Chapter 12 #2
“I’m grabbing Leo a plate.” I motion at the barstools.
“Leo, you can take a seat at the counter if you want. Oh, and that’s Oggy.
” The schnauzer lifts his head from the rug as if hopeful one of us will toss him a crumb.
“He’s harmless and surprisingly the quietest out of all of us.
” Seriously, the dog is too silent for his own safety, considering I nearly tripped over him last week.
“Though he does have a penchant for burying things in the yard.” Oggy tilts his head as if offended but is soon caught up in Leo’s attention.
As Leo’s preoccupied with Oggy, Mom leans to whisper in my ear, “Did you invite him?”
I’m thankful the dishwasher’s running, keeping Mom’s low tones from reaching Leo. “No, Leonard did.”
“Is he single?”
“Leonard? Yes, I believe he’s been single for about two decades.”
She nearly swats me with a spoon. “You know who I mean.”
“I know.” I angle away from Leo. “But all I care about right now is making it through Thanksgiving without any fake body parts dropping onto the food.”
Her face pales. “Please tell me that didn’t happen before.”
Glass eyeballs, toupees, and false teeth, to name a few.
I warned Leonard not to buy his dentures off eBay because he needed a custom fit, but he never listened, claiming it was a steal.
I dared not ask if they were used. “Enough for me to keep back a whole pie.” I point at the lone pumpkin pie on the counter.
“The things that go on in this house amaze me.” With that, she grabs the bowls of whipped cream and leaves.
Mom’s oblivious to my Secret Santa duty. She has no idea that her mother was wealthy. Though I couldn’t help but wonder, what if Gran had left Mom all the money? Would Mom leave again? It’s sad that I can’t answer this.
“Anything I can do to help?” Leo’s question yanks me from my dismal thoughts.
Ugh, the poor man’s probably starving. “I got it.” I grab a plate from the cabinet and the covered dishes from the counter. I prepare him a plate large enough to induce a food coma and warm it in the microwave. Leo joins my side as I’m rinsing off the serving spoons.
“I feel bad you’re waiting on me. Can I do anything?”
I move toward the beeping microwave. “You can grab a drink from the fridge, if you want. Coke and bottled water are in the bottom drawer. There might be some Sprite left.” That is, if Bruce didn’t steal it all. Those men act like teenagers, raiding the kitchen and leaving their shoes everywhere.
“Greta?”
“Yeah?” I grab some silverware and glance at Leo, who’s staring into the open fridge with a bewildered expression.
“There’s a hand in here.”
I try not to wince. “Ah, yes. The mannequin.” I reach inside and grab it by its chilly fingers. “Pap was looking for this. I’ve no idea why it’s in the fridge.”
“Do you usually have plastic appendages lying around?”
As if I needed another reminder that Leo’s upbringing was a stark contrast from mine.
We are from different worlds, but—I raise my chin—we share the same stars.
I have nothing to be ashamed of. Mostly.
“This is the Mavericks’ esteemed trophy.
” I explain its concept and history, though I don’t think I succeed at making the Mavericks seem less eccentric.
But Leo’s a good sport, and if he thinks we’re all weirdos, he doesn’t show it.
We rejoin the others, and while Leo inhales turkey and mashed potatoes, Pap tries to teach him the rules of Hearts.
“You never want to be stuck with the queen of spades.” Pap talks like he’s instructing a five-year-old, making me snicker. “She’s worth thirteen points.”
Leo takes a large swig of his Coke. “And points are bad?”
“The fewer, the better. Your goal is to stay at zero.” Pap makes an “O” with his hand as if Leo needs the visual, but what Leo really needs is an escape. These men are intense about their cards. “If you get the queen of spades, pass it along to your neighbor at the beginning of the round.”
After some painful moments that involve a pop quiz and more monologues, I rescue Leo from Pap’s clutches. I turn on the television so Leo can watch football—a game that actually makes sense to him—and go help Mom with the coffee. I approach Professor with a pot of decaf, and he holds out his mug.
“Ah.” Professor leans back in his chair, a satisfied sigh escaping. “It’s been a great week, Greta. First, I get what you kids call a side hustle , and then tonight, I have your Gran’s pumpkin pie. You copied the recipe to a T.”
“Side hustle?” I pop my free hand on my hip. “Leonard’s not recruiting you for another pyramid scheme, is he?”
“The day I join Leonard Faulk in business is the day I say the Oxford comma’s outdated.”
“Wow, that’s serious.” I pour his coffee and hand the pot to Mom as she passes. I claim the vacant chair beside Professor. “Tell me, is this new job at the local delicatessen?” I wag my eyebrows, but the second I mention the deli, Professor’s gaze turns distant.
“I wish.” The poor man’s got it bad. “The way Phyllis works the slicer is like watching poetry.”
“Um.”
