Chapter 15 #2
This embrace isn’t sensual or even romantic, but it provides the warmth my bleak heart needs.
“Thank you.” I angle back, peering up at him and savoring the comfort of his touch.
“It’s not your fault though. It’s just one of those things.
” The notes of misery in his gaze make me press into him more.
“This past year wasn’t easy, but I’m learning more about her. Things I never understood before.”
“Like?”
Here I go. “Did you believe in Santa when you were little?”
He’s quiet for a handful of pulse-pounding seconds. No doubt from my abrupt switch in conversation. “I honestly can’t remember. I think I did when I was really young.” He releases me but remains close.
“I got made fun of in second grade because I told some girls at recess what I wanted from Santa. I came home crying and begged Gran to tell me the truth—if he existed or not. Do you know what she said?”
“Tell me.” Leo leads me to the bench, and we sit.
“She told me about the real-life Saint Nicolas. How he gave to those in need. How he used his inheritance to help the poor.” I can see everything so clearly now.
“She told me to never stop believing in Santa. Not exactly the made-up one, but to believe in the message behind it, like the power of giving, the strength of love. She reminded me of that every Christmas since.” Always believe.
She even wrote those words in her last letter.
He strokes his thumb over my knuckle. “She was a wise woman.”
“She was also the Silver Creek Secret Santa.”
His brows rise. “Seriously?”
I nod. “I found out a week ago. I was shocked she never let on, but looking back, she told me in her own little ways.”
He reaches over and adjusts my scarf, his thumb grazing my neck. “Your gran did a lot of good.”
“She wants me to continue the tradition. But I don’t know where to start.
” I exhale the air from my chest, feeling the pressure of the task.
“I thought it would be simple. Like, just pick the person whose story hit me in the feels. I’ve already been duped twice.
” I tell him about my experiences so far.
“Then I remembered what you told me at that gala. You said you could pick out the fake from the real. I thought … we can strike a bargain.”
Interest lights his eyes. “What kind of bargain?”
I shift under the weight of his stare. “Maybe I can help you with your search for the nativity set, and you can help me find the right candidate. I feel so lost right now.”
“Deal.”
I blink. “Don’t you want to, uh, think about it more?” At least longer than half a second.
His grin unleashes. “No. In this bargain, I’m the winner.”
Time to wave the caution flag. “You might not be the winner because I can’t guarantee we’ll find an authentic Vallerton. It helps that Rene Vallerton was a local artist. It boosts our chances, though I can’t promise anything. Only to help you search.”
“Got it.” He glances pointedly about, and I can’t help but follow his searching gaze.
“What are you looking for?”
“Mistletoe. There’s got to be some around here.” His teasing smile steals my very breath. “So we can seal our agreement.”
“A handshake works.”
His head lolls toward me. “It lacks a festive touch, but okay.” He sticks out his hand, and I slip my fingers in his. His hand’s warm, calloused, and perfectly engulfs mine. “Does this make me your elf?” He gives a gentle squeeze. “Because I remember how you feel about elves.”
I sputter a laugh. No doubt he was referencing my destruction of Josie’s light display. “That was a one-time thing. I’m generally pro-elf.”
“Good to know.” He releases my hand. “When do we start?”
Oh man. Am I prepared to spend more free time with Leo? It’s so tempting. He is so tempting. “I have some obligations at the beginning of the week, but, usually, I have Sundays and Mondays off. And most evenings free.” Because I have no life. “I can also do early mornings before the shop opens.”
“I can do Sunday and Monday night and any mornings.”
“Perfect. How about we start Tuesday morning? Say seven? We can meet at the shop.”
“Sounds great.” He points to the restaurant across the street. “Should we celebrate our bargain over pizza?”
Monday morning finds me at Brewtiful Grounds, sitting across from Fletcher Thomas, who’s sipping his peppermint macchiato made by the pageant princess herself. Tilly’s behind the counter, giving me a thumbs-up every five minutes.
“I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.” He sets his coffee down and graces me with a compassionate look. “A lot has changed since we last met.”
“It’s harder than I thought it would be.” My mind’s eye can picture the stack of letters still on my counter, taunting me. “But I have a plan in motion.” Leo. He’s the plan.
He smiles. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re adapting. It was a lot to pile on you.”
I take a sip of my vanilla gingerbread latte. “Yeah, it was. Plus, you weren’t entirely truthful with me.” All this time. He knew something—a huge something—about Gran that I was clueless about. Though that wasn’t the only secret he withheld from me. “Fletcher?”
“Hmm?”
“I kinda loathe you right now.”
“You’re very polite in your hatred. May I ask why?” After a second, his brows sink as if in realization. “Because I didn’t tell you sooner about your grandmother? I wasn’t allowed to with client confidentiality.”
“Okay, fine. You can toss out legal jargon for that. But I was thinking more about Remington Mathis.”
“What about him?” He leans back against the booth and stretches his arm along the benchtop, the picture of ease and relaxation.
“He asked you about me last year, and you told him you had no idea who I was. Really, Fletcher? Way to make a girl feel memorable.”
“What?” His eyes widen. “You? You’re Remington’s mystery lady? The one he couldn’t track down?”
“Do you know any other Gretas?” Maybe he does. I mean, I don’t own exclusive rights to the name. “Or am I that forgettable?”
He blows out a breath. “When Remington asked, he mentioned this charming, witty, beautiful woman.”
I don’t know if I should be flattered that Leo thought such of me or angered that Fletcher decidedly did not. “Fletcher, remember when I gave you that pep talk about how to talk to ladies? You’re regressing.”
He realizes his mistake. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. You’re all those things.”
“Very convincing,” I deadpan. “But continue. I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself.”
He chuckles. “You are all those things, but only when people get to know you.” He gives me a pointed look. “The first time we met?—”
“I’ve known you pretty much all my life.”
He leans forward, eyes on me. “No, I mean the first time we really spoke to each other. Do you remember?”
“Vaguely.” I only revisited that encounter every night at 3 a.m. for months on end. “Something about me falling into a trash can. The details are kinda fuzzy.”
He laughs. “You saw me and bolted. Like you wanted to avoid all conversation.”
Sounds about right. “If only I could’ve avoided the trash can with the same finesse.” In my hurry to get away, I didn’t notice the giant plastic bin and landed headfirst into it. Not my finest moment.
“When I helped you out, you were covered in hives. Which you said was …”
“Allergies.”
“More specific,” he coaxes.
“High pollen count,” I confess with a frown.
“And high pollen couldn’t be the reason because …”
“It was December.” I drop my head onto my balled hands. “You’re not helping me loathe you any less. You’re actually fueling my disdain.”
His smile widens. “I only mention this because I know how you are around people. New people in particular. You’re more introverted.”
Another valid point. If extroverted-ness was like cell reception, I’m the equivalent of one bar.
And it’s blinking off and on. “So you assumed that Remington’s Greta couldn’t be this Greta.
” I point to myself. “Because I have the social flair of a blind raccoon.” Which is why I was amazed at myself when I could freely talk and flirt with Leo that night.
It must’ve been the ambiance of the moonlit moment.
“Now I have a question. Are you Remington’s Greta?”
“Huh?” I blink. “Yeah, I was the one who was at the park that night. Obviously, I didn’t realize he never showed because he was fighting fires. We didn’t exchange numbers or full names.”
“No, I meant are you and him … a couple?” He takes a long sip of his drink, watching me over the brim of his cup.
“A couple?” I repeat like I’m some sort of robotic parrot. “No, we’re not together.”
He nods. “Probably for the best. I’ve known Remington my entire life. He never stays in one spot very long. As your friend, I thought you’d want to know.”