and glanced down at the paper—“visible from the public right-of-way.” She met my gaze. “What is wrong with you? What’s wrong with this town?”
I took a step closer to her. I didn’t appreciate what she was saying. “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with us. Maybe, it’s you.” I stared down at her. “Grinchland has been enjoying peace and quiet since the laws were put in place. No one’s complained. We didn’t stop Christmas for the whole world. If you want to celebrate, maybe go back to whatever town you came from.”
She blinked once. Twice. Three times. I could tell that she was trying to think of something to say, but then she just sighed and took a step back. “So you’re just banning Christmas. You can do that.” The way she said the last sentence was almost like she was confirming with herself that it was true.
I shrugged. “Looks like it.”
She glanced at the citation, then down to the cookies, then straight ahead toward my staircase that led up to the second floor. “What a waste,” she whispered before she turned and twisted the door handle.
