Page 3 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"Metaphorical elephant, Teddy."
"Oh." He deflates slightly. "Less exciting."
"Specifically," Delia continues, "the lack of proper decoration coordination. Wren, dear, you're heading up the vintage decoration subcommittee again, right?"
The vintage decoration subcommittee consists of me, myself, and my growing sense of existential dread, but Delia likes official titles.
"Absolutely. The subcommittee is ready for action. All one of us."
"Wonderful. And will you be bringing... assistance this year?"
Here it comes. The annual ‘Wren needs a man to carry heavy things’ conversation, disguised as concern for my spinal health.
"Finn usually helps?—"
"Oh, Finn." Delia's tone suggests Finn ranks somewhere between a helpful golden retriever and a reliable piece of furniture. "How lovely that you have such... supportive friends."
June perks up like a bloodhound catching a scent. "Speaking of support, I heard, your ex, Malcolm Conway is back intown. Recently divorced. Very successful orthodontics practice in Burlington. Spectacular teeth."
The table erupts into what I can only describe as competitive matchmaking. It's like watching a nature documentary where all the meerkats suddenly start shouting about eligible bachelors.
"—really should consider the impact on your business?—"
"—can't run a family establishment without a family?—"
"—Malcolm has all his original teeth?—"
"—drives a Mercedes now?—"
"—I heard he does CrossFit?—"
"That's a red flag, not a selling point," I mutter, but I'm drowned out by Mrs. Patterson suggesting I could double-date with her and her husband, which is sweet but also assumes I want to watch Mr. Jackson fall asleep in his soup again.
Delia raises her hand for silence, and the committee immediately quiets because Delia has dirt on everyone from their children's elementary school years.
"The point is, Wren, that perception matters. The loan committee consists primarily of traditional family men who value traditional family values."
"Traditional meaning outdated, or better yet, archaic?"
"Traditionalmeaning influential over your financial future."
She's right, and I hate that she's right. In Snowfall Creek, who you are matters less than who people think you are. And right now, people think I'm a quirky spinster playing shop owner until a man comes along to give my life actual meaning.
Never mind that I've kept this place running through a pandemic, a recession, and that unfortunate incident with the possessed Easter bunny display. Now, we don't talk about the Easter bunny display.
"But Wren's so young!" Teddy protests, bless his candy-cane-striped heart.
"She's twenty-eight," Delia counters.
"That's barely out of diapers!"
"Teddy, when you were twenty-eight, you already had three children."
"That was different. There was no Netflix. We had to make our own entertainment."
"TMI, Teddy," June mutters, though she's definitely writing it down.
I escape as soon as humanly possible, bursting out of The Daily Grind like I'm fleeing a crime scene. The cold air hits my face, and I take a moment to appreciate that at least hypothermia is free.
