Page 21 of Rebel Without a Claus
We’ve been at this for three hours already and we’re only halfway through our deliveries for the morning.
The bookstore is our next stop, and I shift the crate of fresh milk in my arms, stifling a yawn as I step inside. The warm scent of books and cinnamon greets me, instantly making me feel cozier despite my exhaustion.
Mrs. Carter, the owner, is at the register, chatting animatedly with another woman whose back is to me.
“—such a lovely duet last night! I had no idea Luke could sing like that,” Mrs. Carter says.
“Oh, yes. He hasn’t in years. Not since the night his parents died. I heard Eve was supposed to be there that night, but canceled,” the mystery woman is saying, her voice a little too enthusiastic for a casual remark.
I know that voice.
My stomach sinks as the woman turns to face me, a knowing smile stretching across her face. It’s Pam, my mom’s friend, and notorious town gossip.
“There she is!” Pam exclaims, clapping her hands together like she’s just summoned me from thin air. “We were just talking about you.”
I force a polite smile and set the crate on the counter. “Good morning, Pam. Mrs. Carter.”
Mrs. Carter winks. “Good morning, dear. You look exhausted. Long night?”
Pam chuckles, and I can already see where this is going. “Well, it was certainly aneventfulnight, wasn’t it? You and Luke singing together… I don’t think anyone saw that coming.”
I resist the urge to groan. I knew this was going to get around. According to my mom, the town has been practically starved for gossip since the Johnsons reconciled and stopped their weekly screaming matches in the town square.
“Yeah, it was… unexpected,” I say, keeping my tone light.
Pam leans in conspiratorially. “Unexpectedlygood.You two had the whole room enchanted. I’m just so glad that Gemma didn’t win again. She’s talented, but at some point, we all just get tired of hearing her sing the same song, year after year.”
I clear my throat. “Well, I’m pretty sure we only won because Gemma didn’t compete.”
Stormed outis more accurate.
Pam nods, her eyes twinkling. “Perhaps. But whooooowee! Honey, she looked like she bit into a lemon. I swear, steam was practically coming out of her ears.”
I try to act indifferent, but my fingers tighten around the milk crate. Gemma has always found a way to make my life miserable. In high school, she made sure I knew exactly where I stood—at the very bottom of the social hierarchy. But the worst thing she ever did?
Senior year. That exact same show choir state championship Pam had just mentioned. Luke and I were supposed to sing a duet, but the night before, Gemma cornered me in the locker room, sneering as she whispered,You’re going to cost us the title and Luke will never get a scholarship to a good school. Your voice is awful. Just do us all a favor and stay home.
So I did. I stayed home, thinking I was doing what was best for the team. They did win. But that was also the night Luke’s parents died. On the drive to pick him up from the competition.
Heat flashes into my cheeks. I don’t know why I feel guilty about that, but I do. Like it’s somehow my fault that they hit a patch of black ice and hit a tree.
I busy myself by grabbing two coffee cups and filling them at the self-serve coffee counter.
“Well… we’re adults now,” I say as the black liquid fills all the way to the lip of the cup. “And it’s all for good fun with the Christmas Festival, right?” But Gemma’s angry face haunted me all night last night. Could she really bethatangry that I sang with Luke? Does she still have some kind of weird vendetta after all these years?
I shouldn’t let it bother me. But the memory of Luke standing by my side, shielding me from Gemma’s sharp words last night… that makes something warm and treacherous flutter in my chest.
I snap the lids onto the coffee and slide Mrs. Carter a five dollar bill for the two coffees as Pam nudges my arm. “He really came to your rescue, didn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t call it that.” I take a sip of mine and wince at the piping hot liquid.
“Oh, I would. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he lookedrealprotective over you.”
I set the coffees onto the counter and grab a bottle of milk from the crate and turn toward the mini fridge, hoping to hide the blush creeping up my neck. “Luke’s just… Luke.”
Pam hums in a way that suggests she does not believe me.
“Besides, it’s just a silly contest,” I say, but even I can tell my voice lacks conviction.
