Page 4 of Home for Christmas in July

He cocks his head, puzzled. “No. The wholesale rate’s the same as always. Fifty bucks for a fifty-pound bag.”

I give him a confused look back. “I only ordered two.”

“Ah, sure. But Merry called and said to add another bag. She needs it for the gingerbread houses. You know, for the open house.”

My gut twists. I haven’t gotten around to telling the girls that the open house is canceled. My daughters are going to make Noelle’s reaction look mild.

“Oh. Right.” I hand him the cash, and he studies me.

He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he holds out a receipt. I pocket it while he walks around to the front of the counter and stoops beside three large bags of flour waiting on a pallet. He hefts the top twobags onto his shoulder, and I grab the last one and follow him outside. We pile the sacks in the truck bed, then I close up the gate.

“Thanks for the help.” I offer him a handshake.

“No problem.” He pumps my hand and turns as if to leave, then turns back. “Is it true you’re not playing Santa Claus this summer?”

The note of betrayal in his voice catches me off guard. Enzo’s in his twenties. He hasn’t stood in line to see Summer Santa in at least a dozen years, probably longer.

The sun’s behind him, so I shade my eyes with my hand while I answer. “Yeah, not this summer.”

“But—”

“Josh Morgenthal’s going to stand in for me. He’ll do a great job.”

“But, he’s not Santa.You’reSanta.”

I raise an eyebrow, but before I can break the news to him, he gives a sheepish laugh. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded. It’s just … I can’t remember a time when you didn’t play Santa. You’ve been Santa my entire life. You’re an institution, Nick. Our bookkeeper’s daughter has been working on a note for you for two weeks. You remember Angelica?”

The name conjures up a shy five-year-old with long dark curls and big eyes. “Sure. Cute kid.”

He frowns. “She’s gonna know Mr. Morgenthal’s not the real Santa.”

I scratch my neck. “Look, Enzo. This is a bad year for me with … everything. Josh’ll be a perfectly serviceable Santa. And if Angelica notices that he’s not me, just explain that the real Santa is extremely busy. Tell her he always has one of his helpers attend the summer festival.”

“I guess.” He’s unconvinced. “Well, see you at the open house then.”

I open my mouth, then I think better of it and snap it closed. He looks so dejected, I don’t have the heart to break the news that the open house is canceled. Not now, at least.

He gives me a half-hearted wave and heads back inside.

As I put the truck in gear, Noelle’s voice rings in my ears, telling me the open house is more than a tradition.

“Crud,” I growl aloud.

I’m going to have to get out in front of this and let my daughters know there’s not going to be an open house this year before they hear it from someone else.

I’m too late.I know it the instant I set foot in the kitchen. My three daughters sit at the big oak table, lined up by age—Holly, Ivy, and then Merry—wearing matching scowls.

“Uh-oh. What’s the matter?” I figure playing dumb is my best option.

Holly isn’t having it. She points a finger at me and uses her lawyer voice. “Is it true that you told Noelle Winters the summer open house is canceled?”

“Yes, but?—”

Merry jumps in. “Howcouldyou?”

“Girls, you have to understand. I don’t have?—”

“Did you or did you not bow out of playing Summer Santa?” Holly demands.

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