Page 19 of The Mistletoe Kisser
“Ha! Good one, Ellery! Then I’d have to pay him for his time,” Fitz the exotic dancer fan, or—God forbid—the actual exotic dancer, chuckled.
“You know, tax preparation is a deduction,” the accountant hinted.
Ryan skirted the free advice dispensary but accidentally made and held uncomfortable eye contact with the goth queen. Her dark purple lips curved up. Another smiler.What was it with this town?
Finally, he made it to the whiskey shelves. It was a decent selection for a town that was barely a blip on the map.
He was debating between a scotch and a bourbon when a very small redhead clutching a very large bottle of tequila bumped into him. In fuzzy pajama pants, pink boots, and a Pierce Acres sweatshirt she’d clearly stolen from an adult, the kid looked like the kind of student elementary school teachers hoped didn’t land in their class.
“Oopsies! Sorry,” she said, beaming up at him.
“Aren’t you a little young to be buying tequila?” he asked.
She threw back her head and laughed until her tangled curls shook. “You’re funny!”
“Aurora!” A guy with a nice suit, nicer wool coat, and a familiar-ish face rounded the corner.
“Hi, Bucket!”
“Short Cake, how many times have I told you not to wander off in here? Sorry,” the man said to Ryan. “Last time I brought her in here, I found her behind the register asking to see Old Man Carson’s ID.”
Ryan let out a rusty, short laugh. Small towns meant small worlds, he guessed. “Carson is my great-uncle,” he said, then wondered why he’d willingly volunteered the information.
“You must be nephew Ryan. I’m Beckett Pierce, attorney and mayor of this circus. This is my daughter, Aurora.”
“Technically, Bucket is my stepdad,” Aurora explained. “But we don’t like to use that label in our family. He’s my real dad just like my other real dad because s-e-x doesn’t always equal family.”
Beckett—or Bucket—looked a little misty-eyed over the whole “real dad” thing. Ryan didn’t feel like he was up for an emotional family moment.
Thankfully, Santa’s overanxious twin bustled around the corner into the aisle and interrupted. “Mayor Pierce!”
“Shit,” Beckett said under his breath. Aurora looked delighted.
“Bruce, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Beckett?” the mayor said. “Aurora, put the tequila down.”
“You know how I feel about disrespecting your office,” Bruce, the Santa look-alike, insisted.
Beckett bit back a sigh. “Have you met Carson’s nephew Ryan?”
Bruce glanced at Ryan. “OfcourseI know Ryan. He’s from Seattle, even though the rest of his family is in Pennsylvania. You really should visit home more often, you know.”
“Uhhh.” Ryan didn’t know what to say to that.
“We’ll catch up later,” Bruce said to him with confidence. “Mayor Pierce, I have a dire situation that I must discuss with you immediately.”
Beckett closed his eyes for a moment. “Bruce. You are the town supervisor. I have complete faith that whatever crisis arises, you can handle it on your own tonight. Because I am spending the entire night alone with my wife while my saint of a mother takes the girls for a sleepover and Evan is with the debate club in Corning.”
“I’m afraid some situations are a bit more urgent than a quiet evening at home,” Bruce insisted as he fidgeted with the zipper on his coat.
Beckett gripped the man’s shoulder. “Bruce. Nothing. I repeat.Nothingis more important than getting home to my empty house where my beautiful wife is waiting for me to show up with a bottle of wine.”
Santa Bruce opened his mouth, but Beckett cut him off. “Nothing,” he repeated. “Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I need to get Aurora home to hand her off to my… Mom?”
At the end of the aisle, a woman wearing a floppy felt hat and glasses looked up. Her eyes went wide and she tried to duck behind a display of holiday-themed wine gift bags.
“Hi, Gram!” chirped Aurora, the underage tequila shoplifter.
“You’re not invisible, Mom,” Beckett said dryly.
