Page 37 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

What. Is. Happening?

“For heaven’s sake, Elliot. Manners! Go help Bonnie,” Gran says, nodding me forward.

It’s just the excuse I need. Because I want to help Bonnie. I want to apologize for a perfectly true statement.

I hurry up to the front, where she’s gathered bingo boards and a cardboard treasure chest full of gold coins. The plastic kind.

“Can I help?” I say.

A puff of air exhales from her nostrils. And she shoves the stack of bingo boards into my hands. The laminated boards don’t have the word bingo or any numbers on them. The word pirate is printed across the top and the boxes, six down and six across, each having a pirate-themed picture in them. Instead of a number, there’s a hook or a mermaid or a pirate hat in each box.

Yep. Pirate bingo.

“You go all out. Don’t you?” I say.

Bonnie doesn’t say anything but starts at the closest table to us. There’s a small silver bucket in the center of eachtable. Bonnie snatches it up and scoops it full of the plastic gold coins before setting it back in the center.

“Give them each a board,” she says to me, her cheery tone turned cross.

Right—I’m apologizingandhelping, not just observing.

So I pass out a board to the four senior citizens sitting around this table.

“Hi, Ellen,” Bonnie says when I lay the first board down in front of the gray-haired woman. “How’s Muffin?”

“Doing better. I think she passed that button.”

Ick. I do not ask.

“Hi, Sheldon. Hey, Marg. Good luck, Pres.” Bonnie greets each and every person we see. One by one.

Pres reaches for one of the gold coins in the bucket and sets it on top of his FREE space in the middle of his bingo board.

Aww. I get it. That’s what the coins are for. She really has thought of everything.

There is a chorus of “Hi, Bon Bon” from each person at the table.

“Bon Bon?” I thought that was just a Bill nickname. Clearly not.

“Shush,” she tells me. But her scolding only makes me chuckle. And her word choice makes me think of Gran.

That chuckle earns me a glare, and I remember once again that I came over to apologize.

She fills up the next table’s bucket and smiles sweetly at the patrons at the table, greeting each of them.

“Listen, Bonnie,” I begin once her ‘hellos’ are finished, “I’m?—”

“Can you pass out the boards? This shouldn’t take so long with two of us doing it.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Right.” I give out two boards and Bonnie doesn’t even look at me. Standing straight, I tug on her elbow. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she says, setting one hand on her hip. She holds the treasure box with her opposite hand, tucking it close to her side, and studies me, waiting for an answer.

“Um.” My brows pinch and I think. Hard. “For saying you wereintoyour dog?” It’s a statement that comes out too much like a question. I hadn’t planned to go into details with this apology.

“Who’s this, Bon Bon?” a woman with salt-and-pepper curled hair and red glasses asks. She tips her head back, looking up at me.

Bonnie huffs but grins at the woman. “This isElliot.” With a bright and extremely false smile—never go into acting, woman—Bonnie says, “Myboyfriend.”

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