Page 9 of Secret Santa

“Okay so tell me about her and I’ll try to find something in our limited amount of time before I have to get you back to the hotel for your team meeting.”

“Well…”

I pictured Priscilla in my head again. It’s not like I knew her very well.

“She has hair the color of a newly pressed penny. It was braided and hanging over her shoulder when I met her, but it was real pretty.”

“Seriously?” He looked up from his phone with a scowl

“What?”

“Her hair. I ask you to tell me about her and you give me details about her hair like you’re William Shakespeare.”

He shook his head, smiled behind his hand, and walked further down the aisle.

“I know literally nothing about her other than what I’ve told you. She owns a diner that could essentially be in this store. Its full of all kinds of stuff just like this, and a million Elvis themed pens and magnets, socks, and bobble heads. Like everywhere. She makes the best coconut cake in three counties and people stand in line all day for her meatloaf when she makes it. Also, she knows a whole lot of shit about rocks. She said my eyes look like some stone that I can’t remember and went on this cute little nerdy diatribe about the native rocks and gemstones of Texas.”

Beckett just stared at me with the weirdest look on his face. He’d stopped perusing the shelves and simply gaped at me from the opposite end of the aisle. Rather than say anything in response to my raised eyebrows and challenge I felt twisting up my lips, he shook his head and laughed at me again.

“What the fuck is so funny?” I tossed a bag of “moose munch” at his head which he swatted away and ducked.

“You’re smitten.”

“Did that enormous head of yours shrink your hearing holes? What part ofI’ve only met her oncedid you not comprehend.”

“Do you know what the first thing I noticed about Lane was?” he asked me.

“You already told me she wasn’t even paying attention at her own birthday party because she was so wrapped up with texting her work.”

He waved his hand in the air as if swatting away a buzzing gnat.

“Before that. Before I even realized that she would ensnare me in the next few seconds. The very first thing I noticed about Lane, hand to God, was her hair. She looked like a little lioness in fuck me heels with her beautiful, curly, mane I was desperate to wrap my hands around while I fuc—it was her hair.”

Rather than wait for me to say anything in response, he plowed right over my objection and continued his little monologue.

“How about Cash. You were there when Cash met Harlow.”

“Correction,Harriswas there when they met. I know it’s easy to get us confused but I’m the good looking one thatalsois mature and doesn’t live with you.”

I picked out a sampler box of artisan jams from a company called Kitten and the Bear. It had eight different flavors and looked like something she might like. Hopefully. It also didn’t obviously scream “I bought this for you in Canada!” I could easily have purchased it at a specialty shop somewhere local.

“Technically the first thing he noticed about her was a T-shirt that referenced some eighties movie butafterthat…he noticed herhair. The Murray brothers have a thing for hair.” He shrugged with a smile. “So buckle in little brother, you are about to take the most glorious swan dive into a crazy little thing called love.”

“No fucking way. I told you, laser focused.”

“Presley and Priscilla sitting in a tree…” He singsonged like a little girl while he followed me to the checkout. “Wait. No way. Her name is Priscilla, and she has a restaurant that isElvis themedand your name is Presley? Damn.”

Group Text from Beckett: Place your bets! Place your bets.

Harris: Given Cash’s “issues” with betting… should you really be mentioning betting in group chats?

Cash: Harris ?? Harlow asked FOR.MY.HELP. My problem was a shyster of a man who thought he ran the Las Vegas mob and tried to strong-arm me back into playing for him. Not an addiction to gambling.

Cash had just met Harlow over the summer at our boys’ weekend in Las Vegas. Her sister needed money for some kind of HOA dispute and Harlow, who knew nothing about Poker, asked my brother, a World Series of Poker Champion, for help.

Beckett: Guys. I have something way more important than your bickering. Presley just spent five minutes reciting me a sonnet on the copper penny sheen of his “Secret Santa’s” hair.

Cash: ??

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