Page 85 of The Holiday Grump
My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. “Mr. Tillard? Her fifty-year-old boss?”
Jackson softened his tone, sounding more like he’d done for the past couple of years, walking on eggshells like everyone else. “I didn’t want to tell you since it might not be true, and well… does it matter anymore? I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I was saying it to myself. “Honestly.”
I gave him a reassuring nod. I didn’t want him to lose the earlier honesty. I needed the tough love, not the careful platitudes used with grieving people.
“It’s better,” I said decisively. “Because I had no proof. Not even a rumor. I only had a suspicion, and she accused me of being paranoid. And then she was gone, and what kind of monster accuses a dead woman of cheating?”
Jackson laughed a little, and I relaxed.
“She traveled to Bangor every week. She told me that guy, Greg, loved her work and was going to give her a column or something. That’s why she wanted to move there. That’s why she wanted to sell the house. Maybe she was in love with him.”
The words tumbled out of me with unexpected calm and clarity. I’d been blaming myself for our marriage falling apart. For her death. For everything. I was disagreeable. Antisocial. Annoying. But maybe there was more to it.
The worst thing about death was the silence. I couldn’t get the truth out of her. We couldn’t reconcile or even properly break up. Her last words were frozen in time.You’re like a fucking octogenarian!she’d screamed, gathering her things and throwing them into a suitcase.I refuse to live this small, pathetic life! There’s nothing for me here, but you don’t care. You don’t care if I’m happy!
Maybe Jackson was right. I was a commitment junkie. Even after she collapsed and never woke up, I wanted to work things out. I needed to make sense of her. Of us. But I was ghosted, in a literal sense, without any chance of closure. The dead offered nothing but silence. And as much as I abhorred socializing, I didn’t thrive in silence. My brain went around in circles, always ending up in the same spot. Guilt.
Jackson held still as a statue, the beer dangling from his fingertips. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
“Maybe I do.”
CHAPTER 28
Noelle
“Noelle, dear. You don’t even have a kitchen.”
Ida’s words brought me back to reality, and I lowered my raised hand. It was Tuesday night, and the crochet club was about to begin. Minutes earlier, Ida had burst in, bearing news. Her daughter had gone into labor a month early, so she was leaving town and wouldn’t be around for her Christmas Calendar event.
Which was the Pulla Appreciation Day.
“But I’ve been really, really looking forward to it.” My voice wobbled, and I set down my half-crocheted Santa hat. “My grandmother was Finnish, and when we visited her, we’d eat so much pulla! I even have my grandma’s recipe. She gave it to us just before she died.”
Ida offered me a comforting smile. “Oh, trust me.There’s no one else I’d rather hand this over to. But you’d need a kitchen. A big one.”
“Then mine’s out,” Felicity said.
Erica shot me an apologetic look. “I’m quite busy too, but maybe we can find a day that works?”
I couldn’t ask her. It sounded like she was baking for half the town already. Lola was running late, and Astrid’s kitchen was probably being used to make tinctures. Eileen had arrived with her assistant, Lucy, a gorgeous woman in her twenties with long, curly hair. I’d seen her in the café. Yesterday, they had a special on cappuccinos, a really good special, and the line was out the door. They must have both been exhausted. I couldn’t bother any of these people with my kitchen issues.
I caught Kailee’s eye, and she mouthed Fredrik’s name, giving me the push I needed.
“I’ll ask Fredrik!”
He had a huge, unused kitchen. And we were friends. What was one more benefit?
I’d overslept that morning, after a night of wandering the town, doing my good deeds, and had only seen him in passing as I rushed to open my store. He’d brought me a sandwich for lunch, though, and we’d agreed to meet for dinner tomorrow night. I couldn’t wait. My store was busy, yet the hours felt longer than ever. Sweet and agonizing, with a hint of underlying fear.
If I fell for him, I’d ruin everything. Even if Spencer stayed out of it, I’d mess it up. I’d change his surroundings, get too involved, and freak him out. I’d become that girl again who slipped into someone else’s life and lost sight of herself. Instead of Spencer, I’d be molding myself toFredrik. I’d live in his house and drive his car and worry about his reactions. How was that any different?
If I had any hope of navigating this, I had to stick to our agreement. We were friends. And friends didn’t rearrange friends’ kitchens.
But maybe I could use his kitchen, very discreetly, when he wasn’t there.
“Do you think we could have it at my store? Maybe right outside if the weather’s okay?” I asked Ida.
