Page 42 of The Holiday Fakers
The actress is stunningly beautiful, and my evil mind conjures up an image of Brody kissing her on camera. The director yells “Cut,” but they keep on going.
“No, we run in the same circles, but we haven’t properly met.”
“Well, if you run into her and have some kind of mwah-mwah-sweedie-dahhling moment, put in a good word for me, will you? I’ve always wanted to photograph her.”
Brody grins. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a mwah-mwah-sweedie-dahhling moment with anyone before.”
Mia smirks. “When in Hideaway …”
“Do you have any interesting jobs coming up?” Mom asks Mia.
“I've been doing some social media work for The Haven. That's been pretty cool.” Her face lights up. “And the other day, they had this mysterious package turn up. A bag filled with carrots and candy canes, and a note that said, ‘Healthy and not-so-healthy treats for the holidays.’”
"Who was it from?"
Mia shrugs. “No clue. Apparently, there's a secret do-gooder going about in the middle of the night doing things like leaving gifts and clearing snow from people's porches.”
This is one of the things I love about my hometown; there’s always something interesting going on. It also means the conversation can move away from Brody and me. My right arm is buzzing next to him, and when our elbows occasionally touch, I have to stop myself from jumping at the shock.
Dad collects our plates. “As long as good deeds don’t turn into pranks, I’m happy.”
He’s been Hideaway’s mayor for the past twenty-five years, and the town is like another one of his children.
“It’s an elf,” Martha says with the authority of a preschooler who’s figured out exactly how the world works. “An elf who doesn’t live on the shelf.”
“But are you sure it’s a good elf?” Hudson asks.
“He made a funny-looking snowman with a big smile in front of the school.”
“You sure it wasn’t the janitor?”
“I heard him talking to the principal about it. He said he didn’t do it.”
Hudson arches a brow, and Mia leans across the table toward him. “You gonna do a stakeout? Patrol the streets at night to protect us from a marauding elf doing good deeds?”
My younger brother ignores her and follows Dad into the kitchen.
“You never know!” Mia calls after him. “It might be me!”
“Isit you?” Martha asks.
“Sorry, I wish it were, but I only do bad deeds.”
“Really?”
Ethan clears his throat.
“Only joking,” Mia says quickly, hiding her smirk. “I’m ninety-nine percent good.”
Dad and Hudson return carrying the main course, and from the size of the pork roast in my brother’s hands, there’s no way Mom planned this meal for fewer than the entire family.
“Wow,” Brody says as Mom passes his empty plate to Dad so he can be served first. “This is incredible!”
Mom’s cheeks flush at the praise. “It’s basted with Maine maple syrup, Dijon mustard, and fresh herbs. And slow-roasted all afternoon. The potatoes are mashed with butter and buttermilk, and the winter salad is a mix of baby greens, crisp green apples, dried cranberries, toasted pecans, and a maple-Dijon vinaigrette to complement the roast pork.”
“This …” Brody slowly shakes his head, “is the best meal I’ve eaten in years.”
“Since you were last here?” Dad asks.
