Page 28 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

I peer up at him, grateful the money is safely back at my apartment. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it matters. I said I’d pay your rent.”

The tension between us builds until it’s palpable. Reaching down, I rub the top of Noel’s head. “Well, you gave me cash. I promise to use your money to pay my rent, then.” And then I can usemymoney to buy Abby’s dog. I like that better anyway. If Canine Compassion isn’t using their funds to buy the dog, then I want to. I don’t want it to be from Elliot.

He groans, guessing exactly what I plan to do.

I roll my shoulders and stare at the black door in front of us. “Why do you care?”

“I just think you should use that money responsibly.”

I scoff and clench my jaw with his judgment. “And buying a service animal for a little girl isn’t responsible?”

“If she’s not at the top of the list, then there’s a reason—right?” He shrugs. “I mean, it’syourlist.”

“It’s not my list,” I moan. “It’s the nonprofit’s list.”

“Aren’t the recipients weighed as in who needs an animal the most?”

They are. But I’m not telling him that. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t an extensive waitlist. They all need an animal. Abby’s situation is personal. I was Abby.

I grind my teeth, and before I can spit some snarky comeback, May opens up the door, a bright smile on her pretty face.

“Hello, you two. Shall we get to know one another?”

FOURTEEN

elliot

Gran’s eyes drop.“Oh, youthree, I mean. This must be the dog we’re keeping?”

Bonnie’s cheeks are flushed, but she manages a smile. “Yes. This is Noel.”

Gran bends at the waist, getting a better look at the Golden Doodle. “A service dog. You never mentioned she was a service dog.” But she isn’t looking at Bonnie—no, that accusatory look is staring right at me.

“I—I didn’t know. I said the same thing. How would I have known?”

“Maybe,” Gran says, “if you had talked to the girl in person instead of leaving those silly notes, you would have figured it out sooner.” She huffs, planting her hands on her hips. “Well, come in. All three of you. Let’s get out of the cold, shall we?”

We cross the threshold of Gran and Gramp’s ranch-style home. Everything is on the same level—which is good for my eighty-five-year-old grandmother who insists on doing her own laundry. She leads us through the entry and rightinto her nice sitting room. I’m not going to lie—with Noel in tow, I was sure we’d end up in the family room where half a dozen grandkids have spilled popcorn and made blanket forts.

Gran sits in the armchair and motions to the couch for Bonnie and me to do the same. “Had I known she was a service animal, I would have made an exception.”

“Really?” Bonnie says. “The lease says–

“That lease is outdated. Something you’ll need to fix, Elliot. Laws have changed, for the better.” Gran pulls in a deep breath. “But it’s too late now, we’ve already made our deal. And a deal is a deal, my dear. No backing out now.”

Bonnie’s grin is tight and forced. “Right,” she says. “A deal is a deal.” She exhales and deflates into the couch cushions, her grin faltering just a little. Noel pops her head onto Bonnie’s knee and Bonnie strokes the pup’s head. “Your home is lovely, May.”

Gran always keeps a nice house, but at Christmastime the place is magical, with garland and twinkling lights over every archway. She has poinsettias in every corner and a tree for every one of her grandkids in the large family room. In a few days, we’ll do our annual Christmas tree cutting and we’ll all help Gran put an eight-foot-tall, real-live pine up in the picture window and decorate it. It’s one of my favorite Christmas traditions. Bing Crosby will sing Christmas carols, and my sisters will argue about who will put the star on top of the tree. In the end, neither will want to climb up the ladder and I’ll end up doing it. It’s tradition.

“Why, thank you. This is my favorite time of year. It was Richard’s too. We loved gathering the kids and decorating.” Gran’s eyes water and she sniffs.

“Richard, your husband?” Bonnie asks. She watches my gran, so sincere with each of her words.

“Yes.” Gran’s eyes and mouth crinkle with her soft smile. “He was wonderful. He passed away a little more than three years ago. Just a few months before your cards started showing up. The first year I got one, I rather needed it. You wrote, ‘You are loved this Christmas season.’ And it’s exactly what an old lady needed to hear.”

“Gran,” I say, my heart aching with her tender memory.

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