Chapter 17
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Mia snorts. “Never heard of it. What’s it about?”
Marv turns it over.
“Deep in his cave, a lonely yeti watches families celebrating Christmas, wishing he could join in but thinking he doesn’t belong. One magical Christmas, a wise luna moth, who had once been a caterpillar, shares an important secret: it’s not about how you look, but who you are inside.”
He shakes his head. “Sheesh. It sure as shit ain’t Shakespeare.”
Clearing his throat, he continues. “Inspired by the moth’s words, the yeti sets out to become Santa.
But when he gets stuck in a chimney, it’s a brave little boy who comes to his rescue.
Together, they discover the true spirit of Christmas is all about kindness, love, and finding where you truly belong—yada yada yada. ”
Marv slaps the book against my chest. “Good luck, man. If you can’t sell this sappy garbage, then no one can.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Erica says.
“That’s because you’re the nicest woman on the planet. You even make me feel like I’m redeemable.”
“Oh, honey,” Erica says to him as if he were a kid, not a man older than she is. “There’s nothing to redeem.”
Marv gives me a quick glance, as if I might tell her about the stunt he pulled with Cara that brought us all to this moment, but I keep quiet.
“Is Martha coming?” Mia asks.
“Not this time. Ethan and her are spending the morning with Eleanor and Garrett, then joining us up at the reserve for the race.”
A smartly dressed young woman with bobbed black hair and a lanyard around her neck identifying her as a librarian comes forward to say hello.
“Mr King, welcome,” she says warmly as she shakes my hand. “I’m Alice.”
“Great to meet you. I haven’t been here since I was a kid, reading every adventure story I could get my hands on.”
“And do you still read them now?”
“I’m ashamed to say it’s been a long time since I picked up a book.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of. However, if you want, I can recommend some titles that might interest you.”
“Thanks, I’d like that,” I say, meaning it. Being back in Hideaway Harbor, even if just for a short time, has shown me there’s more to life than work, and I like the idea of reading for pleasure rather than trying to memorize lines.
Alice bounces on the balls of her feet. “Awesome! This is one of the best parts of my job, so thank you for the opportunity.”
She walks us through the library to a corner area at the back, where low bookshelves surround a carpeted section filled with bean bags and child-sized sofas.
Two walls are covered in paintings of Christmas trees, snowmen, and Santa, with children’s names at the bottom.
The space is filled with kids, their parents standing around the edges, proudly watching their offspring.
Nerves prickle in my stomach. With more adults than children in the audience, it suddenly feels like a higher-stakes performance.
As a young couple, introduced as Lucy and Enzo, read a story together, I stand at the back and open the yeti book, reading it through for the first time. It’s a cute little tale, and like most kids’ books, has a message of love and acceptance that most adults seem to have forgotten.
Piper stays near me, watching people reading the stories. The kids seem enthralled with the whole experience, although I think the hot chocolate was the biggest selling point.
All too soon, it’s my time, and I step forward to loud applause from the adults and muted claps from the kids who don’t have a clue who I am.
The seat they’ve left for me is one of those small plastic ones designed for people half my height. I gingerly lower myself onto it as everyone goes silent.
It gives a loud creak that sounds suspiciously like a fart, and I say, “Pardon me,” to the kids, who burst out laughing.
Okay, good start.
“Hi, everyone,” I begin. “I’m Brody, and I’m going to be reading to you The Yeti Who Got Stuck in the Chimney.”
I show them the cover of the book. “Do any of you know this story?”
I’m met with blank stares and a few shaking heads.
“Okay, well, I hope the title doesn’t give any of the story away.”
A little boy with a chocolate mustache pipes up, “Is it about a yeti who gets stuck in a chimney?”
I act like I’m shocked. “How did you know?!”
“It’s in the title!” he says, like I’m a dummy, and a few kids giggle.
“Ah, but do you know how it begins?” I ask.
He scrunches up his face. “Once upon a time?”
I open the book. “Once upon a time—”
“No way!” the little boy cries, as a few of the other children gasp like we’ve just performed a magic trick.
“Yes way.” I show them the first page so they can see I’m not making it up. “You were right.”
I begin reading again. “Once upon a time, in a cold, snowy cave high on a mountain, lived a yeti. He was all alone and always had been, staying hidden and watching the little village of Hideaway Harbor down in the valley below.”
“Does it really say Hideaway Harbor?” the boy pipes up again.
