Chapter 6 Sudden Onset of Enthusiasm
SUDDEN ONSET OF ENTHUSIASM
ROWAN
The rip-off calendar on my kitchen counter mocks me with the date.
As I reach for an apple cutter from a drawer to prep a pre-ice-skating lesson snack for Mia, something else on the page catches my attention: a handwritten note from my kid.
Dad, what’s the best way to count down to Christmas?
I scratch my head, wondering what she’s up to.
Wanda, my seven-pound Chi-Pom-Papillon rescue-mix, struts into the kitchen in her black jean jacket. Today, the jacket is decked out with metallic studs and a Ramones pin.
“Looking sharp, Wanda.” She hops onto her little dog bed by the table and curls up like she owns the place. Since, well, she kind of does. She lets out a tiny snort when I don’t immediately toss her a snack.
I get on with snack prep and find a Post-it note stuck to the apple cutter. Written in Mia’s unmistakable pink ink is: Santa’s elves say The Peppermint Patrol knows all about surprises!
Okay, Mia’s got a Christmas-y plan. But I’ve no idea what. “Mia,” I call out, “are you trying to tell me something?”
The sound of little feet precedes my daughter, who rushes out of her room holding a brush and two hair ties. “What would I be telling you, Dad?”
She tilts her head, so good at the innocent act, it’s scary.
“I don’t know, cupcake. That’s why I’m asking.” I set a Cosmic Crisp on the cutting board and press down with the apple cutter.
“Why would I be telling you anything?” She bats her lashes like a cherub from the kitchen entry.
“Well,” I say, gathering the neat, even slices of apple, “I’ve found these little notes all around.” I reach for the homemade peanut butter—it’s healthier and tastier than the processed peanut butter. But when I lift the mason jar, something catches my eye.
A sleigh ornament hangs from a loop of twine around the jar, along with another note. A sleigh ride’s no fun without surprises along the way!
Mia snickers. I spin around, and she wipes that smile off so fast I almost laugh.
“All right, what’s the story, kiddo?”
“Story,” she says, over-the-top thoughtful.
“Funny you should use that word.” She skips into the kitchen, wearing her white sweater and leggings, and strikes a pose like she’s revealing a grand idea.
“I know Christmas isn’t your thing,” she starts diplomatically, and that’s putting it mildly, “but I read in The Peppermint Patrol about an Advent calendar the characters did, plus all my friends are doing them, and I really, really want one.”
“You really want an Advent calendar? Those things are usually just full of junk.” I’ve tried to teach her the value of books, puzzles, and games, not junky plastic crap that ends up in a landfill. She’s definitely my kid—she hates that kind of waste almost as much as I do.
“Well, you won’t really let me decorate the house, except for my bedroom,” she says with a pointed little pout, “so I thought—what if we make our own Advent calendar instead? We could do anything with it, like they do in the books. It could be crafts, decorations, Christmas toys, Christmassy things. It could be something fun!”
Twenty-four days? Twenty-four freaking days of Christmassy things? I hate Advent calendars. They’re so excessive—they’re pure holiday torture in a box. I’m about to say as much when I hear my teammates ribbing me. You do have a hate list, and we’re subjected to it every year.
Shit. Are they right? Well, Advent calendars belong on a hate list. Still, I probably shouldn’t unintentionally tell Mia what she should and shouldn’t like.
I slice another Cosmic Crisp and rack my brain for a less grinchy response than I hate Advent calendars.
Then I spot something on the opposite counter, propped up next to the coffee maker—Sleigh Bell Scout, the book she asked for last Christmas.
I nod to it, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this doing out?”
There. Points for Christmas neutrality.
Mia glances over, then shrugs. “Oh, that? No reason. I just…thought maybe you’d like to read it to me sometime, since there’s another one coming out in the series, and it has mysteries—you like mysteries.”
Uh-huh. Sure.
But the book gives me an idea. Maybe I don’t need to do a Christmassy thing with an Advent calendar. We can do a book thing. I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “Okay, kiddo. I’ve got an idea.”
Her brown eyes sparkle. “I like ideas. Can you tell me your idea while you braid my hair?”
She hands me the brush and hair ties, and I pat the kitchen chair. After she plops into it, turning away from me, I set the apple and peanut butter in front of her, then get to work making two French braids, just the way she likes.
“Do you like bookstores?” I ask as I twist one chunk of hair over another.
“You know I do,” she says around an apple bite.
“Then before we drop you off at your skating lesson, we’ll swing by An Open Book. But that’s all I’m saying for now.”
