Chapter 24
Safe inside Marjorie’s Thrift ’n’ Gift, Graham found himself thankful to have evaded another run-in with Mistletoe Grove’s resident hundred-and-fifty-pound slobber factory. And to his surprise, Coco seemed to be rather enjoying herself.
Admittedly, it was hard not to find a place like this charming.
Graham recalled it from his childhood. A family-owned business that had anchored Mistletoe Grove for as long as anyone could remember, Marjorie’s Thrift ’n’ Gift was an emporium filled with enough gently used holiday knickknacks to put Santa’s North Pole castle to shame.
“Look at this, Graham.” Coco held up a vintage snow globe. “I’ll tell you what, you won’t find a place like this on Rodeo Drive.”
He released a genuine chuckle. “You’re certainly right about that.” Who would have thought? A Hollywood material girl shopping markdowns?
She flipped the globe upside-down to inspect the price tag. “You’d also never find prices like this on Rodeo Drive.”
Graham stifled an amused snort. Still, he had to agree. Even for a place like Marjorie’s, this merchandise was priced to sell. “I think I know why everything here is so cheap.” He nodded toward a sign above a rack:
Going Out of Business Sale!
A shadow fell over Coco’s face. “What a shame.”
Graham heaved an accepting shrug. “Are you surprised? Look around. The height of the holiday shopping season, and this place is practically empty.”
Coco sighed as she took stock of the lonely store.
Despite the festive ornaments, cards, decorations, and more bedecking every square inch of this place, without a crowd of shoppers around, hunting for their next cherished holiday treasure, the whole place felt…
depressing. “I just wish there was something we could do, you know?”
The remark set Graham on edge. Coco getting ideas was never a good sign.
Thankfully, their conversation shifted as Coco’s eye caught sight of Carol and the Mayor through the window. “Or maybe, we ought to do something about them.”
The view of his mother outside with the Mayor, giggling like a schoolgirl again, turned his stomach sour. “I’d love to, but restraining orders just get so messy.”
Coco swatted him on the arm. “Be serious, Graham. Those two are majorly into each other.”
A beat of silence passed as he watched the movement of the Mayor’s and his mother’s lips through the windowpane. As much as he hated to admit it, Coco was right indeed. The spark that lit between them as they chatted out front was undeniable.
He shook himself out of it. “Don’t you go getting ideas, Coco. My mother’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
“Then why hasn’t she made a move on the Mayor after all these years?”
“How should I know? One thing I do know, though, is that she doesn’t need your help.”
“But just look at them, Graham. They’re perfect for each other.”
“Coco, it was bad enough that you tried to set Brent and me up. I do not need you playing matchmaker for my mother now, too.”
She accepted defeat with a grumble. “How a place as jolly as Mistletoe Grove produced a sourpuss like you, I’ll never understand.”
“Truly one of life’s great mysteries.” He took a centering breath. “Come on, we’re here to shop for sweaters, aren’t we? Let’s get this over with.”
She rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait to see what they’ve got in cashmere!”
Sighing, Graham turned his face heavenward. Eyes on the prize, Bartlett.
* * *
Upon the discovery of their target department, Graham felt a wave of vertigo. When it came to holiday sweaters, Marjorie’s Thrift ’n’ Gift had undeniably cornered the market.
“Geez.” Coco gaped at the maze of racks stuffed to overflowing with reams of festive garb. “I think we might be here a while.”
Graham released an audible groan. “Oh, goody.”
With that, the pair set to task.
“So,” Coco began casually as she pretended to peruse the racks, “speaking of Brent…”
Graham felt his hackles raise. “Were we?”
She leveled him a glare. “You don’t really expect me to believe you were out by yourself last night?”
“I told you,” he countered as he flipped through sweaters just a hair too quickly to be convincing, “I went out to get some air.”
Coco shot him one of her oh-you-must-be-kidding-me looks. “Hey, what about this one for you?” She held up a sweater with the message Sleigh All Day.
He rolled his eyes at her. “A little on the nose, wouldn’t you say?”
She returned the sweater to the rack. “There’s no shame in it, you know.”
“Fine, you wear the sweater then.”
“Not the sweater, Graham.” She grumbled like she was talking to a child. “I meant there’s no shame if you spent the night with Brent.”
Exasperated, Graham propped his arms on his hips. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Not likely,” she said with a smirk.
He let loose a groan. “Fine, if it’ll make you happy, then yes, as a matter of fact, I did go out with Brent last night.”
A squeal of delight burst forth from Coco.
“Shh!” Graham threw his hands over her mouth. “Don’t go getting excited, because it’s not happening again.”
The response turned Coco crestfallen. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it never should have happened in the first place! I’m here to do a job, Coco, not stir up an old flame that should’ve died out years ago.”
A wry grin twisted on Coco’s lips then. “So you do like him.” She held up another sweater. This one’s festive greeting: Jingle All the Gay.
“I thought you were supposed to have good taste in fashion.”
She shrugged as she returned the sweater to the rack. “I’m working with limited resources, darling. And don’t try to change the subject.”
Graham released a reluctant sigh. “Look, Coco. Brent’s a nice guy. No one’s arguing that. But him and me? It’d never work out. We live in two completely different worlds.”
“Well, sure, for now.”
Graham responded with an eye roll. “And into the foreseeable future.”
“Aw, come on, Graham! Just think how romantic it would be.” Seizing his hands in hers, she gazed into the distance.
He pulled his fists away. “I don’t care how romantic it would be.
The fact is, you and I are only here ’til Christmas.
Now, I have worked too hard for this promotion to throw my shot at it away on a guy I’m just now seeing for the first time in a decade.
So save your breath, toots, ’cause no matter how bad you want to, you can’t make fetch happen.
” He pulled a sweater off the rack. “Say, this one’s not bad. ”
A frustrated grumble followed from Coco. “Men. Gay, straight, you’re all the same—just a bunch of stubborn Neanderthals.”
Graham paused before making his way to the fitting room. “Just be thankful I’m not evolved enough to have the good sense to let you fend for yourself. There are times I think I must have gone temporarily insane when I agreed to go along with this charade.”
“Oh, Graham.” Coco shook her head. “Your insanity is anything but temporary.”
He chose not to attempt a response.
* * *
Steaming, Graham made his way to the fitting room. Who does that conniver think she is? He’d given her what she’d wanted, hadn’t he? Told her the truth about his whereabouts last night, that is. Wasn’t that enough?
Clearly, it was not. If anything, Graham’s confession had served only to further encourage Coco’s antics.
Well, if she still thought Graham was going to take this lying down, he was sorry to say she had another thing coming.
Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he’d made up his mind that he was over Brent. After all, now that they’d had sex—even if they hadn’t gone quite all the way—Brent no longer held that elusive mystique, that allure of the unknown that had held Graham captive.
He arrived at the fitting room feeling lighter. Him, obsessed over Brent? Please. That guy was simply something Graham needed to get out of his system. He’d probably barely notice him if he happened to cross paths with him again.
You’re finally free, Graham, old boy. From here on out, it’ll be nothing but smooth sailing.
He pulled back the curtain to the fitting room. The sight revealed before him shot his heart up into his throat.
Standing behind the curtain was none other than Brent, his bare, hairy, and muscular chest fully on display.
Graham registered his mother’s voice approaching. “Oh, look, Graham. You boys picked out matching sweaters!”
His panicked eyes flicked between the red and green argyle sweater in Brent’s hand and the one he held in his own.
Shit.