Page 20 of The Mistletoe Kisser
The mayor’s mother popped back up, abandoning the charade. Just then, everyone paused and shouted “Fiiiive golden riiings!”
“Oh, hi, Aurora, Beckett, Bruce…” Her gaze tracked to Ryan. “Man I don’t know.”
“This is Carson Shufflebottom’s great-nephew Ryan,” Beckett said.
“From Seattle. The one with the condo with the concrete countertops,” Bruce added.
Ryan added Santa Bruce to his list of things he didn’t like about Blue Moon right under “spontaneous singalongs in liquor stores”.
“Hi, Ryan. I’m Phoebe. This one’s mother and that one’s grandmother,” she said, pointing to Beckett and then Aurora with a large bottle of merlot.
“Uh. Hi,” Ryan said, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He wished the aisle was wide enough to escape this conversation.
“What are you doing here, Mom?” Beckett asked. “I’m supposed to have the kids to your place in fifteen minutes.”
Phoebe joined them in the aisle, crowding Ryan even further. “I’m preparing to babysit,” she explained, shooting a pointed look at Aurora. “How are you liking Blue Moon so far, Ryan?”
Don’t be an asshole,Ryan cautioned himself. It wasn’t a babysitting grandmother’s fault his life was a disaster. “It’s uh… very festive,” he said. “Full of livestock.”
“It certainly is,” she agreed. “What brings you to town?”
Bruce was making a suspicious slashing motion across his throat.
Phoebe’s eyebrows rose over her glasses. “Oh,” she said as if someone had answered her question. “Well, good luck with… everything.”
Beckett rolled his eyes toward the ceiling while Bruce laughed nervously.
Ryan had the distinct impression that he was missing something. Not that he cared to figure out what that something was. No small-town shenanigans could measure up to the hell he’d endured this week.
“Gram, I picked this out for you,” Aurora announced, proudly holding up her tequila. “You can have some while I give Grampa a makeover!”
The kid was going to be a menace in her teenage years, Ryan predicted. Mother and son shared a silent and pointed exchange.You owe me, Phoebe’s face said to Beckett.
“Let Gram see that bottle,” Phoebe said with a sigh. Aurora handed it over and her grandmother studied the label then shrugged. “Good enough for me and Grampa Glamorous.”
“Yay!” Aurora squealed. “Mr. Oakleigh, can I pick something for you?” She was already reaching for a bottle of something called Sour Apple Pucker. It looked like NyQuil.
“That’s quite all right,” Bruce said, patting her on her snarl of red curls. “But you can tell your daddy how much I need his attention regarding an issue with the state auditor.”
“Nah. I’d rather pick a drink for you,” the kid said.
“What’s the problem, Bruce?” Phoebe asked.
“Well, it seems that there is a problem with our paperwork—”
Beckett cut him off. “Bruce is town supervisor. He’s going to supervise.Iam going home to my beautiful, impatient wife, andyou,” he said, pointing at Phoebe, “are taking my children so Gia and I can speak in complete sentences for one whole night.”
“But—”
Beckett cut off Santa Bruce with one raised hand. Bruce, looking like a recently kicked puppy, slunk off down the aisle.
Ryan tried to do the same, but his way was blocked by a store employee with a cart of stock for the shelves.
“I expect you to be feeling very grateful toward Franklin and me, favorite son,” Phoebe said cagily.
“Extremely,” Beckett agreed.
“Howextremely?” she pressed.
