12. Colette
COLETTE
" I just don't understand why he won't leave." I adjust the 'Save the Christmas Pageant' sign on our booth for the hundredth time. "The carolers were genius. Pure genius."
"Honey, you sent children to sing at him." Daisy arranges her holiday cookies on the display. “You need to step things up.”
I straighten as a potential customer approaches. "Hi! Would you like to support the school Christmas pageant?"
The woman picks up one of our hand-painted ornaments, then sets it down with an apologetic smile. "Maybe later."
I slump against the booth as she waddles away. "That's the fourth person who's left without buying anything. At this rate, we won't even afford paper for the programs."
"You're too nice, Col. That's your problem."
"Being nice is a problem now?"
"When you're trying to drive someone out of town? Yes. You need to channel your inner mean girl. Really make Hendrix miserable."
"I can't be ruthless like you. The most aggressive thing I've done is change the WiFi password at school so he can't stream hockey games in the teacher's lounge."
"That's... actually pretty devious." Daisy looks impressed.
"I know. I felt guilty and changed it back after an hour."
Mrs. Emerson strolls by, picking up one of Daisy's signature gingerbread cookies to examine the gorgeous piping work. Daisy’s cookies are almost too pretty to eat.
"Four dollars for a cookie?" Mrs. Emerson squints at my handmade sign, setting the cookie back on the table. "That's a dollar more than at the bakery."
"All proceeds go to the Christmas pageant fund," I explain, forcing a bright smile.
She purses her lips. "I'll just get them at Daisy's tomorrow."
"But I'm right here!" Daisy calls after her retreating form. She slumps against our festively decorated booth. "I know for a fact she doesn’t blink an eye at Tucker’s coffee prices."
I sigh. "I really don’t know how I can be any more assertive with Hendrix."
"Assertive? Please. You need to be downright diabolical."
"I'm not built for scheming." I fiddle with the ornament display. "Besides, what am I supposed to do? Hide his whistle?"
"Girl, you're overthinking this.” She pulls her quilted jacket tighter. "All I'm saying is, if you want to win this bet, you need to stop playing nice." Daisy's eyes narrow. "Unless... you don't want him to leave?"
"Of course I do!" I straighten my Santa hat defensively.
"Oh? Then tell me again what happened at the Christmas tree farm."
I feel my cheeks heat up at the memory. "Can we not talk about that?”
"Focus on the mission," Daisy says. "Get rid of Hendrix, and the hockey team's budget is all yours."
"I can barely maintain eye contact with him without wanting to throw something."
"Then channel that rage.” Daisy waves a candy cane at me. “Get creative. He stole your gym time, hijacked your budget, and turned your house into Clark Griswold's fever dream. Without asking! And now he's living five doors down from you!"
I groan and bury my face in my hands. "Don't remind me. Every morning I have to see him jogging past my house without a shirt on. In December! Who does that?"
"Someone trying to get your attention." Daisy smirks.
"Oh, and get this." I pull out my phone, scrolling to the message. "Liam texted me."
"Wait - Liam Ellis?” Daisy abandons her cookie display. "Hendrix's brother Liam?”
"I didn't even know he had my number." I show her the screen. "He's got box seats for the Knights vs Titans game on Friday."
“The guy who never talks to anyone? Who you had a crush on in high school?"
"I did not have a crush-"
"Please. You wrote his name in your notebook with little hearts."
I stuff my phone back in my pocket. "Anyway, there's a catch. Hendrix is going too."
“Hang on a minute, let me get this straight. Liam’s team has an away game in Toronto. And out of the blue, he invited… you?”
“I guess when you put it that way, it sounds a little fishy.”
Daisy's eyes light up with that dangerous gleam I've come to fear. "No, no, actually, this is perfect!"
"How is being trapped for three hours in a car with Hendrix Ellis perfect? Each way! Not to mention during the game. I don't even like sports.”
"Because you'll drive!" She claps her hands together. "Think about it. You offer to drive, saying you don’t trust his notorious lead foot and you're more responsible or whatever. Then after the game..." She pauses for dramatic effect. "You leave him there."
"Daisy!"
"What? He'll be fine!"
"I can't just strand someone in another city."
"The man lives in Toronto! He's probably got a fancy condo downtown." Daisy rolls her eyes. "Drop him at home first if you're going to be all ethical about it. But this is your chance! He'll be back where he belongs, and your Christmas pageant will be saved."
"That's..." I sputter, "that's practically kidnapping in reverse."
"Is it, though?" Daisy grins. "He'd be exactly where he belongs – back in Toronto, away from your pageant."
"But-"
"And away from your Christmas lights."
"Well-"
"And definitely not jogging shirtless past your house anymore."
I stare at my phone, considering. "It does seem like fate handed me this opportunity..."
"Exactly! And hey, maybe once he’s back in his natural habitat he won’t even want to come back to Brookking Sound.”
I bite my lip. "I'll think about it."
An elderly gentleman passes by. "Support the arts?" I call out weakly. He doesn't even break stride. "We have... festive things? Aaaand he's gone."
