Page 31 of Grinch Girl

She shrugged then grinned. “Sorry. There is just literally no other phrase in the English language that covers how he was staring at you.”

I shook my head quickly and took off my jacket. “Editing,” I insisted. “He was actually looking at one of the dancers. Anyway,” I brushed my hands together, desperate for a subject change, “why are you here instead of doing your own work?” I thought back to Nate’s remarks about Bella’s uncharacteristic procrastination. “Don’t you have some sort of big launch coming up soon? Shouldn’t you be working on that?”

She sighed, and I saw the strain from Nate’s face appear on hers. “Yeah. Probably. No, definitely.”

Bella put a hand high on her stomach, over her rib cage, the same way she did that September of our junior year in high school when we’d learned the December date the SAT test would be proctored. She’d known the scores she’d need for a scholarship as well as the high expectations everyone held. I’d figured she’d barricade herself in her bedroom with a stack of SAT prep books, but for the next month, she found any excuse not to study. She’d babysit for the neighbors, run unnecessary household errands, do yardwork for hours.

This must be the same kind of thing. She was so stressed from the pressure of her upcoming software launch that she wasprocrastinating by throwing herself wildly into the Christmas Village andSingle Bells.

In high school, she eventually ran out of excuses and snapped back to reality and those SAT prep books. I was sure the same thing would happen now; the crazy antics of winter Falworth would eventually drive her back to her launch.

In fact, I’d speed it along. “I’m here now, so please leave. I’ll close up.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.Just leave, Bells.

She stood and slid on her coat. “We should probably start planning Christmas Eve soon,” she said quietly.

Ugh, I’d forgotten all about that. I was going to have to cap this month of insanity by spending the holiday with my nemesis in a house I hadn’t even been able to drive by since September. “What’s to plan?” I said nastily. “I’ll show up. We’ll drink a quick toast to Greta. Then I’ll go to bed.”

She looked at me reproachfully, not needing to say the words aloud.That’s not what Greta wanted.

Her somber, blue-eyed judgment both shamed me and made me furious. “I don’t understand why you’re here,” the petulant words escaped my mouth. But seriously, even if she’d bitten off more than she could chew with her software product, couldn’t she procrastinate in Chicago?

“Why are you back in Falworth for the whole month?” I demanded. “Why are you doingSingle Bells? Why did you donate all that money for the Christmas Village when you haven’t been here in ages? Greta is gone,” I emphasized, making us both wince. “So why are you back?”

Bella wrapped a scarf around her neck, chewing on her lip as though searching for the right words. “I’ve had an overwhelming couple of months,” she said finally. “Along with Greta passing, some things happened that left me really disoriented. I wanted to feel centered again.”

She met my eyes. “I wasn’t lying in my firstSingle Bellsconfessional. I really do want to reconnect with my home and—” She paused and her eyes went strangely bright. “And the people here.”

This is not your home anymore,I wanted to shout, ignoring the sheen in her eyes that might have been tears. But now she was shrugging and still talking. “As for the Christmas Village, that’s easy. When I arrived, I called Carol, and she explained the town’s situation. I was recently awarded a lot of money in a lawsuit, so I could afford to help. It’s the least I could do.”

A lawsuit? I almost asked more questions about that, but I didn’t want to give the impression that I cared.

She didn’t seem to want to get into it either. She yawned and wiped her eyes as she pulled her coat on. “See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow night, the web series dates were all taking place at one location: the bowling alley. We’d thought it would be a great visual: each couple would bowl in an adjoining lane. It would also be a series-wide competition—the couple who got the best combined score would win some sort of prize.

Michael was in a bowling league, so he and Bella would be solid contenders. They actually used to go bowling on a lot of dates in high school, so this would be a sweet little walk down memory lane for them.

For him at least.

“What are you doing with Michael?” I asked Bella before she could walk out of the door. “This is just a holiday visit for you. A whim. But this is Michael’s actual life. He’s going to be devastated when you leave. Again,” I emphasized.

She paused and then the door slammed behind her, a whisper on the wind I must have misheard.“Maybe I won’t leave.”

I spent some time at the shop, staying open a few hours late and netting quite a few sales when the Christmas Village closedand tourists were heading back to their Airbnbs and motel rooms. In between ringing up six-packs, peppermint schnapps, and cheap bottles of bourbon, I examined my various savings accounts and what kind of loan it would take for me to buy Bella’s half of the shop.

The whole exercise put me in a bad mood. Was she having some sort of early mid-life crisis? Why would she even consider moving back here when her life was so perfect? No. She was just caught up in the whirlwind right now. Basking in the town’s joy at her homecoming and in the glow of a little vacation romance. Once that all wore off, she’d be on her way yet again.

The thought made my stomach ache a bit as I drove home. Just remnants of past hurt, I assured myself. Just the memory of how abandoned eighteen-year-old Jane felt at the moment Bella left and all those early years when the promises we’d made were broken and all the plans we’d made never came to fruition and all the dreams I’d had just faded into normal life. Memories were powerful, and it was natural that seeing her again would churn up the old gut.

But I had a strong protective layer to me; Michael did not. I could tell from watching all those hours of footage. He thought Bella was back for a reason, and that the reason might be him. He thought they were starting a real thing.A rough January is in store for you, my friend.

I turned my truck into my apartment building parking lot and braked. Nate was outside in a ski jacket, just looking up at the stars in the black sky.

Sighing loudly, I parked several spots away from him. Why had I suggested my own apartment building? Why did he have to be outside? I didn’t want to see him in person. His face, now open and wondering as he admired the night sky, looked completely different than the man captured in that riveting moment at The Satin Lady.

“J-Bird,” he said softly, his voice again dwarfed by the night. Was this a thing with him? Did he lower his voice when walking down the evening streets in Chicago too? Or was this only part of his Falworth brand?

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