MistleFoe

Chapter 10 #3

Toby lifted the mistletoe but then made a noise and lowered it again. I watched him pinch the fabric at the tip of his fingers between his teeth and tug the mitten away. He repeated the same action with the other hand and then reached for the red bow. “Here,” he offered.

I clipped the carabiner on and then gave it a tug to make sure it stayed.

Cheers and applause erupted around us, and the interior of the gazebo glowed. Startled, we both looked up, seeing the tree all lit up.

“Guess we missed the tree lighting,” Toby mused.

“Guess so,” I agreed, turning back to the pulley.

“I didn’t even notice they had started.” His voice was quiet, and it made me look up.

Our stares collided. Whatever had been there before appeared again.

“We were busy,” I said, then broke away.

“Hold this,” I said, gesturing to a length of rope. “Just pull when I signal and slowly raise the mistletoe into place,” I instructed, reaching for the bundle he still held in his arms.

Our hands brushed, and I couldn’t help but notice how cold his fingers felt compared to mine. It made me feel like an ass for making fun of his mittens when, clearly, he needed them.

Lowering the mistletoe to my side, I stood there staring.

“The mayor is going to be done talking soon,” he said.

I snorted. “That man? He has more commentary than a sports announcer.”

Toby laughed.

There went my heart again. Sweating.

“Put your mittens on.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Your hands are like ice.”

“So?”

“So put them on,” I said.

“You said they were ugly.”

“They are.”

He stared.

I cleared my throat.

“You’ll get sick.”

“Careful. Sounds like you care,” he whispered.

If only he knew.

“Just put them on so we can get this over with.”

“You could just get on with it right now,” he pointed out.

I didn’t move, just stared and waited.

“You’ve always been so stubborn,” Toby said, relenting and pulling on the mittens. “Happy now?” he asked.

“Don’t screw this up,” I said. “Wait for my signal.”

I carried the bundle toward the arch where the mayor was giving his speech, making sure the length of rope was unknotted and straight as I went.

“…and now, without further ado,” the mayor announced, “let’s raise the mistletoe and, with it, our holiday cheer!”

Everyone clapped and cheered while I suppressed an eyeroll.

“Thank you, Archer,” the mayor said, stepping back.

I gestured to Toby, and he began slowly pulling the rope, raising the deep-green cluster, adorned with the big red bow.

About halfway to its resting place, the mistletoe stalled out, swaying in the wind and blowing snow. I glanced at Toby, his face a mask of concentration as he used both hands to tug the rope. The mistletoe remained in limbo, not ascending anymore.

“Toby,” I hissed.

“It’s stuck,” he hissed back, tugging it again.

“It’s on its way, folks. Don’t you worry,” Mayor Schroder called to the people watching. “Just a little technical difficulty.”

His presence was a technical difficulty.

Annoyed, I stalked across the space between us. “It’s not that hard to pull a rope,” I told him, reaching for it.

He pulled it back, evading my hands. “The hook the rope is threaded through is old and rusty. It’s caught,” he said, still tugging it.

“Don’t blame the hook when it’s clearly operator error.”

“It’s the hook,” he said, teeth gritted.

“Just give it to me. People are waiting,” I insisted, reaching for the rope again.

“I said I got it,” he snapped, pulling it back.

“If you had it, you wouldn’t be over here bumbling around like a bumble!” I lunged, and he jumped back, feet tangling in the length of rope he’d already tugged. I saw the fear flash over his face as he fell back, arm flailing.

My heart skipped a beat, and I lurched forward to catch him.

We ended up tangled together, the ground coming fast. But then we jerked to a stop.

Toby lifted his face, which was so close to mine.

“The rope caught us,” he said, breathless. “I told you it was stuck.”

Somehow, we were tangled in each other and the rope, which had stopped us from smacking into the railing. Planting my boot on the floor, I straightened, bringing him with me. The rope that had been taut went slack, and then suddenly we were falling again.

“Whoa,” Toby said as we tipped over and slammed into the edge of a table, the entire thing flipping onto its side as we went down.

The wind slammed out of my lungs, and my side ached from taking the brunt of the fall. Toby lay sprawled on top of me, arms and legs wide, face practically in my armpit.

He groaned, and worry made me forget my own stinging pride to look down.

“Tobes,” I beckoned. “Are you okay?”

He groaned again and lifted his head. I stared in shock at the chunks of gingerbread and icing all over his hat and face. “There’s a table on top of us.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate, but once they did, I jolted up to confirm that, yes, there was indeed a table covering our lower halves.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” Reaching up, he plucked a chunk of cookie off his hat. “But I can’t say the same about the gingerbread.”

My head hit the wooden floor as I blew out a breath, more relieved than I wanted to admit that he wasn’t hurt.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?” I asked, not bothering to lift my head again. The ceiling of the gazebo was glowing from all the lights.

“You’re the one who broke our fall.”

“I’m fine,” I puffed out, noticing the strong scent of clove and nutmeg suddenly beneath my nose.

Oh no. Bab’s gingerbread!

“Holy crap, are you two okay?” Brett appeared over us to pick up the card table and move it aside. “Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching a hand down to help Toby.

I rolled, pushing Toby into the floor that was covered in broken gingerbread pieces and icing.

“What the hell, Archer?” Toby complained, trying to shove me off.

I lay there a fraction of a second longer, keeping him pinned beneath me, before standing up and reaching down to help him up.

He scowled at my offered hand before grudgingly accepting it so I could tow him to his feet.

“You’re covered in icing,” I observed.

“So are you.”

“Oh my goodness gracious!” Mom’s voice cut into the silence.

