Page 55 of The Holiday Grump
Cold dread washed through me. “You didn’t touch it, did you? Don’t ever touch that thing. It’s older than me… It’s lethal.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t touch it.”
Relief pricked the back of my neck. My ancient FPE panel could absolutely kill someone. I should have given her a safety briefing.
“Why were you even looking at the fuse box?”
Her voice wavered, like she was trying hard not to cry. “Because I thought I caused all this. I mean, I plugged in the vacuum cleaner, and everything went dark. Doesn’t that sound like me? Everything I touch turns to shit.”
I almost smiled. Almost. “You can’t black out a whole street, no matter what you plug in, Noelle.”
“You sure? Because I feel cursed.”
I could barely see her in the dark, but the way her voice cracked told me she was losing the fight against those tears.
Panic tightened my windpipe. She was staying in my store, and I’d made her feel this way. I was responsible. I had to fix this somehow.
“Thanks for checking on me,” she murmured, burrowing deeper under the blankets. “You can go now.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was tight and brittle and muffled by the blankets. She wrapped herself like a cigarillo, as if sheer willpower could keep the cold out.
“You’re not fine. The temperature’s only going to drop. I have a fire going at my house.”
The bundle of blankets stilled. Then a small voice piped up. “A real fireplace?”
“No. My house is on fire.”
“Smart-ass.” She scoffed, but it was softer this time.
“And I have a sauna,” I added.
Her head popped out, her eyes widening with interest. “A sauna?”
“The house has Finnish roots.”
Her face lit up. “So do I! My grandma was Finnish.”
“Then she’d approve. The original owner was a Finn. He built the sauna first, then the house.”
“How old is it?”
“Two hundred years.” Which was about how old I felt most days.
“I love old houses.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
She got up, still hugging herself, shivering so hard her teeth clicked. “I should pack some things.”
I stepped back into the hall while she threw a few essentials into a canvas bag. When she emerged, she looked small and fragile, bundled in winter gear but still shaking.
I cranked the car’s heaters and seat warmers to the max. She slid into the passenger seat, arms locked around herself,trying to look normal. But the involuntary tremors gave her away.
“It’s a short drive,” I said.
“All good. You didn’t have to—” She broke off as her teeth clattered together.
