Page 10 of Stuck in Christmas

“If ifs and buts were candy and nuts,” Bonnie began.

“…it’d be Christmas every day.” I finished.

Bonnie stared at me with her mouth hanging open. Eli quirked an eyebrow. “Did you practice that?”

“It’s a famous saying,” Bonnie replied with a hint of pride.

“I’ve never heard it before you said it to me last night,” I said, the truth settling uneasily in my stomach. “Or the night before. I am starting to lose track.”

“Maybe we should call for the doctor,” Joe suggested, eyeing me with concern.

“No. Don’t do that,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “I’m just stuck, is all. I’m stuck in Christmas, Mississippi. And this has to be a dream, right?”

Bonnie’s expression softened into one of understanding as she looked at me. “I’m afraid you’re not making sense, dear.”

Eli stepped closer, his gaze suddenly serious. “Let me take a look at your pupils.”

I stiffened as he stepped in front of me. “Why would you do that?”

“First aid. If your pupils are dilated, it could be a sign of a concussion. I think,” Eli said, his tone dropping as he searched my eyes for injury.

A concussion could be possible. How many times had I ended up in the snowbank? “You think? Are you a doctor?” I challenged.

“Chef,” Joe replied, a giant smile across his face.

My heart beat faster as Eli pressed his hand to my face and tilted my head back to look at my pupils from a different angle.

“He’s a world-famous chef from New Orleans,” Bonnie said.

“Ms. Bonnie,” Eli warned.

Bonnie held up two fingers. “Two Michelin stars.”

“That’s impressive,” I admitted. “I’mfrom New Orleans. Which restaurant were you at? How’d you end up there?”

He shrugged. “That’s not important.”

“Yes, it is,” Joe called from Bonnie’s side.

“No. It isn’t.” Eli gritted and studied my other eye.

“It’s a great story,” Bonnie prompted.

“For another time. We’re talking about a possible concussion here. That’s more important than whether my life story is great or not,” Eli’s voice brooked no more arguments from his family. He stepped away from me, and the loss of heat chilled me more.

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trying to warm up. “I don’t have a concussion. I’m just stuck. And every time I try to leave, I get turned around.”

“I bet Joe’s directions are to blame,” Bonnie teased, laughter bubbling up among them.

This part of their conversation was funny, even if I’d already heard it three times. But this was also the point that I noticed Bonnie’s pin of the day. “Your pin.”

“Isn’t it beautiful? It’s three French hens. Joe got it for me on our third Christmas as a married couple. Probably ain’t worth more than a quarter, but it’s got sentimental value.” Bonnie chuckled, her affectionate gaze lingering on her husband.

More chills piled on the first. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

“I’ll show you,” Eli offered, his demeanor shifting back to that of the concerned chef.

As we walked down the narrow hallway to therestroom, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. I stumbled slightly, catching myself against the wall.

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