“What have you boys done?” Gail scolded right after.

The hum of townspeople gossiping filled the air as Mayor Schroder looked upon the mess with dismay in his features.

“Mon Dieu!” Bab exclaimed as she raced into the fray, hands gesturing wildly as she looked at the broken table and destroyed gingerbread gazebo.

“Ohhh, my gingerbread. I worked so hard on it. It was so beautiful. It’s ruined.

Ruined!” She started muttering in French, bending down to pick up chunks of the fragrant cookie and frowning at them.

“This is all your fault,” Toby accused.

“Me!” I roared. “You’re the one who couldn’t handle the rope.”

“I had it just fine. You’re the one always trying to butt in.”

“If it was fine, then this wouldn’t have happened!” I shouted.

“Enough!” Mom yelled over us.

A hush fell over everyone. Even Bab stopped muttering and looked at her.

Shame filled me. Shame and embarrassment. The truth was we were both at fault. We’d been acting like children instead of grown adults. Letting our past interfere with the present and now ruining the most important and iconic tradition this town had.

I glanced out at the townspeople gathered around watching, and a fresh swell of guilt washed over me. Just because I was a scrooge didn’t mean I needed to ruin it for everyone else.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. Then, in a much louder voice, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Mom snapped. “Not this time.”

I nodded.

“Oh, Bab, it was just so beautiful. The true gem of the auction.” Gail was sorrowful.

“We really didn’t mean it. The rope got caught and—” Toby started.

“And nothing, Tobias Tucker Thomas,” Gail reproached. “I saw the whole thing. You two were squabbling worse than two gobblers in a field.”

“We told you to get along,” Mom added.

“Think of all the money lost for Find Home,” Bab said. “How will I make another in time? I’m already behind with the orders, and—”

“It’s not your responsibility,” Mom told her firmly. “You did your part. And it was beautiful.”

I nodded. It had been beautiful. And now… now it was scattered all over the floor.

And me.

“The boys will just have to remake it.” Gail decided.

I jerked upright. “What?”

“That’s right.” Mom agreed. “You boys broke it. You fix it.”

Gail nodded. “That’s the rule.”

“Pretty sure it’s not fixable,” Toby said, plucking a chunk off his shoulder.

Bab started muttering in French again.

“You’re going to have to make a new one. And fast,” Mom said.

“Auction ends next week,” Mayor Schroder put in.

Gail nodded.

Toby sputtered. “Bab is a pastry wizard! I can’t make anything as good as hers.”

“Not with that attitude,” his mother said.

“Mom…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Tobias. You do the crime; you do the time.”

“I don’t know how to make a gingerbread house.”

“Me either.” I agreed.

“Well, you boys will just have to figure it out,” Mom said.

I glanced at Toby, and he looked away.

“I could help,” Brett offered.

“No,” I snapped.

“I will make the pieces.” Bab decided. “I still have the pattern. I will bake them, and you boys will come to the bistro and assemble and decorate it. Make it look nice.”

I grimaced. I had a feeling decorating gingerbread was nothing like chopping down trees or tapping sugar maples for syrup.

“But aren’t you busy?” Toby asked.

“I’ll stay late. You boys come early in the mornings before I open. You can have three days. Then the new piece must be put up for bidding.”

“Can’t I just write a check now?” I asked. “A nice, big donation.” I’d definitely donate more than any rickety thing we made would get.

“Money does not negate effort,” Mom chastised. “You will remake what you ruined. And maybe in the process, you two will finally learn to get along.”

“If you don’t, I’ll get out my wooden spoon!” Bab threatened. “There is no arguing at the bistro.”

Toby looked scared. I had to bite back a laugh.

“Be there tomorrow before sunrise,” Bab instructed.

I started to say I had chores on the farm, but Mom squinted.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied instead. “Thank you for letting us use your kitchen.”

“We’re very sorry about the gazebo,” Toby lamented.

Bab chuckled. “You boys always were rambunctious.”

“Clean this up,” Mom commanded.

“And do not get in the way of anyone’s Christmas joy.” Gail followed up.

“You boys really stepped in it this time.”

I glanced up at the new voice, seeing George, Toby’s dad, stepping into the foray.

He was wearing a Christmas sweater with a reindeer on the front and was carrying a hot chocolate in his gloved hand.

He looked a lot like Toby but older, his hair mostly white and green-framed glasses sitting on his nose.

He was a bit stockier than Toby in size, but I knew if Toby had someone cooking for him regularly like George did, he’d probably be the same.

Who’s to say he doesn’t? The thought stuck in my throat like a wad of chewed gum that had baked in the snow.

“Guess this means I’ll be back at the clinic tomorrow so Toby can bake.” George went on like I wasn’t asphyxiating on my own regret.

“No, you will not.” Gail confirmed. “Toby can do the gingerbread before the clinic opens and then after work if needed.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Toby interjected. “I promised you some time off, and you’ll get it.”

I frowned, thinking of the long hours he was going to have to put in.

“It’s settled,” the mayor declared as if he thought he was in charge. “Brett, give me a hand securing the mistletoe.” He went on. “Mr. Thomas, I would be honored if you also gave us a hand.”

“Certainly.” George agreed, and the three men moved off to finish the town tradition.

And then it was just me and Toby standing in the center of gingerbread rubble as the town cheered for the mistletoe that was finally in its rightful place.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other until this thing is remade,” he said, bending down pick up a few pieces to toss in a nearby trash bin.

Everyone always claimed that mistletoe was a symbol of unyielding love, but to me, it had always been a harbinger of misfortune.