Page 51 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"Her entire life. When I left, she was creating a spreadsheet about spreadsheets," I say.
"That's her coping mechanism," Finn confirms, standing up. "Last year when her heat went out, she alphabetized her anxieties."
"She has them alphabetized?" I ask, genuinely impressed.
"From 'Abandonment' to 'Zombies,'" he says proudly. "Very thorough."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's a text:
Sterling:Board wants update. Town acquisition timeline critical. Stop ignoring me.
"Is that your mysterious past calling?" Finn asks, noticing my expression.
"Something like that," I admit, setting down the wrench I've been holding wrong.
"The past that involves corporate espionage and destroying small towns?" he suggests casually, leaning against the workbench.
I freeze. "What?"
"Oh, come on," Finn laughs. "You show up out of nowhere with hands softer than a baby's conscience, you can't tell a wrench from a ratchet, and you flinch every time that phone buzzes. Either you're the world's worst spy or the world's most obvious one."
"I'm not a spy," I protest weakly.
"Corporate reconnaissance specialist?" he tries.
"That's just a fancy way of saying spy," I point out.
"So, you are a spy!" he exclaims triumphantly.
"I'm not—" I start, then stop. Because what am I supposed to say? That I'm here to evaluate the town for acquisition? That everything Wren fears about losing her shop is directly my fault?
"Look," Finn says, his expression turning serious. "I don't care what you were. I care what you are. And right now, you're the guy who makes Wren smile like she hasn't since Helena died. That's worth more than whatever corporate nonsense you're running from."
"What if I'm not running from it?" I ask quietly. "What if I'm still part of it?"
Finn considers this while my phone continues its death rattle of corporate obligation.
"Then you better decide which matters more," he says finally, "the job that makes your phone scream, or the woman who made you brave shadow puppet judgment for forty-three slides."
Before I can respond, the garage door flies open and Teddy Wickham bursts in, his Santa beard fluttering with excitement.
"Emergency!" he announces, arms waving. "Christmas emergency!"
"Is that different from a regular emergency?" I ask.
"It's December, so all emergencies are Christmas emergencies," he explains with impeccable logic. "The town tree is tilting!"
"Tilting?" Finn repeats, grabbing his coat.
"Leaning! Listing! Experiencing gravitational disagreement!" Teddy elaborates frantically.
"How does a tree experience gravitational disagreement?" I wonder.
"Aggressively and with poor timing," Teddy says. "The inspector’s coming for the pre-gala inspection in two hours. If the tree falls, we'll lose points!"
"Points?" I ask, following them out.
"Small Town Christmas Competition points," Finn explains. "We're currently tied with Millbrook for 'Most Festive Display.'"
