Page 32 of Storybook Christmas

My stomach constricts, and guilt weighs on my shoulders like a book-filled backpack. I don’t know what to say, so I just stick to the truth. “I’m not the least bit surprised to hear that. Finn’s always looking out for everyone.”

The stripping. The working himself to the bone to keep his interim job. He’s desperately trying to help his grandmother with her medical bills.

“That’s my Finn,” Marge says proudly.

Finn waves, and it’s stiff. “We’re heading out.”

“Will you call me?” I hate that desperation tinges my voice.

He lets out a defeated sigh. “Nothing has changed, Lacy. I can’t quit my night job.”

“I know. Call me anyway?”

“Okay.” There’s something in his tone that tells me he doesn’t mean that.

My heart pinches tighter, and it physically aches. As I back away, I wave at Finn’s grams. “It was nice meeting you, Marge.”

“You too, darlin’.”

She’s so sweet. I truly hope she’s okay.

As I drive away, I already miss Finn. And if he decides not to call me back, something tells me a part of me will never stop missing him.

# # #

AS I’M HOMEmaking a pumpkin cake to take to my parent’s house for Christmas dinner tomorrow night, Bertha calls, and I realize I never called her after my life crumbled to pieces.

So much for graduating her program. I feel bad for not updating her yet, but it’s been too hectic. I didn’t go to bed until late last night after my visit with Eleanor, then I spent the morning trying to get up the nerve to go to Finn’s house. As soon as I got home from that, I emailed the Suttons to tell them I wouldn’t be at work preparing to print Fireflies Save Christmas because of what happened with Sage.

When I heard nothing from them—averybad sign because they always respond immediately with something that important—I started baking to calm my nerves.

“Hi, Bertha,” I answer.

“Get your skinny little buns to the office,” she says, her voice dire. “Now.”

Crap, crap, crap.

This is it—the Sutton’s are firing me. Bertha is bossy, but never this bossy.

“Why do I need to gonow?” I say, but she doesn’t answer. When I look at the phone, she’s long gone.

Oh, this isbeyondbad.

I’m running out the door when I realize I’m still in my jeans and t-shirt, which are both covered in pumpkin and flour.

Who cares? It’s an appropriate wardrobe for a firing.

And I need to step on it—Bertha’s probably trying to get me into the office so I can leave with my things before The Suttons lock me out.

But when I walk through the doors of Sutton & Sutton with a box, she’s not here.

I call her for the hundredth time, but she doesn’t answer.

This is getting creepier by the second.

I’ve just finished packing up my office when Isaac Sutton walks in the door and closes it behind him. My pulse thuds as he takes a seat at my guest chair. With no greeting, he says, “So, Sage Katz.”

I look down, and I see a smear of pumpkin across my chest. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

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