Page 28 of The Holiday Grump
“Fine. I’ll drag my stuff to your store and come back later. I need to use the bathroom anyway.” I reached for the backpack Fredrik had taken off me and stored at his feet.
He lifted it onto his shoulder instead. “We can’t go straight there. Not if he’s keeping watch.”
“For fuck’s sake!” I clamped my mouth, my cheeks burning. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Let’s walk to my car.”
I turned off the lights, locked up, and followed him to a silver Mazda parked in front of his store. We both pretended not to notice Mr. Young hiding behind a lamppost, his collar turned up like an old movie spy. Fredrik shoved my backpack into the trunk of his car and openedthe door for me. I slid inside, noting the smell of peppermint. My gaze landed on a bunch of candy canes hanging from his rearview mirror.
“Felicity,” he explained, starting the engine.
“Smells nice.” I watched through the back window as we drove away.
When Fredrik slowed down to turn away from the town square, I saw Mr. Young finally move toward his car.
“Just drive around the block,” I told Fredrik. “He’ll be gone by the time we’re back.”
He stared ahead, his mouth in a straight line. “I’m not taking you back to that store.”
CHAPTER 11
Fredrik
Ididn’t care how disagreeable or obnoxious she found me. I couldn’t let her live like that, hiding in a tiny storage room, in constant fear of an impromptu visit from her employer.
“How do you sleep there, anyway? The bed doesn’t look big enough for you.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her jaw jutting forward defensively as she stared out the window.
“Then you’re seriously blessed in that department. I’d be up all night.”
“I’m a lot smaller than you. Just take me back. I’ll be fine.”
“No. I have two options for you. There’s a room above my store I’ve used as emergency accommodation before, when… um… there was a time I needed it.”
“How much? I’ll take it!” She let out a nervous laugh, holding her hand over her chest.
Why was her breathing so rapid? We were just sitting.
After driving around the block and seeing that Mr. Young had finally moved on, I parked in front of the bookstore again.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem… anxious.”
She locked eyes with me, her gaze intense. “I… I just had a mini panic attack. I’m riding it out—it’ll pass.” She drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then added, “But I do need to use your bathroom.”
“Of course.”
When we got out of the car, she practically ran to the stairs. A few minutes later, she re-emerged, looking a little less agitated. I guided her to an armchair, and she sank into it with no protests, sucking in deep breaths. “I like this chair,” she said.
“I know. I found your credit card inside it.”
“What?” She looked up, horrified. I grabbed my lost-and-found basket and handed her the card.
“I must have… I think I sat down and was looking in my purse.”
“It’s fine. I find all manner of items inside that chair. It eats so many coins that Felicity nicknamed it the Slot Machine. The house always wins.”
She smiled, a little relieved, and pocketed the card. “Thank you.”