“It actually says the village is called Heartwood, but I think we should change it to Hideaway Harbor. What do you think?”
“Change it!” a few of the children yell.
I sneak a glance at Piper, standing off to the side. She’s smiling, but when she catches my eye, she blushes and looks down, fiddling with a button on her coat.
“Okay, democracy has spoken. Heartwood is now Hideaway Harbor.” The little boy leads the cheers, and his wholehearted enthusiasm for such a small thing makes my heart swell.
“Every Christmas, the people of Hideaway Harbor hung twinkling lights on their houses, sang songs that echoed up the mountainside, and spent time together, laughing and having fun. The yeti wished he could join them, but he knew he didn’t belong.
He was too big, too furry, and, most of all, too different. ”
I continue with the story, trying to inject as much drama into it as possible. Some of the kids seem more interested in trying to scoop out every last drop of hot chocolate from their mugs with their hands, but the little dude near the front is hanging on my every word.
“He squeezed down the chimney headfirst, his big, furry hands clutching the sides as he tried to wriggle down, his mind full of dreams of Christmas cheer.
But something was wrong … The chimney was too narrow, and no matter how much he wiggled, he was stuck halfway.
His large, fluffy feet kicked helplessly, his furry belly wedged tight.
“‘Oh dear,’ he mumbled, his voice muffled by the bricks. ‘This wasn’t how I imagined it at all!’”
The kids laugh, and I sneak another look at Piper.
Her attention is solely on me, as if I’m reading the most captivating story in the history of literature, or if we’re the only two people here.
She doesn’t look away when I catch her eye and I want to hold her gaze.
But I’m in the middle of the book, so I clear my throat and read on.
“The little boy peered up the chimney and saw a big, furry shape wedged tightly. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Is someone stuck?’
“A muffled voice groaned from deep inside. ‘Ho, ho, ho! It’s me, Santa! I tried to squeeze down the chimney, but I ate too many Christmas cookies, and now I’m stuck!’
“The boy furrowed his brow, walking closer to the fireplace. ‘You don’t look like Santa. You look like a yeti!’
“The yeti’s head popped into view, his furry face stuck halfway out of the chimney, looking embarrassed. ‘Can I be a yeti and Santa?’ he asked with a sheepish grin.
“The boy laughed. ‘Yes! You can be both!’”
I keep my eyes glued to the page as I finish the story, with the yeti spending his first Christmas with the little boy and his family, and making his first friends.
“As the snow fell gently outside, the yeti knew he had found the one thing he had been longing for: not just a family, but a place where he truly belonged.”
There are still two lines left, but I pause. Where do I belong? New York? Here? I glance at Piper again, and the answer arrives like a neon sign in my brain.
I belong wherever she is.
“And from that day on, every Christmas, the yeti would return, because sometimes, it’s not what you look like, but who you are inside that makes all the difference.”
I close the book, and that’s the cue for the applause, which I lap up, because at the end of the day, I’m a needy actor who lives for validation.
The boy who’s taken such a keen interest in the story leaps to his feet and comes forward, his arm outstretched. “I’m Billy.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Billy.”
“I’ve got a puppy. Her name is Lucky, and I’m training her to be a hunting dog. We’re gonna hunt a yeti.”
“Do you know where yetis live?”
He points at the book in my hand. “In caves. The book says so. High up in the mountains.”
“And how do you track one down? They’re pretty shy.”
“You have to look for signs,” he replies. “My grandpa is teaching me to track animals.” He leans forward like he’s about to impart a big secret. “And one of the signs they leave is poop!”
I try to smother a grin and fail.
Billy seems delighted with my response. “Big, stinky poop!”
This time, I snort with laughter.
A woman rushes up with a worried expression. “I hope he’s not bothering you, Mr King.”
“Not at all. Billy’s been teaching me how he tracks animals with his grandpa.”
“Poop!” Billy says happily to his mother.
“Billy!” she replies, but her stern expression is cracking.
“See! It’s funny!”
“Say thank you to Mr King, then let’s get you to Grandpa’s.”
“Please, call me Brody,” I say with a smile, then hold out my hand to Billy again. “Good luck with the tracking.”
“Thank you.” He shakes my hand firmly, then lets his mother draw him away. They’re just about to exit the carpeted area when he turns his head and mouths the word “poop” at me again.
“What are you laughing at?” Marv asks as he comes to my side.
“The kid. He’s got my sense of humor.”