Chapter 4
A rlo was sitting at the small table in the tiny kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee, when I emerged, socks and sneakers in hand. He looked up, peering at me over the rims of his reading glasses, and a small smile quirked his lips. I ignored that, taking a seat to dress my feet.
“You’re up early,” I commented as I slid one foot into a sock. It was barely eight o’clock and I’d heard him finally clomp up the stairs sometime after two. I’d been sleeping, but I was still in the mode that the slightest sound woke me. Fortunately, I also still had the ability to drop right back to sleep.
“I could say the same about you.” He pushed the glasses up on his nose and focused back on his iPad. But his eyes weren’t moving, so I knew he wasn’t actually reading.
“Morgan needs some help today.” Socks on, I pulled on my sneakers, tying them tightly. It was still weird to spend every day in them instead of my boots, but I’d get used to it before too long. Of course, soon the snow would start sticking, and I’d be in snow boots, which would feel a hell of a lot more familiar.
“You’ve helped him every day this week,” Arlo said, giving me a speculative glance.
It was only Thursday. After putting up the decorations in the lot on Monday and hanging banners on the streetlights down Center street on Tuesday, I’d helped him hang the flocked evergreen garlands and wreaths on the visitors center yesterday. I’d been shocked when he had me meet him at the old Cumberland house, which was apparently now the visitor’s center. What had once been a parlor was now filled with historical Hickory Hollow facts and memorabilia. The rest of the downstairs was a gift shop with Hickory Hollow merchandise, some of it seasonal, as well as knickknacks and tchotchkes. There were plenty of pamphlets about things to do in the area too.
When I didn’t comment on Arlo’s statement, he tried a different tack. “What’s on the agenda today?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. I’m meeting him at the senior center.”
“Well, it’s good of you to help him out. He works so hard.” Arlo shot me a look I couldn’t decipher before focusing on his tablet again. “Morgan Hawley is one of a kind and a good man.”
Odd that he would say that. I mean, it was true. I’d figured that out the first day. But I had no idea why Arlo would point it out. Then I thought back to their interactions that first day, and my brain started putting pieces together. I’d never seen Arlo date. The one or two times I’d asked, he’d said he was too busy raising me and running the pub. And maybe that had been true years ago, but things were different now. He was still busy with the pub, but he also had a manager who took some of the load off.
“Are you, um, interested in—” I stopped short at Arlo’s look of horror. Then it quickly morphed into mirth and he was laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. I waited for him to get control of himself.
“Oh heavens, no.” Arlo waved that away and chuckled for another few seconds. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s great. And pretty too. But not only am I too old for him, I’m not interested in anybody.” He paused then, really looking at me. “I thought you knew, but I guess I never did say it out loud. I didn’t have the words to describe it until the last decade or so. I’m asexual. Probably aromatic too.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I fought the wince at acting so clumsily and jumping to conclusions. But Arlo’s smile was kind as he shook his head.
“No need to apologize. Like I said, I never really did tell you. I should have. Maybe that would have made things easier for you.” The question was in his tone, but I wasn’t going to get into this with him now. He’d always been supportive, even if I hadn’t said things out loud either. Besides, I was about to be late, and that was one thing I couldn’t abide.
I stood, straightened my sweatshirt, and then, feeling awkward as hell, gave Arlo a side hug. He patted my arm. And that was about all the affection either of us could handle. We’d never been demonstrative, probably because I’d been a prickly as hell kid, and we weren’t used to it with each other. That should probably change. But I wasn’t going to worry about it now.
M organ was waiting for me outside the senior center. I couldn’t help but check my watch, just to make sure I wasn’t late. But I was right on time. The way he smiled made my heart beat fast, but then I clocked he had his hands under his armpits. Because of course he wasn’t wearing gloves. I frowned.
“You need gloves,” I muttered instead of a regular greeting. Like a normal person.
He chuckled. “I’m on the phone four hundred and twenty-seven thousand times a day. It’s a pain in the butt to have to take them off all the time.”
I squinted at him. “Frostbite would be a bigger pain in the butt.”
His mirth was infectious and had me fighting a smile. But I kept my expression stern out of long practice. Baby boot Marines were always getting into shit that, under other circumstances, would be hilarious. I’d learned not to smile, because it just encouraged them.
“It’s fine. I’m not in danger of frostbite.” He turned to the door and I had to do a quick jog to reach it first. Not that he wasn’t capable of opening his own doors, but it felt wrong. I held it for him and he grinned his thanks.
Inside was warmer, but not exactly warm. I followed Morgan down the short hallway and into the large room where the seniors held events. It was a huge open space, with a kitchen off to the left. A fake Scotch Pine, probably eight feet tall, stood in the corner and though it had multi-colored lights, there were no decorations on it. I glanced around and saw four very large totes I surmised to be decorations.
“We’re just waiting for…ah ha!” Morgan turned toward the sound of conversation, and three older ladies walked in through a side door. I recognized Elsie Cummings, because she’d been my math teacher in middle school, but not the other two. Morgan was quick to make introductions. “Elsie, Miriam, Rachel, thank you so much for joining us this morning! Do you know Barrett McKinnon?”
“Barrett!” Elsie exclaimed, coming closer with her arms outstretched. I bent to hug her but let go quickly. She patted my cheek before she stepped back. “The prodigal son returns. My, look at you. All grown up. Arlo has told us all about your accomplishments. Thank you for your service.”