"That was painful." Daisy shudders. "You're literally the worst salesperson I've ever seen. And I once hired my nephew who tried to convince customers our muffins were 'probably not poisoned.'"
"I'm an English teacher, not a carnival barker."
"Clearly."
I adjust my scarf and spot Hendrix and Tucker strolling toward our booth. Hendrix's cheeks are flushed from the cold, his stupid perfect hair tousled by the winter wind. Not that I notice these things.
"Oh no."
Hendrix is wearing his Titans jacket, because of course he is. Does he sleep in that thing?
"Ladies." Tucker nods at us, then jerks his head at Daisy. "Got a minute?"
Daisy's eyes narrow. "What for?"
"Just... business stuff."
"Business stuff," she repeats flatly.
Tucker rocks on his heels. "Yeah. You know, about the... thing."
"The thing?"
"Can you just–" He gestures vaguely away from the booth.
Daisy sighs dramatically but follows him, leaving me alone with Hendrix. Perfect.
We watch them walk away, Tucker talking animatedly while Daisy crosses her arms. She keeps shaking her head, but I notice she hasn't stormed off yet. They're gesturing wildly, and every few seconds they glance back at us before huddling closer together.
"What do you think that's about?" Hendrix asks.
"No idea." I frown as Daisy throws her hands up in exasperation while Tucker keeps pointing back toward us. "They've been acting weird lately."
"So..." Hendrix picks up one of our ornaments, doing that annoying head-tilt thing he always does. "How's business?"
"Booming," I say flatly, though our empty cash box says otherwise. I snatch the ornament from his hands. "Don't you have some hockey players to terrorize?"
"So..." Hendrix leans against our booth, those blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime?"
I nearly drop the ornament I'm holding. "Excuse me?"
"You know, at a restaurant. With food. Maybe even conversation if we're feeling wild."
"What are you up to?"
"Can't a guy just ask a beautiful woman to dinner?"
"Not when that guy is you." I narrow my eyes. "What's your angle here?"
"No angle." He shrugs, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips. "Just dinner."
"I know what dinner is." I straighten the tilting ornaments. "I meant, why are you asking me?"
"Because I'd like to take you out."
“No.”
“Just like that?”
I cross my arms. “Just like that.”
Hendrix blows out a whistle, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like. “Wow, this is going to be harder than I thought.”
“What did you just say?”
“Nothing.” He feigns an innocent look on his face. “Wow, these ornaments are gorgeous." He changes tactics, admiring the ornaments. "Gran would love these. And Aunt Goldie's been collecting angels."
"Please don't touch the merchandise."
He ignores me, selecting more ornaments. "Grannie’s been complaining her tree needs more sparkle."
"They're not for sale." The words fly out before I can stop them.
"Really? Because your sign says otherwise." He grabs a handful. "I'll take four of these, two angels, and..." He grabs a few more. "These snowflakes too."
"I'm not selling you anything."
"Why not? Isn't that the point of a fundraiser?"
I hesitate. The pageant fund is desperately low... "Fine. But this doesn't mean we're friends."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He pulls out his wallet and hands me a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change."
"Wait, these are only-" But he's already walking away.
"Hey!" I call after him. "You forgot your ornaments!"
"I'll be right back!"
I grumble while wrapping his purchases in tissue paper, irritated by his presumptuous behavior. Who just walks away from a transaction like that?
Ten minutes later, he returns holding two steaming cups. "Peppermint hot chocolate, extra whipped cream." He sets one in front of me. “Peace offering?"
I stare at the steaming cup of hot chocolate, fighting the smile threatening to form. The whipped cream is piled exactly how I like it, with just a hint of candy cane pieces sprinkled on top. How does he even know it’s my favorite?
"So," I clear my throat, trying to maintain my composure. "About Friday's game..."
"Oh, you got the text?" His expression shifts, something flickering across his face that I can't quite read.
Daisy's words echo in my head. Channel that rage. Get creative.
"Yes, and I'd love to go." The words feel foreign on my tongue.
He takes a sip of his drink, studying me over the rim. "You hate hockey."
"I'm expanding my horizons." I shrug, "But I should drive."
"You want to drive? To Toronto?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I get car sick as a passenger." I'm actually quite proud of how smoothly the lie comes out. "Plus, your driving terrifies me.”
I take a deliberate sip of hot chocolate, cursing internally as he gives me that golden retriever look.
Why did he have to remember my favorite drink?
And buy all those ornaments? And why does he have to look so.
.. so Hendrix-y with his windswept hair and that stupid dimple that appears when he's thinking hard about something?
Focus, Colette. The mission is to get him back to Toronto, not admire his dimples.
"So?" I press. "My car or no deal."
"Fine." He holds up his hands in surrender. "But I'm picking the music."
"Absolutely not. Driver picks the music."
"You're really going to make me suffer through three hours of..." He squints at me. "Let me guess. Non-fiction audiobooks?"
"I'll have you know my taste in music… and audiobooks is excellent."
"Sure it is." He winks – actually winks – at me before turning to walk away. “See you Friday.”
I watch him go, fighting the warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the hot chocolate. This is perfect. Everything's falling into place.
So why do I feel so guilty?