Chapter 10 #2
Humming, I spoke without thinking. “If it were in the auction, I’d bid for it.”
“The items in the auction are far nicer.”
“No.” My voice was quiet and gruff. “This is Christmas.”
The silence that followed seemed jarring, and the lights, sounds, and chaos of the town came rushing in all at once, startling in its tenor. The ornament fell against the pine needles as I let it go and turned, startled once more by the man standing just behind my shoulder.
Scowling, I asked, “What are you doing here?”
“As if my mother would let me stay home.” Toby scoffed. “Believe me, I tried.”
“You couldn’t find somewhere else to lurk?”
“I was hanging an ornament on the tree…”
That reminded me that I was supposed to be doing the same. Turning back around, I raised the bells and draped them on the first empty branch I found. If my mother wanted something more aesthetic, then she could find herself a ladder.
“That branch won’t hold those,” he commented, still hanging out over my shoulder.
Why won’t he just go away?
“Yes, it will,” I growled.
“No. They’re too heavy. You need a thicker one.”
“Don’t tell me about my trees. I know more about them than you do.”
“Fine.”
I tried to roll my eyes all the way around to look at him because did he just agree? It was a Christmas miracle.
Grunting, I let go of the bells. The branch drooped, and the bow slid off, the entire ornament hurtling toward the ground. I moved fast, but not to catch the bells. The Santa had been knocked loose when the branch snapped back.
It fell into my hand, and oddly, I wondered if perhaps it was made out of felt and not wool.
“I told you,” Toby the Terrible snarked, bending down to grab the bells off the floor.
Ignoring him, I hung the Santa back where it had been and then turned for the bells, which were gripped in his mitten-covered hands.
“Grown men don’t wear mittens.” I insulted him. Even if they do look cute wrapped around his hands.
“I guess they do because I am,” he clapped back.
Twisting my lips, I reached for the ornament so I could hang it and get the hell out of here. Just before I could pluck them away, he closed his fist around them.
“You like that ornament a lot,” he said, gazing past me to where the Santa hung.
“What makes you say that?”
“You let yours fall on the ground to save that one instead.”
“It’s rude to let someone else’s stuff get damaged,” I explained.
Toby pursed his lips. “I think you like it.”
“So?” I muttered, reaching once again for the bells.
He jerked his arm back, and I followed, trying to grab it. We stumbled backward, and he knocked into a few people looking at the auction items.
“Sorry!” he said, jolting forward and colliding with me instead.
I stiffened automatically to support his weight as he fell into my chest, my arm winding around his waist to steady us both.
He glanced up, hair sticking out from beneath the beanie on his head, one dark wave curling against his eyebrow. His skin was ruddy from the cold, and it was easy to see the mix of brown hues making up his eyes as they rounded with surprise.
For a split second, an echo of that magic I’d felt before moved through me as we stared at each other.
With his feet back under him, he pulled away, tugging at his hat, eyes darting away.
“Give me the ornament,” I said, holding out my hand.
He did, and I found a thicker branch to hang it on this time.
“Told you,” he sang.
Teeth gnashing, I whirled. “You are just as annoying as you were ten years ago.”
His eyes flashed, and he leaned in. “Yeah? Well, I could say the same to you. Still a know-it-all.”
“I am not a know-it-all,” I growled.
Toby shoved up on tiptoes so he was so close that I could feel his breath move in the air between us. “Are too.”
My hand shot out, twisting in his scarf. A scarf and mittens. What was he, five?
His feet scuffled when I yanked, our heaving chests bumping.
“Stay out of my way,” I warned.
His lips parted, likely with a scathing retort, but he was cut off by a shrill, “Boys!”
Still inches from each other, we turned to our scowling mothers standing there with disapproval written all over their faces.
I let him go and stepped back. He straightened and adjusted his scarf. It had snowmen on it. Snowmen, for crying out loud.
“Are you two still arguing?” Gail, Toby’s mom, demanded.
“I told you boys to stop this,” my mom chimed.
Then, in unison, they both dropped their fists onto their hips to glare. No one glared quite like a mother.
“It’s Christmas,” Gail hissed.
“You’re too old for this,” Mom lectured.
Then both of them said, “Why can’t you just get along?”
I slid a quick glance at Toby, which he returned, and then we looked back at our mothers.
“I think it’s time you told us why you two are like this.” Gail decided.
Mom nodded. “Clearly, you can’t work it out alone.”
“It’s nothing—” I started at the same time Toby said, “He thinks he knows everything.”
I shot him a dirty scowl.
Our moms shared a look, then turned back to us. “This has gone on long enough. You used to be the best of friends. At the very least, you two could be cordial.”