I nodded, uncomfortable and trying not to show it. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Maybe sensing the awkwardness, Morgan swooped in and started directing. “The ladies and I will handle the decorations. Barrett, would you mind setting up the tables and the stands?”
I looked to where he was pointing and saw three long, folding tables and a box of acrylic pieces.
“Sure. What’s it for?”
Morgan blinked. “The gingerbread house competition, of course.”
I stared at him. He stared back. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch as though he wanted to smile. I hardened my stare. Morgan broke first, his eyes brimming with laughter even though his expression was neutral.
“We’re expecting seventeen entries this year but set up twenty stands because there’s always someone who jumps in last minute.” He leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You have to make sure they are exactly the same and entirely even. Last year it almost came to blows when Juniper Rawlings thought that Heidi Cooper had a better spot than her. It was bedlam.”
There was a playfulness in his tone that made me think he might be joking. But on the other hand, I knew exactly how people could be, and I’d gone to high school with Juniper. She’d been a mean girl and a bitch even back then, though she was two years older than I was, so I’d never been on the receiving end of her ire.
Someone turned on the radio, or more likely a playlist because I didn’t hear any commercials, and Christmas music filled the hall. It was festive at least, though I mostly blocked it out as I got to work. Once I figured out how the stands went together, it was easy to get into a rhythm. The tables were sturdy, if heavy, but it was no problem for me to get them into position. Then I went about setting up the stands, even going so far as to bend down to eye level to make sure each one was exactly the same distance from the table edge and its neighbor. I’d just finished the last one when I heard my name.
Morgan was on a ladder, decorating the top third of the tree while Elsie and Miriam worked on rest as far as they could reach. I crossed the room in a quick stride to make it to Morgan’s side. That ladder did not look entirely stable. It wobbled as he turned to give me his attention, and I grabbed the side to steady it.
“Oh, thank you.” He grinned. “Once you’re finished with the tables, would you mind hanging the tinsel over the kitchen pass-through window? Since I’m occupying the ladder.”
“I’m done. And how about I stay right here until you’re finished up there?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. You can go hang the garland.”
I didn’t say anything. Just leveled him with a stare. After a thirty second standoff, he huffed a breath that sounded somewhat like a chuckle. “Okay. I’ll hurry.”
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
He mumbled something under his breath that I wasn’t supposed to hear, but it sounded suspiciously like “I wish.” I wasn’t sure what that meant and if we’d been alone, I would have asked him to repeat it or explain himself. But the ladies were definitely interested in our exchange and I didn’t want to feed that. Instead, I just held on to the side of the ladder until Morgan was done and had both feet back on the ground.
After that, things moved quickly. I hung the garland and the snowflakes Rachel handed to me, one by one. The ladies talked about the upcoming holidays, and what family get togethers were happening, and what they were most looking forward to about the Holiday Festival. Morgan joined in where it was appropriate. But since I kept giving short answers to the ladies’ questions, they stopped asking. I wasn’t being rude. I kept my tone as polite and interested as possible. But I just wasn’t interested in elaborating on anything with them. I wasn’t the chatty type.
An hour later, the hall looked a little like Christmas threw up all over it, and the ladies weren’t done yet. Rachel and Miriam were jovially arguing about adding tinsel to the gingerbread tables and Elsie was adding fake snow to the village set up on the mantel. It wasn’t a real fireplace, but it was pretending to be, and she seemed very proud of her work. But they didn’t need us anymore now that the heavy lifting and high up decorating was done. Morgan called our goodbyes and tugged me out the door.
He pulled on his hat, the striped stocking cap again, and wrapped the long tail around his neck once before he pushed open the door. I reached over his head to hold it open. He shook his head with a chuckle and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat.
“Where should we eat today?”
After Mirabelle’s the first day, we’d hit up Costa’s Coffee and Cakes Tuesday and yesterday. I’d gone along because Morgan had been hungry again.
I narrowed my gaze and pointed a finger directly at him. “You need to start eating breakfast.”
He laughed. “I’m trying to.” Then he sobered and bit his lip. “You don’t have to eat with me if you don’t want to.”
It wasn’t that at all. I liked his company fine. And I really liked knowing he was getting the nutrition he needed, since he seemed to neglect that.
“You know you don’t have to feed me for helping you, right? I’m happy to help.”
His features smoothed out. “I’m glad to hear that. Because tomorrow the tents are getting delivered for the Market, and while the company we rent from will set them up, I’ll need help with the tables and decorations.” He touched my arm, and I was sure if my sweatshirt wasn’t in the way, I would have felt the coldness of his skin. “But I like feeding you. I like…dang it…it’s nice to eat with somebody for a change.”
He was killing me. I knew he had friends. Or at least was friendly with a ton of people. I was sure he didn’t have to worry about finding dining companions. But I also knew he was very busy, ate when he could, and didn’t always have a chance for a proper meal. I didn’t know what his family situation was, but I knew he didn’t have anybody in town. The least I could do was have a meal with the man.
“I’ve been thinking about Mirabelle’s frittata challenge.” I’d seen the advertisement the other day when we’d been there. This one was much larger than the regular sized one Morgan had had. If you finished the massive frittata in one sitting, you got a celebratory t-shirt and your name and picture on the wall of fame.
Morgan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “You think you can actually eat the whole thing?”
I patted my stomach. “I’m a Marine.”
He stared at me for a long moment, maybe waiting for me to elaborate. But there’s was no need. Eventually, he shrugged. “All righty then. Let’s get you a six-pound frittata.”