Chapter 14 Fraternizing With The Enemy
Fourteen
Fraternizing With The Enemy
Brie
I swing into Reindeer Ridge just in time to catch the end of Henry’s latest episode of Brad’s Great Escape.
He’s half-dragging, half-sweet-talking the escape artist toward the open barn, a bucket of feed in one hand and patience hanging by a thread in the other.
Tilly, his speckled Australian shepherd, did the real negotiating—one authoritative bark and Brad gave in and clomped inside.
After he secures the gate, Henry rounds the corner, mumbling to himself.
“Morning,” I call, wiggling my fingers. “Did Brad make it far this time?”
His head shoots up. “Oh. Hey Brie. He made it to the Ericksons’ farm.” He pulls off his knit cap and runs his hand through his dark-brown hair. “If I had to guess, he’s planning a multi-farm jailbreak.”
I laugh. “Why can I picture that happening?”
Henry smiles and jams his beanie back on. “You laugh now but just wait. We’ll be living on our own Animal Farm in a few years. What can I help you with today?”
“I’m here to pick up my tree for the festival. How tall is it this year? Fifteen feet? Seventeen?” I rub my mitten-covered hands together, leaning in, as I wait for his answer. Maybe it’s even bigger than I expected?
“About that.” He winces. “The tallest one I have is ten.”
My hands go limp, falling at my sides. “As in ten feet? Not ten times two?” I blink. Once. Twice. My skin prickles like I’ve stepped into a freezer. “What the hell? Did you have a bad growing season? Stunted growth?”
“Look, I’m not going to lie to you, but I also don’t want to get in the middle of this war you two have—”
“Logan,” I say flatly.
“Yeah.”
“What the hell, Henry?” I shake my head. My stomach seizes into one giant, hard mass. I always got first pick from the big trees. “Whose team are you on?”
“I’m on Team Henry. He offered to pay me triple the price. I couldn’t turn that down. You know we’ve been struggling for the past couple of years.” He waves his hand over his field. “I had to take what I could.”
My mouth hangs open for a beat, then I shut it, because honestly? If I were in his position, I’d do the same. But this is certainly one big, swift kick to the candy cane. “I understand. Maybe I can put the tree on a riser or something, so it doesn’t look so sad.”
“Sorry, Brie.”
I wave him off. “I’ll make it work.”
After arranging delivery of my tree, I drive back into town as if the posted speed limit is only a suggestion. The bell over the Jolly Biscuit door jingles cheerfully, the opposite of my current mood.
“Someone’s spicy,” Willa greets me from behind the counter.
“Do you know what he did?” I plant my hands on the counter.
“‘He’ being Logan?” Her brows rise.
“He bought the tall trees, Willa. All the tall trees. I get the runt.” My voice goes a little wild at the end. “The tree lighting kicks off the entire Holly Jolly Festival. I can’t debut a tree that screams ‘meh’.”
“No one will think it’s ‘meh’. They’ll think ‘ooo, lights!’” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Did he do it because you… commandeered all the reindeer?”
Of course she’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. At least not out loud. “It’s just another layer of stress added to this holiday season.”
“You’ve worked your ass off for too long to let Logan dampen your spirit.”
This won’t be high school all over again. I will not stand in Logan’s shadow. “You’re right. My Christmas spirit tank needs to be overflowing.” I lift my chin and square my shoulders. “And I need everyone in Mount Holly to know it.”
Willa thrusts her fists into the air. “That’s my girl!”
The bell jingles again followed by clacking of heels on the linoleum floor. A woman in a navy peacoat, with black hair that shimmers like silk, strolls toward the counter. My heart cartwheels. “Oh my God.” I grab at Willa’s sleeve. “Do you know who that is?”
She shakes her head. “Should I?”
“Yes! That’s Emma St. Claire, world renowned Christmas blogger turned editor and chief of her own magazine.
She spends her life flying around the world to cover holiday festivals—like a real-life Mrs. Claus with a first-class boarding pass.
” My eyes widen. “What if the Holly Jolly Festival finally won the Best Hometown Christmas contest?”
“Go talk to her.” She shoos me away.
“What do I say?”
“Introduce yourself.”
“Right.” I inhale a deep breath. Oxygen to the brain is crucial right now.
I wipe my palms on my pants because no one likes a clammy handshake and cross the diner.
