Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Max
Narrator: The snow is crisp, magic is in the air, and Max spent the night scoping out every single sprig of mistletoe that he could find so he could spend a little more time tasting Betty.
Granted, this started with his desire to save the farm, and he swore up and down about not having any intimate interest in her, but I think we all knew where this was headed.
Because despite her intentions for being in Kringle, he sees something else in her.
And the more time he spends with her, the more he’s starting to realize just how much he could like her.
“Crunch Tator for you, Crunch Tator for me,” Storee says as she takes a seat in the clubhouse and then hands me another juice box. “Shall we start this meeting with our secret handshake?”
“I think we shall,” I say as I steeple my hands together, making a Christmas tree shape.
Storee bombs the tree with her fist, and then we open up our Crunch Tators.
“How much time do you have?”
“Like five minutes,” she answers. “Cole was wondering why the hell I had to go see Aunt Cindy on Cupid Christmas Night. I told him to warm up the pineapple candy cane and I’d be right back.”
“Eck, gross.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it, Atlas,” she says while popping a chip in her mouth. “So how did it go?”
I can’t hold back my smile. “We kissed three times.”
“What?” Storee whisper-shouts. She turns to me and pushes at my shoulder. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I know. It just happened. Mistletoe really worked, and then we hung an ornament on the tree together, stared up at the stars. It was . . . it was nice.”
Storee slowly nods and then points her chip-coated finger at my mouth. “You’re smiling. What happened to ‘I don’t like her, and this is all to save the farm’? That smile and the hearts in your eyes you have whenever she’s around suggest something different.”
I set my bag down and turn toward Storee as well.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Storee.
I shouldn’t like her. She’s trying to take out the farm, and she has all the ways to do it, but for some reason, when I look at her, I don’t see that person.
I see someone else. I see someone who is looking for a fresh start.
Someone looking to set down some roots. Someone looking for joy.
She doesn’t seem like she has a vindictive bone in her body. You know?”
“I get the same feeling from her. And I don’t know. I feel bad deceiving her, because I really like her. She’s sweet and funny, and I could see us being good friends.”
“Yeah, I don’t like deceiving her either.
Then again, I think the BTMCs haven’t really been booby traps at all, just opportunities for me to grow fucking feelings for her.
Like . . . when we were saying goodbye tonight, I was desperate to find another sprig of mistletoe, any excuse to kiss her one more time.
I wanted to drive her home. I wanted to walk her up to her door. What is wrong with me?”
“Nothing. You found someone you’re interested in.”
“I know, but I feel like I booby-trapped myself. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She was supposed to fall for me, and then I was supposed to pull the old switcheroo on her. Now I’m starting to like this woman, and I’m pretty sure she’s still set on taking my family and me down.”
“Do you really think that?”
I tug on my hair. “I don’t know. It just seems strange that she had an instant dislike of me, and I can’t help but think that Dwight is behind that.” She had such a negative view of me, and that was just so foreign.
“Because you’re just . . . you’re not what I expected.”
“And now that you are, what are you finding?”
“That you’re sweet. That you’re goofy. That you and I seem like the same rambling person.”
“I think her opinion of me is changing. But I don’t truly know where she stands when it comes to me.”
“Well, there is a way to find out.”
“Ask her?” I shake my head. “What am I going to do? Go up to her and say, Hey, Betty, are you having feelings for me? If so, could you not try to build that farm next door? Thanks.”
“No, that’s not what I was going to say.”
“Then what?” I ask.
“Time to commence phase three.”
I sit back. “What’s phase three?”
“See if we can make her jealous.”
“This is stupid, Storee. She’s not going to fall for it.”
“I know what I’m doing,” she says as she adjusts a hat on one of the six mannequins we brought over from the farm storage.
“A fake party to make her jealous? You really think that will work?”
“We’re trying to gauge her reaction. And then we’ll know what you mean to her.
If she acts sad or upset that maybe you didn’t invite her, then we know she shares your feelings.
If she couldn’t care less, then that’s when we have to reassess our entire approach.
Because if you’re starting to grow feelings and she has none, this could end very horribly.
You could end up with a broken heart and a run-down farm. ”
“Wow, thanks for that.” I look around at the way Storee has set up the house.
Old mannequins from when my mom used to sell vintage Christmas-themed dresses on the farm are decked out in holiday outfits, also pulled from the archives.