“Sadly, no position at Thatcher’s.” He adds cream to his coffee, samples it, then adds more. “I get to channel my inner thespian and pretend to be an ailing parent.”
“Ailing parent?”
“You know, Henry, who owns the hardware store across town?”
I scoot my chair closer. “I know of the hardware store.”
“Well, Henry really wants a sunroom. You know, those fancy ones you see on those home design shows. He wrote the Silver Creek Secret Santa with a made-up story about his dying dad, and he asked me to pretend to be his father.”
This has to be the letter I read. The one I picked! And it’s a scam. “Professor, that’s unethical.”
“What’s unethical is all those college kids using ChatGPS for cheating.”
“GPT.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I press a finger to my temple. Just when I thought I had it all figured out. “You shouldn’t lie about that, Professor. Besides, what’s in it for you?”
He leans forward and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Henry asked for forty thousand dollars in his letter, but he already got an estimate for the sunroom for around thirty-five. So, he told me I can keep the rest. Can you imagine all the Cambridge texts I can buy with five thousand dollars?” He proceeds to fake-cough.
“Does that sound believable? Maybe I should add a wheeze or two.”
I pull his pie away, and he protests.
I keep it hostage with one hand, and with the other, I grab a carrot stick from the snack tray.
“Here.” I drop the veggie in front of him.
“You don’t deserve Gran’s pie if you’re going to go through with such a fraud.
” Which he won’t because I’m definitely not picking Henry the Hustler.
It takes several minutes, but Professor promises to relinquish his future life as a scammer, and I return his pie.
With Leo absorbed in the football game, and Mom roped into a round of Hearts, I duck into the kitchen under the guise of cleaning up, but, really, I need a moment.
My mood drops even lower as I dip my hands into the sudsy sink.
I feel duped. This morning, I was convinced I’d chosen the right candidate. Now, I am doubting my judgment.
Maybe I should donate the money to the chamber of commerce and let them take on the role. I blow out a slow breath, struggling against the tightening in my chest. I’m morally conflicted. Gran asked in her letter that I take on the task.
Footsteps sound behind me, booted and heavy.
Leo.
I glance over my shoulder at his handsome face, and he nods at the stack of plates. “Want some help?”
Despite my earlier disappointment, the sight of him has me feeling better. “Is football over?”
“No, I felt the need for company.”
“Oh? I think Leonard and Bruce were swapping enema stories. I’m sure they’d love your input.”
His smile slips. “You’re too sweet to do that to me.”
“Am I?” I arch a brow.
“I’ll wash those dishes in exchange for you being my company.” He approaches and smoothly tugs the dishcloth from my hand.
As if I’d ever deny myself the view of a hot guy doing dishes. “You’re on. You wash, and I’ll dry. Here.” I grab an apron from the drawer and hand it to him. “I’d hate for you to get messy.” As a connoisseur of clothes, I can tell his sweater is high quality.
He holds it up and reads the front, “Chop it like it’s hot.”
I sweep a hand over my own apron. “Clearly, we’re all sophisticated at the Carlton residence.”
He chuckles. “I prefer your version of refinement.” He pushes up his sleeves, and yep, with those hot wrists, I know I made the right choice accepting his offer.
He slips on the apron and plunges his hands into the soapy water.
“Thanks again for tonight, despite not planning on me. Next time I’ll interrogate Leonard a little better. ”
I laugh. “I expect someone like you to have more invitations than you can handle.” I remember how those women flocked to him at the firefighters’ benefit.
Not to mention, those who practically elbowed me out of the way at the parade to get his attention.
“I would’ve asked if I thought there was a chance of you coming. ”
“Would you?” A smile flicks across his face. “That gives a man hope.”
Hope? My pulse thuds like the marching beat of a thousand nutcrackers.
“Greta, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
A sudden buzzing noise makes Leo quickly dry his hands and tug his phone from his pocket. He glances at the screen, his face filling with regret. “It’s the station. I’m getting called out.” He removes the apron and sets it on the counter.
“I’ll get your things.” I start to pivot toward the hall, but then remember. “Didn’t you arrive with Leonard?” If so, I might need to run Leo to get his truck.
He shakes his head. “No, I drove. We met here.”
I nod and fetch his stuff from the closet.
He shrugs into his coat, stuffs his beanie on his head, then takes my hand. “Sorry I can’t stay and help.”
“It’s totally fine,” I say, my hand captive in his large one. “Better go out the back. The Mavericks can be a tough crowd to get away from.”
He offers a small smile and withdraws his touch. “Will you explain for me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you.” He pauses as if to say something more, but his phone goes off again. His eyes meet mine. “Goodnight, Greta.”
“Be safe.” I watch him leave, the glow from the porchlight carving out his form until he enters the night shadow.
A collective groan rises from the living room, followed by Pap’s gruff rebuke, “Leonard, get your teeth out of the pie.”
Stupid eBay.