“Excuse me.” Emma whirls around. “Hi.” I give her a small wave.
“I’m Brie McKenna.” I extend my hand for her to shake.
Her soft fingers, and most adorable snowman-painted fingernails, grip mine.
“I’m a huge fan. I’ve been following your blog since it started.
And I subscribe to your magazine. Are you here for the Holly Jolly Festival? ”
“Hi, Brie,” she says warmly. “In fact, I am.”
In my head, fireworks, a marching band, and me on a float wearing a sash that reads Not Today, Logan rolls by.
A world-famous blogger showcasing the Holly Jolly Festival is exactly what we need.
This will surely not only boost my chances at the promotion but will also make Logan’s carnival eat my dust.
“The Holly Jolly Festival is the one on the outskirts of town, isn’t it?”
“No.” I frown. Who gave her the wrong details? She’s new in town, I’ll forgive her. “The Holly Jolly Festival is right here in the center of Mount Holly, and I am the event coordinator.”
She taps a finger against her lips. “No. I was told it’s in a field outside of Mount Holly.”
I wave her off. “There’s a stupid carnival taking place, but it’s not important.”
“Two holiday events,” she muses, eyes sparkling. “How festive.”
“Not quite. Mine’s a festival. The other one’s just a teeny, tiny, silly carnival.”
She nods. “I look forward to checking out your festival.”
“Oh gosh, we have so many amazing things planned. I can’t wait to show them all to you.
Actually, I have some free time. If you want, we can start right now.
” If all goes as planned, she’ll be writing her blog post about the festival tonight with publication the following week.
It’ll be perfect timing for the kick-off.
Finally, I’m getting a little tinsel thrown my way.
She tugs the cuff of her coat up and glances at her watch. “I have a few hours until I can check in, but I want to grab a coffee and,” she leans around me, “one of those cinnamon rolls.”
“Oh my gosh, we’re almost the same person. That’s my order too.” Emma smiles at me.
“No, it’s not,” Willa says, appearing with a to-go bag. “You get the breakfast sandwich. Which is right here.”
I glare at Willa, giving her my best just go with it look before directing my attention to Emma. “Yes, but the cinnamon roll is my second choice. I’ll grab both. On me.”
I lean over the counter toward Willa. “Write ‘Paid for by Brie McKenna, Holly Jolly Festival Coordinator’ on the receipt.”
“You never told me you liked my cinnamon rolls.”
“Play along. I’m trying to connect with Emma.”
“By lying about your breakfast order? Just be yourself.”
I sigh. “Just write it.”
Willa’s mouth twitches. “Should I add your phone number? Email? Blood type? Maybe a lock of hair?”
“Phone number is good, but the rest might be a bit much.”
“This whole thing might be a bit much. Especially the cinnamon roll.” Willa rings me up, and I pay for our orders before she turns around and collects a cinnamon roll from the display case.
I turn to Emma. “It might be weird to ask, but can we take a selfie together?”
“Sure.” She smiles.
I pull out my phone, tuck in close to Emma, and snap a picture.
This is going on my social media. I already know the caption: Me + Christmas Royalty = Holly Jolly Destiny.
It’s not every day you meet a celebrity, especially in Mount Holly.
“Thanks. I have to ask, what is your favorite type of Christmas—”
The diner erupts into a collection of hi and hey Logans.
I roll my eyes as Emma swivels around. “Is that Logan Crawford?”
“No. I don’t know who that is. Must be some guy passing through town. Oh! Maybe he’s the Northwoods Killer. You know they never caught him.”
“They caught him twenty years ago,” Willa says, sliding a coffee and cinnamon roll to Emma.
I cut Willa a death glare and steer Emma gently away from the human magnet in the doorway. “Now that you’ve got your items—want a private tour of the festival grounds?”
Emma spins away from me. “No. I think that’s Logan Crawford.”
“Logan Crawford! Can I get your autograph?” A little boy runs up to Logan with a hockey puck and a marker.
“That is Logan. I need to introduce myself.” She abandons our plans and beelines it to Logan.
“But what about the festi—” she’s already shaking his hand, probably memorizing his jawline while she’s at it. “—val.” My shoulders sag. “Meet you there? No, I’ll be busy drowning myself in the Winterberry Creek,” I mutter to myself.
