Page 3 of Under the Mistle-Foe

I shook my head at his stubbornness. I didn’t know if it was his eternal optimism that kept him from having proper rest or his workaholic tendencies, but I’d been home foralmost a week, and forcing him off his feet was only getting harder with each passing day.

The Snowflake Shack was Dad’s baby. He’d pulled long hours at the diner when I was young, but he seemed to have become more of a workaholic ever since we lost Mom. Maybe that was his way of coping—just like mine was to run away—and now that his injury prevented him from being as involved as he’d like, he was struggling with that fact.

“Fine. You can stay in the kitchen, but you better keep off that leg. Keep your butt planted firmly in that chair,” I warned him with a finger pointed at his face. His gray eyebrows furrowed as he grumbled something about kids not respecting their elders these days, but I paid no attention to him as I turned to finish making breakfast.

Dad had the ingredients for French toast already on the counter. I heated the pan on the stove before making the liquid mixture to coat the bread. It didn’t take long for the heavenly smell to fill the entire room.

“That looks mighty good.”

I jolted when Dad’s hum of appreciation sounded right by my ear. “Jesus!” I shouted as I turned to glare at him. At least he was using his crunches this time, but seriously, getting this man off his feet was like trying to take candy from a child—practically impossible.

He met me with a glare of his own. “What did I tell you about taking your sight off the flame?”

I rolled my eyes. “Hey! It was only once, and I wasn’t aware my apron was untied. How was I supposed to know the strap would catch on fire?”

I’d only had one fire-related incident when I was fourteen, and I wasstillgetting shit about it ten years later.

“I thought we were going to have our first fire at The Shack. I still remember how much Isabella laughed afterseeing you dripping with the bucket of water I’d dumped on you.”

He let out a small smile as he got a distant look on his face. I looked away, unable to watch the pain of a husband reminiscing about his late wife.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not wearing an apron, huh? My fire-starting days are over. Now get your butt back in that chair or none of this delicious breakfast for you,” I said and turned my gaze back to the pan. The French toast was just about ready, turning that beautiful golden color.

Dad didn’t argue with me this time and waited for me to bring the plated breakfast. I added berries on top and gave it a good drizzle of the homemade cinnamon sauce I’d quickly whipped up.

“Mmhmm, great job on the cinnamon sauce,” Dad complimented. He licked his lips and poured more of the sauce on his plate. “Reminds me of Christmas.”

I snorted as I poured each of us a mug of coffee. “Considering we’re in Christmas Falls, where everyone has their colorful lights up before Thanksgiving, I’m pretty sure Christmas is never far from yours or anybody else’s thoughts in this town.”

He laughed in reply, his sparkling eyes telling me how much he enjoyed living in our small town. It wasn’t that I hated the enthusiasm the residents here had for Christmas—in fact, I used to be one of the very eager people awaiting the festivities—but Momlovedthe holidays. She became even more alive and vibrant when it came to this time of year…and now she’d never get to experience another winter season again…

Maybe that was why it’d been hard for me to return to the place that was always brimming with holiday spirit. I’d come back to spend big events with Dad, but I never stayed longer than a few days.

That was supposed to be the plan for Thanksgiving too, but after I’d gotten news that Dad had broken his leg, I took an extended leave from my company and came back two weeks earlier than planned.

I didn’t know how I was going to survive the next six weeks, or if I’d even have my job once I returned to New York, but Dad needed me. I’d let him down too many times to count in the past—him not even telling me about breaking his leg was proof of that—but I wasn’t going to this time.

“Will you be at The Shack today too?” Dad asked as he forked the last piece of toast into his mouth. He let out another hum of satisfaction, leaned back in his seat, and patted his stomach.

I nodded. I knew that if I wasn’t at the diner to stop him, Dad would sneak into the kitchen again to work. He needed to be resting that leg of his, but he was too stubborn for his own good.

“By the way, I told the staff they could leave early for the tree lighting. Atlas especially has been looking forward to it all week, considering this is his last one before he moves away to live with his long-distance boyfriend,” I said.

I doubted Dad would care since he’d always been a generous boss, but it was still his diner—even if he was currently out of commission—so it was only right I reported the happenings to him.

“I’m sad we’ll be losing him after this holiday season, but he seems happy about the move.”

I hummed in agreement. I wasn’t super close to Atlas—he was a year older than me, so we were in different grades growing up, and he didn’t start working for the diner until after I left town—but I’d gotten to know him better this past week and thought he was a nice, reliable dude. Though he was a tad bit of a hopeless romantic, if moving to anothersmall town after dating his boyfriend for less than a year was anything to go by.

That could never be me. Not the having a boyfriend part. While I’d never considered myself gay, I didn’t have a problem with two men dating. It was the uprooting your entire life for another person part I couldn’t understand. Then again, I’d never liked anyone enough to even have a serious relationship before.

I took a sip of my coffee and watched Dad over my mug. “I’d ask what you’ll be up to, but I know I won’t be able to stop you from following me to the diner.”

His reply was a toothy grin that quickly turned into a frown. “You know, you’ve been stuck at The Shack all week. Why don’t we close early today and enjoy thefestivities too? You used to love seeing the tree lighting, plus I heard there was going to be some sort of celebrity at this year’s ceremony.”

His nose wrinkled the way it did when he was thinking hard about something. He was probably trying to remember the celebrity guest’s name. A few seconds passed, and his nose wrinkle had smoothed out, but he didn’t elaborate. He’d most likely given up on racking his brain.

I gave him a pointed stare at his leg. “You’re gonna push through the crowd with that?”

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