Chapter 5 - Benny
As Saturday mornings went, this one was close to perfect. Sir Isaac Newton had one paw draped over Benny’s Mars Rover replica like it was his personal nap mat and not the skeleton of a prized Lego project spread out on the family room floor.
The dog had a talent for locating any surface Benny needed and claiming it as his own.
Benny poked his curly brown ear with the lift arm, currently six connected Legos. “Excuse me, Professor, I need to set up the suspension system of Rover One.”
The Cavapoo yawned and rolled onto his back, paws up, no shame at all. His collar tag jingled as he waited for a belly rub. Of course, Benny obliged. He couldn’t say no to this dog.
He also couldn’t say no to Olivia Hampton, which was why he was in a bit of a predicament, eyeing his great-grandfather, waiting for an opening to drop his little bomb.
Red sat in his recliner across the room, glasses sliding down his nose, The New York Times crossword attached to a clipboard that looked like it had been made the same year man went to the moon.
His coffee sat on the table beside him, cooling into that dark sludge he always swore was “just hitting its stride.”
He muttered something under his breath, tapped the page, and said, “Ten letters for an
‘off-hours enterprise.’ Got any ideas, Benny? Like a second job you do at night.”
Benny squished up his face, thinking about the words which sounded like the perfect lead to the conversation he had to have but dreaded.
“Kind of like you when you play Grumpy Santa?” he asked.
Red gave him a look over his glasses. “Not again, Benny-bean. I did my part last year. I’ll get on the sleigh if I have to, but no more videos and viral fame.”
Except there would be more. At least, there would be one more Grumpy Santa appearance.
“Oh, I know!” Red adjusted his glasses after a moment. “Side-hustle. That’s an off-hours enterprise.” Satisfied with that, he jotted the letters in the squares.
Benny checked the time, knowing his mom was running deliveries for the bakery this morning and would be home soon. He wanted to have this deal done before she returned, and it was going to take some convincing.
He looked down at the half-built Rover and the dog, who’d gone back to sleep, but he wasn’t thinking about either one. He was thinking about the lady in charge of the Mistletoe on Main festival. And the colossal promise he’d made her yesterday.
How had that even happened?
Olivia. That’s how it happened.
Grumpy Santa? Yeah, he could get his great-grandfather to play a role that came pretty naturally to him. But ice skating? In front of half the town?
Benny stifled a groan. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. He’d been listening to Olivia, who was a…a girl. Smart, yes. Trustworthy and solid and knew her way around a science book. But still, a girl.
Sir Isaac Newton rolled onto his side with a grunt. Benny leaned over and whispered, “Grandpa’s gonna explode like an overcooked meatball.”
Sir Isaac Newton blinked, unimpressed. Clearly, he’d already accepted Benny’s fate.
Red groaned. “What’s a ‘Büchner pipeline’ with six letters? The last one is—”
“Funnel,” Benny blurted.
Red looked up so fast, his glasses almost fell off his nose. “How did you…”
“Science club,” he explained. “Making crystals. We used a Büchner funnel.”
“Five-letter word for genius,” Red said with a grin. “Starts with a B and ends with enny-bean.”
Benny smiled, pushing up as he seized the moment. Operation Grumpy, er, Skating Santa needed to launch. But how?
He brushed off his jeans and wandered into the kitchen. The tray of biscotti his mom made yesterday sat on the counter, smelling like almonds and Christmas and happiness.
Red loved biscotti. He said they were “tough enough to survive a dunk and sweet enough to be worth it.” Benny personally thought they were like biting into one of the millions of rooftiles that came off the lodge during the renovation.
But he grabbed one, put it on a napkin, and carried it over like an offering to a grizzly bear.
“For you,” he said, holding it out. “Fresh from the kitchen.”
Red took it, sniffed it, and raised an eyebrow. “You want something?”
Why did the man have to be so smart about some things and clueless about technology? “Just feeling the Christmas spirit, Grandpa.”
Red shot him a look that said he wasn’t buying that for a second. “Out with it, boy,” he said, taking a bite. “You’re buttering me up like the turkey leftovers I’m going to eat for lunch. What do you need?”
Benny flopped down on the couch beside Red’s recliner, pretending to study the crossword puzzle. “It’s nothing major. Just…a tiny holiday opportunity.”
“A holiday opportunity?” Red scoffed. “Seven letters, starts with a T.”
Benny smiled. “It won’t be trouble. I mean, you like Christmas, right?”
“I like sitting near a lit tree with pie and a nap in my future.”
“Have you heard about the new thing they’re doing in town this year? It’s called Mistletoe on Main?”