I felt stupid. A grown man getting lectured by his mother at Christmas in front of the whole town. And you bet they were all gawking. Gossip and small towns go together like milk and cookies.
“Mayor Schroder,” Gail called, lifting her hand in a wave. “Over here.”
Internally, I groaned. I thought I was done with him until next year’s mistletoe harvest.
And, oh, goodie, he had his son in tow.
“Mrs. Hodge. Mrs. Thomas. Good to see you this evening. Hope you are having a merry season.” The mayor greeted them. Then to us, he added, “Nice to see you both again.”
We both nodded.
“Hi,” Brett said, sidling up to Toby.
“I’ll be going,” I said, trying to make my getaway.
Mom stopped me. “Not so fast.”
“Mayor, I think these two need to assist with the raising this year,” Gail suggested.
“Oh, no—” Toby began.
“A wonderful idea.” Mayor Schroder jumped in. “It will be a lot easier for Brett to raise it with some help while I give my little speech.”
Well. The mayor was good at standing around and talking.
Never did see the man do much else.
“I’d appreciate it,” Brett said, eyes on Toby.
Could he do anything without Toby?
“It’s settled then,” Mom announced.
“Mom—” I began, but she cut me a glare.
“Well, it’s about time to get started. You boys meet me at the front of the gazebo.” He went off, long wool coat flapping around his legs, the white ball on the end of the Santa hat he wore bouncing with every step.
“You two go and help. Let the mistletoe magic in the air heal some of whatever got between you,” Gail ordered.
The mistletoe magic is what caused all this to begin with.
“We want to see smiles,” Mom insisted.
“Yes, ma’am,” we echoed like we were teenagers again.
“Oh, there’s your father,” Gail announced, looking into the crowd. “Finally made it out of Bab’s line. Come on, Connie, you can stand with us.”
Our moms moved off, and we looked at each other awkwardly.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Toby muttered.
“You can help me light up the tree,” Brett offered.
Why was he still here? Frankly, I’d had rashes more pleasant than him.
“It doesn’t take two men to flip a light switch,” I pointed out.
“It’s actually a couple buttons,” Brett corrected.
I cut a look in his direction, and his lips folded in.
“The pulley system they insist on using to raise the mistletoe needs more than one man.” I went on. “Brett, do the lights. Toby, let’s go.”
“Are you going to be okay with him?” Brett whispered as I walked away.
“I can handle him,” Toby whispered back.
I rotated on my heel, raising an eyebrow at the pair of them. “Unless you want to be here until New Year’s, I suggest we get a move on.”
“Scrooge,” Toby called.
I tossed my near-full hot chocolate in the bin on my way to the mistletoe.
The wind shifted and the falling snow with it, blowing into the gazebo to swirl around the mistletoe rope and pulley.
Why we couldn’t just use a ladder, I would never understand. This town had a flair for the dramatic. A pulley system. *scoff*
“Grab the hook,” I instructed while opening the mesh bag with the bough of leaves and berries.
For once, Toby didn’t argue and just did as I asked, grabbing the hook and bringing it over to where I waited.
The rope created a divide between us, trailing across the wooden deck of the gazebo.
The hook was actually a carabiner clip—you know, a heavy-duty snap hook that you could push open to slide something on it before letting it spring closed again.
And as I stood there, my patience wore nearly see-through as Toby fumbled to open the red clip with those juvenile mittens covering his paws.
On the third try, he managed to get it open, but it snapped shut, clipping the excess fabric. “Ow,” he swore beneath his breath, hand jerking back to avoid the pain. Too bad for him, the clip was already latched on, so it just went with him.
Sighing loudly, I set aside the mistletoe. “Let me see.”
“I got it,” he muttered, trying to unclip it with his free hand—which was also swimming in a mitten.
“I told you these mittens are ridiculous,” I scolded, grabbing his hand and pulling it into my middle.
“Mom made them. What was I supposed to do, tell her I couldn’t wear them?” he retorted.
I fell silent and worked the clip open, taking care not to snag the fabric. “There,” I said when he was free at last. “I’ll do the clip. You hold the mistletoe.”
“Whatever,” he said under his breath.
I eyed him. “What was that?”
“I asked how Marlowe is.”
Liar. “He’s fine.” I went along with it anyway. “I usually bring him but figured it would be too much walking around with the paw.”
“You did the right thing.”
That surprised me, and I looked up.
He half smiled. “You’re a lot of things, but you are a good dog dad.”
“Thank you,” I said, oddly touched by that observation.
Something passed between us, and I quickly looked away. “Hold that.”