Chapter 8
EIGHT
“You need a break,” Hallie says on Friday afternoon as she helps me bake cookies for the bake sale.
At the staff meeting on Tuesday, Stephanie asked if anyone was willing to bring in some treats to sell while the PTO puts on their annual holiday shop for the kids, and the room was absolutely silent.
I know those funds help the graduating fifth graders have a party at the end of the year.
If no one signed up, it wouldn’t happen, so I volunteered.
When I did, a relieved sigh went through the room, which I usually assume was because everyone was glad the fundraiser would still happen. Now, I have a little voice in my head that sounds far too much like my neighbor.
What if everyone was just relieved I pitched in so they wouldn’t have to step up themselves?
Like I’ve done every time since that voice started speaking, I shake my head, knocking it free, and move on, continuing to scoop dough onto a cookie sheet and appeasing my friend.
Hallie isn’t wrong: I do need a break, but I also know one is coming soon.
I just need to get through the next few weeks.
“It’s almost winter break, and then I’ll have ten whole days to relax.” My best friend, for as long as I can remember, stares at me, clearly not buying what I’m selling her. I sigh in defeat and amend. “Eight, if you remove Christmas.” She continues to stare, but I stand strong.
“And you aren’t signed up to help with anything else during your break? You’re going to take it easy and catch up on sleep?”
I bite my lip, carefully avoiding her eyes and concentrating on portioning dough.
“Wren,” she says in a chiding tone.
“What am I supposed to do? Not to help people? It’s just house-sitting and checking in on Mr. and Mrs. Peters’s cat while they’re away.”
I don’t mention that I will probably end up babysitting my niece a couple of times, and I already told my parents I’d help them do post-holiday cleanup at their Christmas tree farm while I’m off.
Not that I’ll be telling her that.
“Yes! At least not at the expense of your sanity! No one expects you to do everything, Wren.” I give her a look because lately, I’ve been thinking that’s not true. She raises an eyebrow and counters. “If they do, it’s because you have set those expectations with your utter lack of boundaries.”
“I have boundaries!”
Hallie scoffs out a laugh.
“Where? Tell me a single boundary you have set and maintained, Wren. It used to be working on weekends, and we both know that shit’s long out the window.
” I flip through my mind, trying to think of something I can give her as proof, but come up empty.
“And then it was not volunteering for anything extra, which turned into not volunteering until you were explicitly asked.” She tips her head to the dozens of cookies and brownies individually packaged for the bake sale.
“But I already know you offered to bake all of that without even asking if anyone could split the duties.”
I set my scoop aside and move to the tray I took out of the oven earlier.
“It’s just extra chaotic right now because this is my first year in charge of the decorating committee and the town festival.
” I slide the spatula under a cookie, averting my eyes from my best friend’s knowing gaze.
“I just want everything to be perfect this year. It’s the first year…
” I let my words trail off, afraid that the emotions I’ve kept in a brightly wrapped box and tied with the most perfect bow will escape.
I don’t have to say it, though, because Hallie is my best friend and always knows.
“I know, babe. I do, really, and I get it. I’m sure your grandmother is watching and so proud, but just like me, she’s nervous. She was the biggest proponent for your boundaries, always telling people to do shit themselves and stop asking you for help.”
I look at her knowingly. “Yes, and every December, all of her boundaries also went out the window. It’s just what happens.”
My grandmother was head of the decorating committee in Holly Ridge from the time she was twenty-eight until she passed away earlier this year.
She was my favorite person in this world and loved nothing more than this town.
She cherished helping it and making it into a real community —values she instilled in me.
When she was sick, I told her I would continue her legacy and make this holiday the best one yet.
I still remember the soft look she gave me, the way her hand moved to cup my cheek.
I know you’ll keep the lights shining bright, Wren.
I might be tired, and I might be stretched thin, but I’m doing it for her. I’m doing what she would have done if she were in my shoes, and every day I go to bed hoping I’m doing her proud.
“You and I both know this was a problem well before the season hit, Wren. You’re going to burn yourself out.”
Before I can answer, my phone beeps with a new text notification, a welcome interruption from having to respond to her.
I set the last cookie onto the cookie rack, then reach for my phone to check the screen.
I fight not to react visually to the text Carrie Staub, one of the moms on the PTO, just sent me, but I fail and let out a loud groan.
“What?” Hallie asks, stepping closer, then reading the text over my shoulder.
Carrie
Hey, Wren! So sorry to ask you last minute, but I can’t make it to set up tomorrow. Any chance you can fill in for me?
“Tell her no,” Hallie says, words firm. I sigh, then turn to her, resting my back on the counter as I stare at my phone forlornly.
“If I don’t, it won't get done.”
“Or she’ll find someone else to do it. Or do it herself, God forbid.”
I lift my phone up to remind her of the message. “She said she can’t do it.”
Hallie gives me a soft look, the kind you give kids when they ask about something that is obvious to adults.
“Or maybe she just doesn’t want to and knows you will,” Hallie says, grabbing a cookie and moving to my kitchen table to sit, facing me.
I pause for a second and blink at her before shaking my head. “She wouldn’t do that. People don’t do that.”
“I love how you see the best in everyone, Wren, really, I do, but people do that shit all the time. And unfortunately, you’re just too sweet and kind to notice or question it.”
I stare at the text, confused.
Do people actually do that? Do people do that to me? I know I’ve become the person in town that can be counted on, but people only ask me when they don’t have another option, right?
I’m lost in those thoughts when Hallie’s concerned voice pulls me back into the present. “Uh, Wren, what is this?”
“What’s what?” I ask, shaking my head and setting my phone down, deciding I can answer later, especially when I see the genuine panic on Hallie’s face.
“Are you being threatened?”