“Da-ad!”
“Mia,” I taunt.
She huffs. “Fine, make me wait.”
I laugh. Maybe a little nefariously. “You’ll like it.”
“Now I really want to know the details.”
“What’s Christmas without a little Advent calendar mystery, Mia?”
“And you’re too good at mysteries, Dad. This is from all those cop and law shows you watch, right?”
“Maybe it’s from the jigsaw puzzles I do,” I say.
“Ooh, they sell puzzles at An Open Book too.”
“Always angling,” I say, laughing as I loop another strand. “As soon as I’m done, I need to take a quick shower and put on my suit. You want to get Wanda ready when you’re done eating?”
“Yes,” she says, then points at the world’s cutest dog, saying to her, “You get to go to doggy daycare!”
Wanda yips happily, her flag-like tail wagging like crazy. That’s the Papillon in her, I’m sure.
Just as I finish the second braid, my phone buzzes on the table. The notification preview catches my eye—it’s Isla asking about when we can get together for next steps. I’m a little more excited to see her name than I want to be, but I wish it were about anything other than freaking matchmaking.
“Who’s that?” Mia asks, tilting her head curiously. Pretty sure there’s no need to tell her my teammates got me a matchmaker for one stinking date.
“Just the Ghost of Christmas Future,” I say, smirking. “I need to meet her soon.”
I ignore the text for now though. The clock’s always ticking as a parent. I head into my bedroom suite to take a fast shower. I used to nap on game days. As a single dad with sole custody, there’s no time for napping.
My dad’s picking Mia up after her skating lesson, and she’ll have dinner and spend the night at my parents’ place, then they’ll take her to school tomorrow morning.
I’m lucky my parents live nearby. I have no idea how I’d manage my job and travel without them to help raise my kid and take care of my dog.
But thank god I don’t have to figure it out.
Ten minutes later, I’m in my game-day suit—burgundy with a black dress shirt—and ready to get the hell out of here. When I walk into the kitchen, I stop dead. Wanda is now prancing around in a red-and-green-striped sweater with a big bow on the back.
Incredulous, I point at the dog. “Mia, where did that abomination come from?”
“Grams found it at the thrift store,” she says innocently, her devilish grin giving her away.
I scoop up Wanda, who gives a little bark. “My dog is wearing a holiday sweater,” I grumble. But at least I’m not cursing an Advent calendar.
“It’s better than the jean jackets you make her wear,” Mia says as she grabs her skate bag.
“Those jean jackets are cool.”
“They have metallic studs and Black Sabbath patches!”
“The Ramones, kiddo! And The Clash. She’s a punk-rock kind of dog.”
“I think you’re wrong. She’s a girl-pop kind of dog.”
“Then why does she have so many cool jean jackets?” I bring one with us to the car, dropping it on the front seat next to her harness and leash, then Mia and I argue about Wanda’s musical tastes the whole drive to the bookstore.
We park and walk a couple blocks. I have Wanda on her leash in one hand and hold Mia’s hand with the other.
Warm light spills out of An Open Book and onto the sidewalk, a glow against the late afternoon chill.
The display window is full of twinkling string lights and fake snow, framing stacks of books with bright holiday covers.
A miniature Christmas train circles through a forest of tiny glittering trees, passing houses decorated with tiny lights.
I despise it all, but I bite my tongue since I have an Advent calendar plan and only a few minutes to execute it.
As I scoop up Wanda so I can carry her inside the store, my phone buzzes again. I grab it from my pocket and look at the screen.
Isla: See you soon!
What does she mean? Maybe she’s coming to the game tonight? Not sure, but we’re at the store, so I’ll reply to the text later.
After tucking the phone away, I hold the door open for Mia, who steps inside, smile brightening even more at the sight of all the book-filled shelves. Before I can say anything, Isla sugar-plum-fairy-waltzes in right freaking behind us.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in tactless surprise.
Isla could have just stepped out of a winter season catalogue in trim black pants, a sleek white coat, and a pink, snowflake-patterned scarf.
Her smile is photograph-worthy. Her cheeks are rosy from the nip in the air, and her lips are shiny and so distracting as they part in a small O.
I snap my gaze away before my inappropriate crush on this fashionable snow angel becomes obvious.
Mia tuts. “Dad. Maybe say hi first.”
What? Okay, fine. She has a point. “Hi,” I say to Isla.
“Hi, Rowan,” she says, amused at Mia’s intervention.
“But my question remains,” I say. “What are you doing here? Or is this just a random coincidence?”