Page 5 of Grump Hard
I also respect the sanctity of our historical artifacts. Even the silly ones.
But perhaps Luke does not…
“What am I doing?” He props his hands on his hips with a huff. “I was taking a stroll down memory lane. That’s what I was doing. An angry stroll. But it’s an unpaved dead end full of potholes.” He waves an unsteady arm, gesticulating toward the various display cases. “None of this is my business. None of it! Let them stick a giant dildo on their town tree for another hundred years. Who cares? I won’t be here to see it.”
I cross my arms. “Have you been drinking?”
“Haven’t we all been drinking?” he shoots back. “Really? When you come right down to it?”
I arch a brow, fighting a smile. “Um, no. Not all of us. Some of us were sipping tea and painting in the tower room until we were rudely interrupted by the sound of someone breaking in downstairs.”
His expression softens. “Oh. Right. Sorry if I… If I frightened you.”
“You didn’t,” I assure him. “I figured it was one of the town teens, up to some mostly harmless holiday mischief. I know you haven’t been here in a while, Luke, but things haven’t changed. Silver Bell Falls is still one of the safest towns in the entire country.”
He cocks his head, his frown snapping back into place. “You clearly know my name, but I confess I can’t recall yours, Miss…”
My stomach sinks. I’m disappointed that he doesn’t recognize me, but it makes sense, I suppose. The last time our paths crossed, I was missing my two front teeth and wore my hair in pigtails. I was seven years old to his ten and trailed after him like an adoring puppy every time he and his brother Elliot came down the mountain to play.
He was always so kind, one of the rare “big boys” who protected the little kids instead of using us as cannon fodder. Not to mention creative and always up for a game of pretend in the bowels of the historic theater, when it got too cold to play outside. I still carry fond memories of our heroic quests to find the ring of power hidden in the massive costume storage room to this very day.
And I only know what he looks like because everyone knows what the billionaire Ratcliffe brothers look like.
Their faces are all over the news and social media, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve checked Luke out a few times over the years. When a girl happens to have shared a sled with one of the world’s most eligible billionaires, she likes to keep track of what that billionaire is up to—for storytelling purposes if nothing else.
It doesn’t hurt that the billionaire in question has penetrating blue eyes, perfectly wavy dark hair, and wears the hell out of a suit.
But it’s clear Luke has never done a social media deep dive on me.
Or a shallow one.
He looks thoroughly stumped.
“It’s Holly,” I say, forcing a smile. “Holly Hadley.”
More blankness, followed by a grunt.
“We used to play together when we were kids? Sledding and snowball fights? Pretending to be treasure hunters on a quest in the theater?” I pluck the red reindeer nose off my face. “Does that help?”
He grunts again. “I’m sorry. You must have me confused with someone else.”
My throat tightens with embarrassment, but I keep my smile fixed in place as I add, “No, I don’t think so, but that’s okay.” I shrug. “We all remember different things. I, for example, remember that you always made a few extra snowballs for me, so I had a fighting chance against the big kids. And I remember that time you and Elliot won the snowman decorating competition.” I laugh. “I’ll never forget how mad your maid was when she realized you’d taken your mother’s Rockette costume out of storage without permission.”
“My mother wasn’t a Rockette,” he says flatly. “She was a Vegas showgirl.”
“Oh, wow,” I say, intrigued. “Does she still live in Vegas? I’ve never been, but I’ve always wanted to go. Just to see the shows, though, I’m not much of a gambler.”
He sniffs. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her since I was a boy.”
I cringe and hurry to apologize. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Luke. I didn’t know. That must be hard, especially at the holidays.”
He clears his throat. “Yes, well, thank you, Miss…” He sighs again. Wearily. “Sorry, what was your last name, again?”
“Hadley,” I repeat. “You really don’t remember me?” I motion toward the front of the building. “We used to go sledding down that hill right outside. You let me ride in front of you. One time, when I was maybe five or six, the steering broke and we ended up shooting straight through the?—”
“As enjoyable as this has been, I have to go,” he says, cutting me off as he turns, collecting the peg leg from the floor. “My driver will be waiting.”
I blink in stunned silence as he lifts the display case’s glass top and returns the artifact to its stand. So, Luke’s become rude as an adult, as well. Rude and arrogant, with an extra helping of grumpy sauce.