“What are you talking about?” She waves a piece of paper, then I laugh, realizing she’s holding one of the ransom notes from Adam.
“What the hell is this, Wren? It’s creepy. Should we call someone?”
I shake my head, reaching for the three other notes I’ve received and handing them to her. “No, my nutcracker has been stolen and is currently being held hostage. It’s not a real threat or anything.” I don’t think, I don’t add.
“Stolen by who?” She sifts through the papers.
“My neighbor.”
Her concern has morphed into intrigue with this new piece of information. “The hot one?”
“The grumpy one,” I correct.
“Same difference. Why would he steal your nutcracker?”
“Because I’ve been sneaking decorations onto his lawn, and he doesn't want me to.” I reach for a cookie on the cooling tray, trying to distract myself from thoughts of Adam with its sweet, melty goodness.
“Oh…kay?”
I explain further, telling her about our back-and-forth of my putting decorations on his lawn and how, at first, he removed them, but for some reason, he’s stopped.
I leave out our nightly exchanges, since even though I’ve come to anticipate them, they might fuel her serial killer theories.
I also leave out how he told me he stopped taking them out because he likes watching the joy it brings me. That would definitely fuel her hot-neighbor fantasies, which might be even worse.
“So it’s like a kinky elf on the shelf?”
I choke on the bite of a cookie I just took.
“It’s not kinky, Hal. My god, not everything has to be sexual,” I say once I can breathe again.
“A man is sending you Polaroids, and that man looks like Adam Porter. That makes it sexual by default.”
I let out a laugh and shake my head at my best friend. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”
“It is, trust me. I would know.” I pause, mid-bite, and stare at my best friend, trying to decide if she’s being serious.
She gives me a mischievous look that makes me a little nervous.
I open my mouth to ask a question, though I don’t know what it is, but she stops me before I can.
“You know what we should do?” Her tone makes those nerves ratchet up further.
“I have no idea,” I say slowly. Hesitantly.
“We should break into his house. Try to steal it back.”
I stare at her, then shake my head. “Hallie…” There’s a warning in my tone, the kind a mother uses when she’s trying to be supportive, but also knows her kids are giving her the absolute worst ideas ever. In this friendship, I am always the mother.
“Oh, come on. It will be fun!”
I try to appeal to her common sense. “I don’t know if breaking and entering is the right choice for a man who, not long ago, you said was probably a serial killer.”
She waves a hand at me and walks to my front door to retrieve her jacket.
“I don’t think he’s a serial killer now. My current theory is that his dad is Santa Claus, and he doesn't want to take over the family business, so he’s hiding away. It would explain why he hates Christmas, after all.”
I blink at her, fighting the laugh that would just encourage her. “You’ve really put some thought into this, haven’t you?”
She gives me a duh kind of face.
“Of course I have. I’ve been asking around, trying to see if anyone knows anything about him.
It seems the only people he’s talked to are Jeanie, and I’m convinced she signed an ironclad NDA when she sold the house, and Colton, who is as tight-lipped as can be.
” Hallie rolls her eyes at the idea of her older brother not giving her gossip, though he has spent all of the years he’s owned his bar doing just that.
He says that being a bartender comes with an honor code he refuses to break.
Of course, that means Hallie does everything in her power to try and get him to break said honor code constantly.
Even though she acts like Jeanie is a gossip, the real source of all the town’s knowledge is Hallie.
“Maybe no one knowing anything means he wants some privacy.” I reach for the pan with the unbaked dough, grab it, and move toward the oven.
“Come on,” she says, grabbing the pan from my hands and putting it to the side. “The ovens are empty—we’ll put this batch in when we get back after our successful recovery mission.”
I stare at her, knowing from a lifetime of being friends that once Hallie gets an idea, there’s no talking her out of it.
“What if he’s home?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“He was getting into his car when I got here two hours ago, and his car still isn’t out front. The coast is totally clear.”
I twist my lips, trying to think of a way to dissuade her, but also, a small part of me likes the idea. I can’t seem to fight back a smile at the thought of Adam coming home and finding the nutcracker missing. Will he come to my door and ask about it? Steal something else?
“Do you still have the key to the back door that the Demauros gave you?” Hallie asks, and I nod.
“I don’t know if it will work, though.”
“No better time to try, right? You try the back door, and I’ll go up front and pretend I’m ringing his doorbell, keep an eye out, and you sneak in the back.”
“Why do I have to sneak in?”
“Because it’s your nutcracker, and I’m a much better lookout.”
She’s not wrong. Between messing with my brothers and Hallie’s, we’re well-versed in sneaking around to get what we want. Over the years, we’ve learned that I often get distracted by something or someone and forget that I’m supposed to be creating a diversion if needed.
I stare at her, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to talk her out of this, then sigh. “Fine. You call me, and I’ll keep my phone on me. Start yelling if he pulls up, and I’ll slip out.”
She gives me a triumphant look, and I move toward the front of the house to slip on my shoes while Hallie follows, then leaves out the door. Once she’s outside, she calls me, and I answer but don’t speak. Instead, I reach for my keys and head out the back door.
I get into Adam’s house easily, the spare key Mr. and Mrs. Demauro gave me when I house-sat for her still working.
My heart is pounding as I look around the once-familiar space, noting how empty it is.
Everything seems to be painted white and clean.
While Mrs. Demauro has lots of colorful art and photos, Adam has left his walls bare.
I fight the urge to look around more, wanting to find out what I can about my mysterious neighbor, but I know we might not have much time, and I need to move quickly. Stepping through the kitchen and into the living room, I spot my nutcracker in the front window, then begin making my way there.
Before I can reach it, though, I’m up against the wall, a body pressed against my front and brown eyes looking down at me.