Page 30 of Mistletoe Misses
“Isn’t that whatcan youimplies?” I grumble, giving the wire one last yank. The end coils into a dusty pile at my feet like a sleeping snake—not quite as satisfying as I hoped.
Wiping my dusty hands down my jeans, I lean out over the top of the stairwell. “What’s up?”
“I know you heard me say come downhere. Not stand at the top like you’re scared to face the firing squad.”
“That’s how I feel.”
“Shut up and get down here. I need you to try my pie options for this year’s contest.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say that?”
She grins and that should have tipped me off to something afoot, but I ate breakfast too many hours ago not to allow my empty stomach a say. It takes charge of my brain, and my feet take off.
“I need your honest opinion.”
The sweet smell of cinnamon, fruit, and buttery crust grows stronger the closer we get to the shop. I’m salivating just thinking about sinking my teeth into each flavor until human-shaped shadows appear on the floor ahead.
“And the opinion of my most trustworthy pie-loving friends,” she adds, proud of herself for tricking me.
I freeze, rallying my limbs to make an escape, but her hand on my back pushes me around the corner. That’s when the whole set up unveils before me. Gathered beside a table of pies, waiting to start Nana’s game, are Mayor Whitacre, Wally, some people I haven’t met yet, and … Carmen.
Muscles in my neck constrict and shoot more than just annoyance down to my toes.
Damn it, Nana.
I haven’t recovered from my conversation with Carmen two days ago. Having to face her when I’ve yet to determine my opinions on the matter makes me want to throw a pie like a disgruntled clown at a party.
“Thank you all for coming,” Nana says to the group, ignoring the heat of irritation rising off my skin.
She walks away to slice the pies as if I’m not a flight risk. Funny. She’s forgotten how good I am at running away and avoiding situations I find uncomfortable, which is almost everything that doesn’t require a uniform. My escape plan is already formulating in my mind when Carmen’s eyes find me over Nana’s head. Her searching eyes say more than she did the other night, erasing my exit map and relocating the temper I misplaced this morning. I don’t know what to do with any of it.
“Mayor, you get the first bite honors.”
“Music to my ears.” His dark mustache wiggles above a smile as he accepts a plate of samples and takes a bite.
From the others digging into their samples, compliments and moans sound off while my body goes numb with resentment. I beg my legs to take me anywhere else, but they stay put, giving me no choice but to accept the full plate and fork Nana passes me with my usual obedience. But she can’t control everything. Scooping bites into my mouth like it’s an eating contest, I empty the plate in record time. The flavors smelled so good earlier, it’s a shame I didn’t taste a single bite.
Utilizing my SWAT techniques, I rid myself of the dish on the counter behind Nana and slink away … almost.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Nana’s voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard at this point. Guess I’m not as covert as I thought.
“I have work to do.”
“That can wait. The mayor needs help.”
I survey Mayor Whitacre, and he looks perfectly content and in need of nothing. His belly, the same round shape as Santa’s, bounces while he bellows a laugh that rivals the man himself.
“I know you’re busy, son, but we could sure use your skills to help hang the lights today,” Mayor says, dusting crumbs off his dark sweater, and irritatingly corroborating Nana’s story. “TheSpectacular Committee is too small for the job this year, and we’re getting older.”
I nod, understanding I’m about to install string lights over Main Street with a crowd of people who’ll want to get into my business, instead of experiencing the bliss I found working in the quiet solitude upstairs.
Thank you, Nana.
“Enjoying award-winning pies and recruiting young volunteers for the Spectacular,” Mayor Whitacre continues despite his full mouth, “it’s been a productive outing to everyone’s favorite bookshop today.”
Volunteers? Plural? I didn’t hear anyone else get guilt-tripped into helping. Gauging the group, the only youngish people I see, ones capable of climbing ladders anyway, are me and Carmen.
“Can you be there in half an hour?” the mayor asks her first.
