Page 25 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
“You still have a chocolate ring around your lips,” I told him. “Brownie crumbs are literally in your beard.”
He laughed then as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed too.
He sat down on the stool again and finished the last of his brownie while I bit into mine.
“Oh, God. This is so good!” I moaned.
“Sugar makes you soft.”
My eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’m going to get fat eating one brownie? Because, hey pot—”
“No,” he said, cutting me off. “It’s what my father used to say.Sugar makes you soft.He’d say it all the time when I was a kid. No cookies, no candy. I used to go to other kids’ birthday parties and when the moms offered me cake I had to say, ‘No, thank you’ when all I wanted was a piece of fucking cake. It wasn’t for any sort of health reason, either. It was about denial. Sacrifice. He said he was making a man out of me.”
I nudged his shoulder. “You were just a boy. You weren’t supposed to be a man yet.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought too. That and my dad was an asshole. Which is probably a little TMI. Sorry I ate all your brownies, Kay-Kay.”
I grimaced at the nickname and decided to get even.
“I hate to tell you this, since it appears you have very little impulse control when it comes to sweets, but Darlene is going to be supplying the inn with baked goods from now on. Cakes, cupcakes…”
“No,” he said, and closed his eyes on a soft groan.
“Cookies. Blondies. These homemade peanut butter chocolate candies.”
“Please, stop.”
I laughed again, but I did stop. I ate my brownie and drank my milk, and it was strange, but I sort of enjoyed his company. Like we were both stepping out of our expected roles and doing the thing we knew we shouldn’t be doing. Together. It was nice.
How long had it been since I spent time with someone who wasn’t working for me? Although I quickly remembered, technically Paulwasworking for me. For the family, anyway.
“So what bad news do you have to tell your brother?”
I looked at him like I didn’t follow the question.
“You said your brother is about to get really bad news.”
“Oh, did I say that?” I asked, purposely not answering. “Can I ask you a question? What do we pay you? I couldn’t find your salary accounted for in the books.”
He let out a sigh. “You don’t.”
“We don’t pay you?”
“No.”
“You just run the tree farm out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I never said I had a good heart,” he grumbled. “You give me food and lodging. Pops is going to sell me a piece of property around the cabin. When I’m done renovating it, I’ll move out there. That in exchange for managing the farm.”
“Yes, but how are you going to live?”
“I’ll make do. The point is I want to live simply. A roof, a reliable car…”
“You drive a Tesla,” I pointed out. Reliable was like the last thing someone thought of when they thought of a Tesla.
“It’s good for the environment,” he said. “I’m an arborist, remember?”
“That’s it then? That’s the plan? Live simple and manage the trees.”
