Page 45 of Home for Christmas in July

I wonder the same about her. But it’s not my business, so I say, “Looking for a clue.”

“Here?” She instantly hones in on the issue. “I don’t remember this place being on your map.”

“It’s not. But this has to be the right spot.” I pull out the clue and hand it to her.

She studies it with a small frown before passing it back to me. “You’re right. But why isn’t it on the map?”

I tuck the clue away and then throw my hands wide, palms up. “Beats me.”

The bartender returns with my drink and raises an eyebrow at Delphina. “Another round of tequila for your table?”

“Please.”

“Ah, youth,” I snort.

She shrugs. “Sometimes a girl needs to break free of the Christmas-all-the-time vibe in town. Don’t get me wrong, I love Mistletoe Mountain, but it’s … a lot.”

I can only imagine. Sometimes it’s a lot for me, and I grew up here. Delphina’s parents moved to Vermont from Bangalore when she was two years old. And while Mistletoe Mountain celebrates every holiday under the sun, from Diwali to Holi, Hanukkah to Eid-al-Fitr, and throws a lunar new year festival and a Pride Parade that must be seen to be believed, it remains a relentlessly, unapologetically Christmassy town. Who am I to judge if she wants to take off her elf hat for a night and cut loose?

“I get it,” I assure her.

The bartender returns with four shots. After Delphina settles up, I help her carry the drinks over to her table. She introduces me to her friends, who urge me to join them, but she waves them off.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells them. She motions for me to follow her. “Come on.”

We head back to the bar, and she leans across the surface to shout, “Titus, did anybody leave a message for my friend? Her name is Noelle.”

His eyes slide over my face as he answers her. “I don’t think anyone expected your friend to be here.”

“That’s fair. How about any messages for anybody?”

Titus’ expression tightens. “It’s not that kind of place, Delphina. The Lords are super clear about that—no dealing, no arranging deals. That’s not what we’re doing here.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” I reassure him. “I’m doing a scavenger hunt, and my last clue brought me here.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what kind of scavenger hunt you’re doing, but whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here. Unless it’s in the bottom of a glass or up on the stage.”

I’m offended that he called mema’amand disappointed that he doesn’t have an envelope tucked behind the bar for me.

Deflated, I drop my shoulders. “Okay, thanks.”

He walks to the other end of the bar to wait on a cluster of patrons.

Delphina shakes her head. “Thishasto be the clue.“

I scan the room. I can’t quite see myself crawling under all these tables and searching for an envelope. “I don’t know …”

She snaps her fingers. “There’s a seating area out back—some picnic tables, and a porta-john. They have live music on the weekends. Maybe it’s out on the patio.”

“Maybe,” I say, not very hopefully. “I’ll check it out on my way out. Enjoy your evening.”

She reaches for my arm. “Wait. Please don’t say anything to Holly or her family about, you know, what I said about Christmas.”

I glance over her head and nod toward a group of Lords who also belong to the Chamber of Commerce. “Your secret’s safe with me, but I’m pretty sure everyone in town has thought at least once of trading Christmas all year for something slightly edgier.”

She laughs. “Thanks for understanding.”

She makes her way back to her friends and tosses back her shot. I dig into the zippered pocket of the yoga pants and smooth out the emergency ten dollar bill I tucked in there earlier. I slip it under my glass.

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