Page 27 of A Very Merry Enemy
“Sit. Jake stopped by.”
I hear that familiar tone that makes goose bumps trail over my arm. It’s the same one she used when I was seventeen and tried to sneak out to meet Holiday. The one that means I’m in trouble but don’t know how bad it will be yet.
I do exactly as all five feet, two inches of her says.
Mawmaw places a bowl of chicken and dumplings in front of me. She pulled out the fancy china with the gold rim. She hands me one of her cloth napkins that has lace around the edge. This is the meal she makes when she has bad news or wants something.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath.
“Eat,” she commands, sitting across from me with her own bowl.
The dumplings are perfect. They’re fluffy, savory, and exactly how I remember from my childhood. Nostalgia wraps around me like a warm blanket as dread settles in my stomach.
Mawmaw watches me with those bright green Jolly eyes that miss nothing. The same eyes that always caught me doing stupid shit.
“How’s the farm?” she asks casually.
“Busy. Good numbers this year.”
“Your brothers?”
“Hudson’s obsessed with Emma. Jake’s wedding planning with Claire. Nothing has changed.”
“You have.” She blows on a spoonful of broth.
There’s something in her tone. She knows. She’s heard.
“How?”
She takes her bite, chews slowly. “You’ve been extra grumpy. Short with customers. Walking around like a thundercloud ready to strike. Someone at the quilting club called it big balls syndrome.”
I nearly choke on a dumpling. I’m not sure Mawmaw could do the Heimlich on me.
She takes another bite. “That has nothing to do with Holiday Patterson being back, right?”
My spoon stops halfway to my mouth. “Mawmaw?—”
“Don’t you dareMawmawme. I’ve known that girl since she was in diapers. Babysat all of you together more times than I can count.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“I know she left for culinary school. I know you’ve been angry at her for a long time.” She sets down her spoon.
“I’m not required to tolerate anyone,” I say. “Ever.”
“People change, Lucas. You both were eighteen.”
I’ve never told anyone the full story. Not even Sammy. “She hasn’t changed. She’s still the selfish, insecure girl she was fifteen years ago.”
“Where are your manners?”
“It’s the truth. I won’t sugarcoat a turd for her or you.” I try to stay calm. “Now, can we pretty please not do this?”
“We can after you answer this one question for me.” She stands, pulls the cookies from the cooling rack, and arranges them on a plate between us. They’re my favorite and she knows it. That only makes me dread what’s coming next.
“The Merryville Christmas cookie contest,” she says. “It doesn’t have a Jolly entry this year.”
“Then you should enter.”