They are all lined up along the windows.
Lamps without the shades are positioned to light up the mannequins and cast shadows against the curtains—she saw it in a movie once.
She mixed some Christmas music with background noise of people chatting for me to play, and there are two revolving fans that have strings tied to them to move three of the mannequins’ arms, which we had to lubricate with WD-40, which, have you ever smelled that shit? Woof.
“I’ll text you when we hit the stop sign right before we get to your driveway. It will be a simple emoji.”
“What emoji?” I ask.
“I don’t know, just any emoji.”
“Any? Don’t you think that’s confusing?”
“How is that confusing?” she asks. “It doesn’t matter what emoji. It’s just a symbol to say, Turn everything on and get ready.”
“Okay, so we’re not doing different emojis for different signals?”
“No,” she says with force. “The emoji I choose means nothing other than Get the fuck ready.”
“Okay, whoa, no need to swear.”
She rolls her eyes and then checks around the room again. “Now don’t fiddle around with this stuff. I have it set perfectly.”
“What if something needs to be adjusted?”
“No fiddlin’ around,” she says, pointing at me. “If something goes wrong, it’s because you touched it. Everything is set perfectly. Let it be.”
“But what if a head falls off? These mannequins are old. We can’t have a headless person gesturing to someone with a head.”
“Obviously put the head back. But do not touch anything else, got it?”
I nod, not feeling confident about this. “Are we sure this is the right move?”
“For the love of God, yes.” She blows out a breath.
“Only one more question for you.”
“What?”
“I’m having a party at my house . . . but where are all the cars?”
“That . . .” She pauses and then presses her lips together. “Huh. You know, great point.” Then she snaps her fingers. “I’ll tell her you bring people in on a party bus so they can drink and have fun.”
“You think that could work?”
“I can be pretty convincing. I mean, I convinced Cole to wear a thong and you to throw this ridiculous fake party.”
She has me there.
Knowing she’s right, she heads toward the door and then turns toward me. “This is it, Atlas. Don’t get scared.”
“Why am I going to get scared? You’re just doing a drive-by, right?”
“Noooooo, she’s coming to your door, remember? I’ll have her pick up the ornaments off the tree, and we’ll bring them to you. She’ll be excited that the ornament was still there, and you’ll answer the door but keep it partially shut so she can’t get in, and then talk to her. It’s in the script.”
“What script?” I ask.
“I texted it to you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did,” she counters.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket and flash her our text chain.
She clamps her hand over her mouth, and her eyes widen. “Oh my God, did I send it to her?”
My stomach drops and panic ensues. “Holy fuck, Storee. Did you?”
She fumbles for her phone, her hands shaking as she unlocks it. I look at her screen, my heart pounding as she pulls up her text thread with Betty.
Together, relief washes through us as we see the last texts were about them meeting up at Ornament Park.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, hand to heart. “I think I almost had a heart attack.”
“That’s so weird. I typed it up. I swear I did. Oh God, did I send it to Cole?” Once again, my anxiety skyrockets only for her to say, “Nope, not Cole. Oh shit, it was Tanya.”
“What?” I say, turning to her.
“Oh, not her either.”
My expression turns to irritation. “Who the fuck was it, Storee?”
She clicks around, saying, “No, nope, not them.” And then finally she clicks on my name and starts laughing. “Oh, I typed it up to you and just didn’t press Send. Isn’t that funny?”
I stare at her, sweat now pooling in my armpits from the stressful emotional roller coaster she just sent me on. “Yeah, fucking hysterical.”
“Well, anyway, take a gander at that, and let me know if you have any questions.” She twiddles her fingers at me. “See you later.”
When she shuts the door, I drag my hand down my face and then lean against the wood. I should have picked someone else to help me. I really should have.
“I’m dreaming . . . of a white . . . Christmas,” I sing as I tap my foot, waiting for a text from Storee.
God, this is boring.
I’m too afraid to move, too afraid to touch anything, too afraid to not be ready since I’ve been catatonic ever since she left, and I fear I might lose my mind soon.
If only Cole were here.
If only he knew.
If only—
Beep.
I nearly jump out of my pants as I retrieve my phone and look at the text from Storee.
Storee: The package has been secured.
I stare down at the text.