Page 34 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“There,” Theo says to me. “Efficiency over wasted breath.”
He’s all cool nonchalance when he reaches for another snowball. Already wound tight, I beat him to it, striking a board stamped with a giant question mark.
How’s that for efficiency?
“Mystery Minute!” Mr. Price hoots. “Congratulations! I’ll fire off as much trivia as I can in sixty seconds. Let’s see how many correct answers you two can rack up!”
Theo shifts closer, the soft wool of his coat grazing my cheek. The heat emanating from him is distracting, but I force myself to concentrate on the game.
Mr. Price doesn’t ask us if we’re ready before launching into his interrogation with the gusto of a professional auctioneer.
“Who’s the current mayor of Sugarpine Springs?”
“Tanisha Hayes, of course!” I chirp. A lawyer-turned-politician and local hero, her people-first policies have improved countless lives in the community.
“Correct!” Mr. Price cheers. “What’s the name of the bridge over the springs where couples carve their initials?”
I raise my hand like I’m backin class. “Lover’s Leap!”
Theo raises a brow. “Did you and Asher defile the railing yet?”
I’m about to retort when Mr. Price interjects. “Who holds the fastest time record for the town’s winter marathon?”
“That’d be Marisol Ayala,” Theo answers smoothly, still looking at me. “Five-time champ.”
We volley back and forth, nailing most of the questions until the buzzer goes off.
For the final snowball, I hit theSciencetarget, but I’m not prepared for the question.
“Which two science teachers at Sugarpine Springs High famously ran off together after confessing their love on Starlight Summit?”
My stomach tightens. Though I know the answer—it happened during my junior year—I’m not thrilled to dredge up gossip. Especially not when it’s such a sensitive topic.
The typically sharp Theo is staring off into the distance, leaving me with no choice but to speak up for our team.
“Mrs. Quinn and Mr. Farrow.” The words drag out of me unwillingly.
What I don’t add is that they used their biology and chemistry expertise to stage a seemingly fatal accident on the mountain and throw everyone off their trail. Mr. Quinn was a cruel and controlling man—it was the only way for her to get a clean escape.
Theo’s face hardens as he glares at Mr. Price. “You were always known as a principal who touted principles,” he tells him. “Consider scrapping that question. It’s intrusive. And wildly inappropriate.”
“Oh, w-well…it’s…” Mr. Price stammers, fumbling for words. “It’s part of our town’s folklore.”
“Not all folklore needs to be aired out like dirty laundry,” Theo snaps. “Are we done here?”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” The older man clears his throat. “You hit ten questions.” He dusts off his gloved hands and reaches into his jacket pocket. “Excellent work. Here is your next clue.”
Theo stalks off without a word, leaving me with the envelope.
And a heavy pit in my stomach.
The wreath-making station inside Patel’s Petals is a welcome refuge from the cold. Fragrant air carries notes of fresh-cut greens, dried flowers, and damp earth. Mrs. Patel, the chatty florist running the activity, hands us steaming mugs of cider before leading us to a quiet corner of the craft table where other couples are already lost in their own creations.
As the drink spreads through me, warmth slowly returns to my limbs. When I’m properly thawed, I glance at Theo. He’s completely absorbed in the task, sifting through a pile of foliage with surgical precision. Once the first few elements are sorted out, he starts weaving the greenery.
I can’t help but indulge in the scene a little longer than I should.
The man’s hands…
