Page 46 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"For posterity. And yes, the newspaper. 'Local Toy Shop Owner Finds Warmth in Blizzard' has a nice ring to it," she muses, tapping her pen.
"That's terrible," I tell her.
"How about 'Frozen Assets Become Liquid'’" she tries.
"That doesn't even make sense," Holden protests.
"'Cold Snap Leads to Hot Night'?" Giuseppe suggests, waggling his eyebrows.
"Stop helping," I beg.
"'The Grump Who Stole Christmas Gets His Heart Back'?" Finn offers from where he's raiding my refrigerator.
"I'm not that grumpy," Holden defends himself.
We all look at him.
"I'm appropriately grumpy," he amends.
"You have resting grump face," I inform him. "It's like resting bitch face but more seasonal."
"Seasonal grump face," June writes it down. "I like it."
"Why are you all here?" I ask desperately. "Don't you have lives? Jobs? Literally anything else to do?"
"This is more interesting," Finn says, emerging with my last yogurt. "Plus, Delia sent us to fetch you. Committee meeting in twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes?" I yelp, jumping up. "I need to shower! And find clothes that aren't inside out! And possibly flee to Canada!"
"Canada's also having a blizzard," June informs me helpfully. "I checked for you."
"You checked Canada's weather for my potential escape?" I ask.
"I'm a good friend," she says simply.
"I'm keeping the shop closed today," I announce, making an executive decision. "Mental health day."
"You mean physical health day," Giuseppe winks. "Much physical activity! Very athletic!"
"Giuseppe, please stop," Holden requests, rubbing his temples.
"I'm Italian! We celebrate passion!" Giuseppe declares, throwing his arms wide.
"You're from New Jersey," Finn points out.
"I'm spiritually Italian," Giuseppe insists, hand over his heart.
My phone buzzes with approximately thirty-seven messages, all variations of "saw your shadows" and "get it, girl" and one from Delia that just says, "Committee. Now. Bring the boy."
"The boy?" Holden reads over my shoulder. "I'm thirty-two."
"To Delia, anyone under fifty is a child," I explain, then notice everyone staring at us. "What?"
"You're sitting very close," June observes, scribbling.
"It's a small couch," I defend.
"It's a three-seater," Finn points out.
