Page 24 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
“What kind of animal are you?”
He shrugged. “I’m not proud.”
“Proud? You must be sick to your stomach,” I said.
“Getting there. Pretty sure this last one put me over the top.”
“So you snuck down here, in the middle of the night, and basically ate all the brownies. Brownies I bought for my dad, who has a broken leg, and my brother, who is about to get some really bad news.”
“Sorry?” It sounded like a question, which meant he wasn’t.
“What were you going to say tomorrow when I found the box half empty?”
“I had a plan,” he said.
I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.
“I was going to say a raccoon got in the house and ate them.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m in a little bit of a chocolate coma right now, so that was the best I could come up with. Look, I have a weakness, okay? I wasn’t allowed to have sugar growing up, so when I’m presented with any kind of treat, I go a little crazy. I thought I could control it. Thought that one brownie at dinner would be enough, but you don’t know,” he said, almost accusing me of something. “You don’t know how rich and chocolatey and delicious it is. So when I came down here and saw the box…I went a little crazy.”
“A little crazy?”
“A lot crazy,” he admitted.
“How did you get downstairs without my hearing you?”
He smiled then. “Ah-ha, I knew it. You, my friend, are a lousy actress. I could tell you had something up your sleeve. You were planning on waiting until I was asleep to come downstairs and steal my mug, weren’t you?”
“It’smymug,” I told him, pointing to my chest. “Mymother gave it tome.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, sounding totally sincere. “I didn’t realize it was from your mom. Or that it was important. I thought I was just messing with you.”
There was another stool pressed up against the counter and I took it.
“It’s not important. I mean, it is, but it’s notthatimportant. I was just messing with you too, I suppose.”
“Want a brownie?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “It was part two of my dastardly plan.”
He nodded. “Eat the brownie, steal the mug.”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
He got up and walked around the counter to the cabinets above the sink. He pulled down a tall glass, then walked over to the fridge. He filled the glass with milk and then set it down in front of me.
“I knew you wanted that brownie earlier tonight,” he said. “You were trying to act all disinterested, but as I noted, you’re not that good of an actress.”
“I don’t eat sugar,” I said, haughtily.
That’s what I always said when anyone offered me dessert. You couldn’t be a hard ass in Manhattan and eat sugar. At least I didn’t think so.
It seemed so silly now.
“Yeah. Me either.”
