Page 21 of Under the Mistle-Foe

A nasty feeling I didn’t want to acknowledge sneaked upat the thought of himnotbeing single. So I pushedthatthought to the back of my head not to be explored again.

Jett’s relationship status—or lack thereof—was none of my business. I just had to keep reminding myself of that.

It was busier at the diner the next day. Folks seemed to have come out from their Thanksgiving food coma for fresh air and a change of pace. Jett had come today as well, with his laptop this time. He had it out in front of him, but he was mostly chatting with the few people he was sharing his table with.

Not that I was paying attention to his actions or anything like that. I was just keeping an eye on my dining area. My long-past dream of taking over the diner came rushing back. I looked through the serving hatch again to hear the chatter and laughter of familiar faces as they enjoyed their meal. This was what Dad had meant when he said the diner was a community. And it wasn’t so bad.

November ended with the comfort of home and a cold splash of reality into December.

Dad had texted me saying a friend was picking him up for an errand. I had no reason to question him and figured he and Uncle Rob were up to something again.

What I hadn’t expected was that by deciding to head to the diner early, I’d find Dad and Jett outside the diner door setting up the same arch Mom had used ever since I could remember. Even after all these years, the plastic green foliage covering the metal arch was still vibrant and full of life.

Dad was leaning on his crutches, mostly giving out orders as Jett assembled the dang thing. Something about the scene had me snapping. Or maybe it was the chilling reminder that this was yet another tradition Mom would never get to enjoy again that struck a nerve. Or the fact Dad felt like he couldn’t rely on me once again to help with setting up the arch. I wasstill a failure in his eyes, and he had to run to the perfect Jett for help.

It had me seeing red as I strode up to the two. Jett was on a ladder, hanging up the mistletoe in the middle of the arch while Dad held it steady for him. He hung the fresh mistletoe—nothing compared to the real thing my mom had always said—then a huge beaming smile bloomed on his face as if he was proud of the entire thing.

Jett caught sight of me, his crooked smile brightening. His smile did something to my insides, making them feel tighter, which only made my irritation rise even more. It must have shown on my face, because his expression quickly fell as he climbed down the ladder.

Dad turned around to face me too, weariness in his eyes. The exhaustion aged him, making him look so vulnerable, and his broken leg did nothing to help that image.

I swallowed whatever words that had bubbled in my throat. “Fuck,” I muttered and turned back the way I came.

“Remy…” Jett called out, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not when I felt like my insides would crawl out of my skin. I needed to be alone or else I’d do or say something I’d regret.

I worried Jett would follow me, as he was prone to do, but thankfully, Dad stopped him and told him to give me some space. I was lighting up before I could even figure out where I was going. My feet took me forward, and a cloud of smoke trailed behind me.

Annoyed stares followed me on the sidewalk. This place was so different from New York, where nobody would bat an eye at a smoker on the streets. Here, I felt like I was committing the vilest crime, and yeah, sure, the smoke wasn’t good for the environment or whatever, but what itwasgood for was keeping me from blowing my top. It gave me something to do, something to focus on, something thatIcould control.

I walked away from the main area and entered Sugar Plum Park. Even in the early morning, people wandered around. Lovers on a morning date or families enjoying the quiet festivities before they got on with the rest of their day.

The peaceful atmosphere was a stark contrast to how I felt as I stomped deeper into the park. The further away from the crowd and closer to nature I got, the lighter everything felt. I could physically feel the steam leaving me.

Christmas Falls hadn’t even spared the park from the holiday decorations, which were hanging on each of the lampposts. The trash cans hadn’t escaped the holiday flair either.

Seeing the familiar obsession our little town had with Christmas had a way of calming me. Five years away, and some things never changed, regardless of how much everything else had. In a weird way, it made my problems not feel so big anymore, reminding me that things would be okay.

I was much calmer by the time I left the park. I entered the diner from the back, but I could hear the people clamoring from the front. The diner was open and the breakfast rush was about to come upon us. I barely had time to put on my apron before going into automatic mode to help Rory cook.

Orders were flying in so fast I didn’t have time to stop and think. It was exactly what I needed right now. To move my body, do something I loved in a place I loved, without complicating it with the memories that surrounded me.

When the rush was over, I walked to the front. I looked around and didn’t see the familiar head of brown hair in his usual seat. Most of the customers had left already, so maybe he’d decided to leave as well.

Dad’s eyes watched me the entire time, and I knew he would have words for me. It was embarrassing as hell tothrow a tantrum as an adult, never mind having my dad witness it.

I padded over there, feeling my metaphorical tail between my legs. At least the diner was mostly empty, so the entire town wasn’t witnessing my shame. I walked to Dad’s side. His eyes never left mine once.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” I started. He hummed to acknowledge he’d heard me. We stared at each other for a minute, neither of us saying anything before I asked the question that had been on my mind.

“Why didn’t you ask me to help you? Am I that unreliable?” My voice was soft as I tried to mask my hurt.

Dad grabbed my hand. His hands were rough and calloused from years of working in the kitchen, but his hold on me was surprisingly gentle.

“I never meant for you to feel that way. I just didn’t want to burden you.” He sighed, patted the back of my hand, then gestured for me to sit on the stool next to him.

“You have your own path, and I don’t want to become baggage?—”

“You’re not!” I interrupted. I wanted to say more, to tell him that the only person holding me back wasme, but he held up a hand to stop me.

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