“The creek’s frozen.” Willa bumps my shoulder. “But with that glare you’re giving Logan, you’ll thaw it by noon.”
“Does he have telepathy or something? It’s like the moment he knows something good’s about to happen to me—poof—he shows up and ruins it.”
“He’s here for me,” Willa says lightly.
My head snaps to her so fast I give myself whiplash. Logan’s here to see Willa? Why?
“Oh my god!” Willa doubles over in laughter. “Not to see me. But your face certainly gave you away.” She laughs again as heat creeps up my neck. “He comes in every morning, and almost every afternoon, to get food for his crew. I’m going to have my best fourth quarter because of him.”
“First Henry and now you. You can’t be fraternizing with the enemy. Where’s the line in the sand?”
“We’re not ten. There are no sandboxes. I don’t have to pick sides.”
“This is a war. A Christmas war. And I can’t have you passing secrets across enemy lines. He can’t know all my marketing tactics on drawing a crowd and keeping everyone entertained.”
She waves a hand at Logan. “He’s a hockey legend. I’m sure he can draw a crowd on his own.”
“Which is precisely why he can’t know any of my surprises.”
“You have a surprise?”
“Maybe? Okay, no. I don’t. Not yet. But I will. I will give him the best damn surprise he’s ever seen.” From across the room, Emma laughs at something Logan says and touches his arm. I shake my head. “I’ve lost her.”
Logan’s gaze skims the diner and lands on me. For a heartbeat, the hostility between us dissipates. He almost looks defeated—something I’ve never seen from him. Then Emma says something, his mouth tips up, and I staple my heart back to my ribs. Now is not the time to get soft.
All afternoon, I conjure up ideas for the demise of Logan—I mean his carnival.
But mostly, I avoid Mrs. Kingsley because I don’t want to mention Emma being in town until I nail down a meeting with her.
She’ll only be disappointed I didn’t tie her up, throw her in my SUV, and drive her to the festival myself.
If there weren’t so many witnesses, it could have been a possibility.
After work, I swing by my parents’ house to drop off some chocolate chip banana bread for my dad since it’s his favorite. He always tells me my bread is the best. At least I’m number one in someone’s eyes.
I pull into my parents’ freshly shoveled driveway and step out.
“Hi Brie!” a voice yells from next door.
I peer over my shoulder, and Josie’s standing next to a snowman that looks like he’s about to rappel off a casino roof. Wide-brim hat. Black mask. Serious swagger. “Hi Josie!” I wave. “I like your snowman. That’s a really pretty scarf.”
“Thank you. It was my mom’s.” Her fingers smooth over the fringe.
My throat tightens. What do I say to that? I don’t know how Logan has described death to his daughter, and I don’t want to be the one to ruin whatever her idea is.
“She’s an angel now. My dad says she’s my guardian angel. Did you know my mom?”
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t. But I heard she was a really great mom.”
“I miss her.” Her head droops toward the snow.
This was not a conversation I was expecting to have today. “I’m sorry. It’s always hard to lose a loved one, especially your mom.”
“Did you lose your mom too?”
“No, my parents actually live here.” I hike my thumb toward my parents’ house.
“Oh, your mom brought cookies over for me and my grandma.”
“My mom does like to bake.”
“I used to bake with my mom. She’d let me stir the batter or add the chocolate chips.”
“When I was your age, that’s what my mom would let me do too.”
“I overheard my dad on the phone talking about you.”
My ears perk up.
“I was supposed to be sleeping, but I wasn’t tired. I overheard him talking about how it’s been a long time since he’s felt happy.”
That can’t be right. Surely, she was mistaken. I shove the thought away. “Are you practicing for the snowman competition?”
“What competition?”
“At the Holly Jolly Festival. Every year, we hold a snowman building contest.”
“That sounds really fun!”
“It’s a blast. You should enter. Your snowman would definitely be in the running for first place.” My gaze wanders over her unconventional snowman. “Why’s the snowman wearing a mask? Is he in hiding?”
“He’s a secret agent snowman.” She beams.
“Oh, that’s fun! I’ve never seen one of those before.”
As Josie turns back to adjust her snowman’s hat, an idea snaps into place. During wartime, one often crosses enemy lines to gather intelligence. It’s time to go secret agent, gather intel, and out-holly that carnival till it jingles surrender.