Page 75 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
And I'll be in the middle of it all, trying not to fall for pretty words from a man whose face apparently involuntarily softens when he looks at me.
"I need all the flasks," I tell Giuseppe.
"Already on it," he assures me. "I'm making a special batch of wine. With actual love this time. Not oregano."
"How do you put love in a flask?" June asks.
"Very carefully," Giuseppe says mysteriously.
The committee continues planning. I text Holden back despite myself.
Me:2024 is suitable. Barely.
His response is immediate.
Holden: Good. It's the suit I wore when I stopped believing in corporations and started believing in other things.
Me:Like what?
I type before I can stop myself.
Holden:Like women who alphabetize their anxieties and name their ceiling stains.
I stare at my phone, then at Giuseppe's flask collection. Tomorrow I'll stand in that gala, surrounded by committee scorecards and Malcolm's yacht lies and a man in a 2024 suitwho gave up everything for a town that sugared his friend's gas tank.
Giuseppe sings something about love and oregano. Delia updates her charts. And I realize I'm smiling again, despite everything.
Tomorrow's going to be a disaster.
Our kind of disaster.
Chapter 14
Holden
The community center looks like Christmas threw up and then someone bedazzled the vomit. There are approximately seventeen thousand twinkle lights, enough garland to strangle a small army, and what appears to be a life-sized nativity scene made entirely of gingerbread.
"Is that supposed to be edible?" I ask Finn, who's wearing a tuxedo that's definitely seen better decades.
"Giuseppe made it," he explains. "So technically yes, but probably not a good idea."
"How is something like that not edible?" I ask.
"The health department issued a warning the last five years," he says. "Something about structural frosting and load-bearing candy canes."
I adjust my 2024 suit. The suit fits differently now—probably because I've been eating Giuseppe's questionably legal food for weeks and my body has adapted to survive on chaos and carbohydrates.
"You clean up well for an heir to a few billion dollars," June observes, appearing with a notepad because she's covering the gala for the newspaper.
"Former heir," I correct. "Currently, I'm just a guy with one callus and a suit that will have to last the next few decades."
The band plays what might be "Silent Night" or might be a cry for help. It's hard to tell with the acoustic situation in here. Teddy's on drums, which explains the concerning tempo changes.
"Have you seen Wren?" I ask, scanning the crowd.
"She's in the bathroom with the committee ladies," Finn says. "Emergency flask distribution."
"Giuseppe really made chocolate flasks?" I ask.
