Page 32 of Mad About Yule

GRIFFIN

You’ve gotpaint in your hair?That crack from the two-by-four must have done more damage than I’d thought.

Keeping Hope on the inside of the sidewalk where less ice collects, I try to figure out just when I became such a cheeseball. I could have pointed out the paint flecks and avoided the moment of awkwardness it’d spiraled into. But that little speck of white against her dark hair had called to me, begging me to touch her hair.

And I’d done it, like a goon. Before I could risk my status as a volunteer elf by doing anything more, I’d pulled myself together.

I’m not here for this. Since my dad’s death, I’ve done my best to put my family first. Atone just a little bit for my years when I’d set the family business aside and gone solo. I need to be here for them for once, and that means setting aside my own selfish wants.

Hope is very much a selfish want.

Amy Ellison stands on the other side of the diner, taking down a customer’s order, but she spots us the moment we walk in. “Well, Griffin McBride and Hope Parrish! Aren’t you two a sight?”

Half of the people in the place turn to look at us in the doorway like we’re a brand-new zoo exhibit. Impossible to go anywhere incognito in a small town, but I let my desire to feed Hope lead us straight into Gossip Central.

“Sit anywhere you like,” Amy calls before turning her attention back to her customer.

Hope slips past me to snag a booth, and I slide in across from her. Her stomach grumbles again, and she covers it with one hand as though that will stop me from hearing it. I don’t like that she let herself go so long between meals it turned into some sort of hunger emergency.

“How often do you—”

An older couple stops at our table before I can finish.

“I sure am sorry I won’t be able to make those little houses for you, Hope.” The man with the sad-looking face is Silas, her former handyman. He twists one arm to rub at his lower back like it’s still bothering him. “If the doc hadn’t said no lifting, I would have been right there with you every day.”

I don’t want to discount the guy out of hand, but given his age and stooped shoulders, no way he would have been able to handle her project, even running at full capacity. I kind of wonder why Mom didn’t ask me to help Hope out sooner. Maybe she didn’t realize just who had signed on.

“It’s okay, Silas, I understand.” Hope smiles up at him and gestures my way. “Griffin volunteered to make the Winter Wonderland for me.”

Not entirely true, since my mother had done the volunteering, but I don’t mind the note of praise in her voice.

The man’s eyes grow wide as he looks me over. “Did he now? Well, maybe this festival will work out for you in more ways than one.”

He and his wife share a chuckle, but I don’t miss Hope’s tight expression. She still smiles, but I like this brittle version even less than her huge Homecoming Queen smiles. There’s a spark of anger hiding behind this one—because of his pushiness, or because he’s pushing her toward me?

“I think it’s going to be a success for businesses and visitors alike.”

Silas ignores her robotic tone and winks at me. “She’s a heartbreaker, this one.”

He and his wife laugh together and stroll out the door, oblivious to the chill they leave at our table like two gray-haired Jack Frosts. Hope refuses to meet my eyes, fidgeting with the salt and pepper shakers on the table instead. I’ve missed something here, but even my tactless butt knows that asking would be too much.

Amy strolls over and sets menus in front of us. A wasted effort, since I’ve been ordering the same thing here since my teens. Bacon burger with guacamole, extra fries.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” she says.

It’s a friendly greeting, totally in line with empty chatter, but her tone has a hint of…well, ahint. Looks like we’re in for the full fishbowl effect this afternoon.

“Griffin’s helping me out with the Christmas festival decorations,” Hope says right away. “Spreading holiday cheer, you know. We’re just taking a lunch break before we get back to it.”

I don’t love her rush to explain our showing up together as strictly platonic, like she needs to make up for Silas’s over-the-top hinting. Itisplatonic, but I still don’t like it.

“I can’t wait to see what you have up your sleeve for us.” Amy turns her attention back to me. “What happened to your head, honey?”

“Is that our Griffin?” Amy’s wife Jodi comes out from the kitchen to join us at our table. Close friends with my mom, the couple’s motherly affection for me always loosens a little something in my chest. It never hurts to have two honorary aunts around. Her eyes go about as wide as Silas’s had. “What happened to your face?”

“I just asked the same thing.”

I sit up straighter under their inspection and run my fingers over the swollen spot above my eyebrow. “Would you believe I was jumped by a seven-foot-tall gorilla?”

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