Page 22 of Secret Santa

“You don’t actually need to help if you don’t want to,” I told him, grabbing a menu and placing it at the counter. “She might act onery but she’s as soft as a marshmallow once you get to know her.”

Harris took a seat across from me, perusing the menu I’d placed there. I don’t know why I expected him to be shy and reserved. Maybe because that was more Presley’s style. He sat with a self-assured confidence I don’t think I’ve ever possessed, let alone somewhere in my twenties.

“I actually don’t mind helping.” He accepted the glass of water I poured with a nod, popping a straw into it, and taking a long draw. “Beckett and Prez are with the university suits, and I would have just gotten in the way. I’m just bumming around town. I dig the vibe you have going in here. I didn’t even know Elvis was from Texas.”

He wasn’t the first to wonder why there was an Elvis diner in Texas.

“Elvis was born in Mississippi, lived in Memphis from the time he was a teenager till the time he died. He did a stint at Fort Hood though. But the diner’s theme is in honor of my mom, who loved Elvis.”

“Was her name Ito?”

“No.” I laughed. “Her name was Cora June. Though when she owned the diner it was called Junebug’s because that’s what my dad used to call her. They bought the diner together. He cooked and she worked the front until he—” I stopped myself. Harris didn’t need to know about him breaking into banks all across south Texas and stealing the stuff in people’s safety deposit boxes. Heirlooms. Things that couldn’t ever be replaced. The town was beginning to turn over, not many were left with memories that went that far back and I was totally fine with that. “I named the diner Ito Eats because it’s a play on a song Elvis sang in the movieBlue Hawaii.”

I pressed A1 on the jukebox and “Ito Eats” blared through the speakers. I explained when the chorus started that was why we greeted everyone who came into the diner withWelcome to Ito Eats when we say it people smile.At least he seemed mildly entertained with our silly greeting.

Rather than place an order like I thought he was going to, he stood up and walked toward the hostess stand where all my tacky little knick knacks were for sale.

“Can I wear these while I help you?”

He placed a pair of gold Rhinestone sunglasses on and began dancing around I assumed in a way he thought Elvis would have. Bless his heart. I think I made his day when I gave them to him free.

“I gotta go tend to Maude.” Fitzy leaned against the door. “All the garden club ladies signed up shifts to help her since her hip surgery. Oh, I almost forgot!” She rustled around in her oversized handbag and pulled out a slim card. “This is from your Secret Santa. Guess you were wrong. I’m not the only one who cares about you.”

She didn’t even wait for my response. She just waved as she left, nodding at me like bringing me Harris in some unspoken way settled any kind of beef I might have with her. There was zero beef, for the record. Except in my meatloaf.

“Is the whole town doing this Secret Santa thing? Presley’s got one too.”

“Not the town,” I mumbled while I opened the card. “Everyone who lives in Mrs. Fitzgerald’s building.”

My Secret Santa definitely was not adhering to the ten-dollar max per gift rule. The voucher was a spa package for a massage and mani/pedi. There was no way in hell that was under even the max limit for our last gift.

To the hardest working woman I know.

You deserve some me time.

The note read.

“How good are you with following recipes?” I asked Harris.

ChapterThirteen

I expected the doping drama to be quickly resolved. Who knew labs took so fucking long to return results. In the meantime, thanks to my celebrity brother, we had people behind the scenes creating whisper campaigns about Charley Villa, the lengths he would go to take down Beckett, and the legitimacy of Charley’s accusations against the members of our swimming program.

Those asked to submit took the news well. I’d expected some tears, fear of losing their spots or eligibility on either USAS’s team or ours. But every single one of my swimmers showed up for their follicle pulls without complaint.

“I’m going to eat my face off I’m so hungry.” Beckett slumped into my chair, leaning back, and rubbing at his eyes. “And I swear if I never have to wear a shit eating smile on my mother fucking face while on Zooms with every Tom, Dick, and Harry of the swimming world, it will be too soon.”

I’d been about to suggest heading home for the day when Fitzy’s name popped up on my cell. If someone had told me six months before that Siri would suggest adding a septuagenarian to my “frequent contacts” lists I would have laughed in their face.

“You owe me,” she said no even bothering to wait for me to say hello.

“How is it going, Fitzy? Good day I take it? Oh, me? The usual, trying to resolve unfounded claims of doping while maintaining my integrity and trying to keep my job.”

“Please. You all did nothing wrong. They have nothing on you. Sure you’re sweating like a sinner on judgment day—but in the end it will work out. I have a feeling.”

The woman didn’t come up for air. She just hopped from one topic to the next, while Beckett pantomimed eating a burger and pointing to his watch.

“I don’t have much time. I’m with my friend Maude till Lois comes and relieves me—got her hip replaced and not the outpatient kind. They had to cut her clear open and so it’s been rough going.”

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