Page 26 of A Very Merry Enemy
Lucas
Nope. I did it to piss her off.
Sammy
Enjoy your bad karma.
I want to throw my phone into the wood chipper.
The rest of the afternoon, I hear some version of the Lucas-and-Holiday-are-finally-together story from at least twenty people. The cashier at the gift shop gives me a knowing smile. Customers congratulate me. One guy actually shakes my hand because he’s addicted to her cookies.
Bella corners me by the wrapping station with a grin that makes me want to disappear into the forest and never return. “So, when are you going to make it official?”
“Don’t antagonize me.”
“Don’t do dumb shit,” she tells me. “It’s almost like you like her.”
“Fuck that,” I mutter under my breath as I smile at customers. “I want her gone.”
“I don’t believe you.” She crosses her arms, and luckily, I’m pulled away by Hudson. He doesn’t say shit about it, which I appreciate. Hudson is quiet; he only speaks when he needs to. It’s not an awkward silence, though.
By five o’clock, I’m exhausted. After I finish stacking firewood by the gift shop, my phone rings.
Mawmaw’s name lights up the screen.
“Hey Mawmaw,” I answer.
“Lucas, honey, I need a favor.” My grandmother’s voice is sweet, almost too sweet. “Could you come by after work? I need wood carried inside. Another cold front is coming tonight, and my back’s acting up.”
I glance up at the darkening sky. Temperaturesare already dropping. “I can finish up here and then come over if you want.”
“Oh, that would be perfect. About an hour? I’ll have dinner waiting.”
Free dinner and helping my grandmother? Easy choice. Plus, an evening with just me and Mawmaw sounds perfect with no drama.
“I’ll be there.”
“Love you. See you soon.”
The last forty-five minutes drag by. When I finally clock out, the bakery’s dark—Holiday’s car is already gone. I refuse to acknowledge the twist of disappointment in my chest.
I drive past Hudson’s place—his Christmas lights are up, blinking red and white. When I drive by my own place, it looks dark and empty. Then I pull up to Mawmaw’s cabin that’s already decked out, too. Her manger scene is in the front yard, and when I pass baby Jesus, I laugh, seeing it’s still that old Chucky doll I had, wrapped in a blanket.
Her log cabin sits on ten acres at the edge of the farm property. There’s a wraparound porch and flower boxes that bloom year-round, thanks to her borderline magical gardening skills. Smoke curls from the chimney, and every window glows with warmth. This is home.
I grab my leather gloves and take the porch steps. The door swings open before I can knock.
“Come in, come in!” Mawmaw ushers me inside.
The smell hits me first. Chocolate chip cookies. Fresh from the oven.
She’s wearing her favorite apron, which has “Jolly Good Times” embroidered across the front in gold thread.
“Let me check your wood situation,” I say, leaning down to hug her. I head to the living room to assess the woodpile.
It’s already stacked perfectly and recently.
My brows furrow as I walk back to the kitchen. “Mawmaw?—”
