Page 3 of Mad About Yule

TWO

HOPE

Him?This is who Kat convinced to help me?

I should have asked for his name last night, but I’d been too busy doing a happy dance in the middle of my apartment to question anything. Not that I’m in any position to turn him away, but it might have prepared me for the shock. Give a girl some warning when you’re going to spring a blast from the past on her.

And not the fun kind of blast—more like an explosion that leaves my pride in ribbons.

I fix on a smile and close the last few feet to Kat andher guy.

“Hope.” She welcomes me over like I couldn’t possibly have reservations about her pick. “You know my son Griffin.”

“Kind of.”

That’s about as accurate as I want to be. Most of my high school stress hadkind ofbeen caused by Griffin McBride. He hadkind ofspewed criticism I’d felt compelled to combat with positivity at every turn. I hadkind ofdrawn devil horns on every picture of his smug face in my senior yearbook.

Sure. I kind of remember Griffin.

His hazel-green eyes drift down my body in a brief once-over and snap back up to meet mine. Can I see the green parts in his eyes from here? Nope. But not even ten years could make me forget those eyes critiquing me on everything I said or did.

I love Kat McBride, but her son? Hard pass.

“We haven’t kept in touch,” I say, as though we might have been secret pen pals all this time. “But I know of you.”

Who in town doesn’t? He had a reputation as a bit of a bad boy, with his attitude and all the parties and the oneoopsfire in the canyon that had never been officially pinned on him but everyone knew he’d started during one of his bonfires gone awry.

“I know of you too, Hope,” he returns.

Okay, fine, it sounds stupid when he says it. We went to school together from kindergarten through graduation, often shared the same classroom, and were once lab partners in chemistry. We’d had about nine thousand arguments during those years, and he’d made me lose my cool for about eighty-seven hundred of them. The point is, we aren’t close.

A small smirk touches his mouth, and déjà vu gets my stomach squirming. That smirk used to haunt my teenage nightmares. I have fewer stories about me in circulation than he does, but I can guess the one on his mind. Every year, our debate class instructor gave out little statuettes to her Number One Debater, and he’d won ours right out from under me.

Not that I truly loved debating, and obviously Griffin comes by arguing naturally, but whatever. I’d wanted that award.

But wait…does he know about last summer’s humiliation? People in town have gotten a lot of mileage out of my rumored engagement exploding to bits so publicly. The fact that I was never actually engaged just makes the story even juicier. I want to believe he has no idea, but that curl along his mouth doesn’t settle my stomach.

“Come on up, coffee’s on me this morning.” Kat waves me to the counter and the young barista who waits to take my order.

I ask for a caramel macchiato and stand between the two McBrides, my stomach clunking around like a washing machine with an unbalanced load. I want to see my Winter Wonderland come to life, but I’m not sure I want itthismuch.

“I adjusted Griffin’s schedule around so he can make those buildings for you,” Kat tells me. “He jumped at the chance to get involved in the Christmas festival. He’s very civic-minded.”

She shoots him a huge smile, clearly giving him a hard time. Safe bet she didn’t offer him any other choice. Roughly the same age as my mom, Kat has a tough-as-nails attitude mixed with warmth and understanding. My mom’s affection usually comes with a thick blanket for smothering.

I scramble for something helpful to say to my new volunteer.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that like I’m talking to a two-year-old, but my brain hasn’t fully adjusted to the situation yet. His eyes land on me, and I really wish I owned higher heels so he couldn’t look down his nose at me so easily.

“Can’t wait.”

His smile makes my churning stomach swoop like I’ve time-traveled back to debate class, and how he’d smirk through every one of my speeches. I hated that smirk. Now I have to see it every day for three weeks?

What did I do to tick Santa off?

Kat laughs. “He’s awfully good with a hammer. I’m sure he’ll get that Winter Wonderland built for you in no time.”

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