Red rolled his eyes. “It’s always something in Park City. Can’t just shop, eat, and enjoy the snow. There has to be a tree lighting or the mayor speaking or extravagant snow globes. What is Mistletoe on Main? Sounds like there might be…kissing.”
If Olivia had her way, there would be.
“There’s lots of stuff, but you know the skating rink?”
He nodded, dipping biscotti into sludge and taking a big bite. “I know it.”
“Well, there’s going to be a performance that night. I guess real skaters doing a show or something.”
Red swallowed, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “And…”
“And they need a Santa Claus on ice and the lady who’s running the whole thing asked me if I could get Grumpy Santa and I told her I would, so can you skate or at least hold onto something and go across the ice pretending like you’re miserable?”
Benny took a breath at the end of the rapid-fire demand that felt like it came out as one long word.
“I won’t need to pretend,” he said, leaning forward on his generous belly. “I’m miserable just thinking about it.”
“I know, but—”
He looked down at the crossword puzzle. “Dumbest idea I’ve ever heard from a smart guy.”
“Red. Please listen to me.”
He peered over his glasses. “Two-letter word for not a snowball’s chance in hell? Oh, it’s N-O. Can you spell that, Dr. Smartypants?”
He winced at the nickname because it was what Olivia had called him for the past year. And if he was smart, he should know how to do this. What was the best angle?
Praise. Over-the-top ego stroking.
“You’d be so awesome, Grandpa!” he crooned, giving a clap to make his point. “And half the town will be there. With lots of skaters and…and people cheering. I think there would be actual thunderous applause.”
Red cocked a brow and stopped Benny’s ego stroking with one deadly look. Okay, new plan. Appeal to his tender old heart.
“C’mon, Grandpa. You love this town. You grew up here. You’re Park City royalty and you’d be doing such a favor to that nice lady who puts on the festivals. They’re desperate for a Santa and you’d be bringing a Christmas miracle!”
“Oh, Benny.”
“Am I right?” he pressed, the reaction giving him hope.
“You gotta do better than that.”
And the hope toppled. He blew out a breath, digging for yet another angle. “The press will be there.”
Red sipped his coffee.
“It would make me happy?” Benny tried.
And dunked his roof tile.
“Good exercise?”
That got him one more cocked brow. “I’m eighty-three years old. Good exercise is a successful trip to the bathroom.”
“Grandpa!” Benny tried to sound calm. “It’s just…you’d look awesome out there. You already have the beard and everything. And people love Grumpy Santa.”
Red just looked down and picked up his pencil. “Well, what do you know? Sometimes you just see the word after staring at it for an hour.” He started to scribble. “‘One pulling rank is…rank odor, I bet. Like something that stinks. Sort of like all these pathetic ploys to get me to say yes.”
Benny had nothing left but the nuclear option—a big, fat dose of honesty.
“Well, Grandpa, I, uh, I may have made a deal.”
Red froze. “A deal?”
“With Mrs. Locke,” Benny admitted. “She’s in charge of the festival.”
Red sighed and put down the pencil. “What kind of deal, Benedict?”
“The kind that involves a win-win situation,” Benny said quickly. “See, she wanted you as Santa for the ice show. And I wanted something, too.”
He leaned forward. “What did you want?”
“Well…” Benny scratched the back of his neck. “Olivia told her that if she let Mom and Marshall Hampton work together on a gingerbread house for their block, I’d get you to do the ice show.”
Red frowned. “Why would she do that?”
“Well…for the good of—”
“Do not give me a load of hooey about this town, royalty, or peace on Earth. Why did you two do that?”
Actually, it was Olivia but somehow, he was in the mix. “Because everyone wins.”
“Wins what?” Red demanded. “I’ll break my hip, and your mother could break…” He didn’t finish but cleared his throat. “Why would you—no, why would anyone—think your mother wants to work with the kale-loving competition across the street?”
“Because Olivia thinks it’s their…destiny.”
“Ohhh.” He dragged out the word. “So this isn’t for your mother or me or the lady in town. This is so you can gain points with a girl.”
He felt his cheeks flame. “Grandpa! Come on! You know me better than that. It’s for Mom!
Olivia’s dad is awesome. He’s funny, he’s smart, and he makes these protein muffins that don’t even taste like cardboard.
And Mom—she’s awesome, too. So if they work together, they’ll fall in love and get married, and then we’ll all be one big happy family! ”
Red’s mouth hung open. “You’re serious.”
“It made sense at the time,” he admitted. “And it was Olivia’s idea, although, technically, I made the deal because I’m like your agent.”
“Well, then, you’re fired.”
Benny sighed. “Don’t you see that it could be a good idea?”
Red pinched the bridge of his nose. “Boy, you can’t just arrange people’s lives like chess pieces.”