Page 80 of Mad About Yule

“I’ve come up with a social media plan for your festival.” She says it so matter of fact, she might as well addduhat the end. “Since you aren’t doing it.”

Again—duh. But…she’s not wrong. I haven’t thought much about the social media stuff since I made the first few posts, and marketing used to be myjob. I’ve been having too much fun with the Winter Wonderland, and I’ve been too busy wrangling all the volunteers.

But if I admit that to Lila, I’m just proving her and Mom—and Ada and Isabel, and goodness knows how many other people in town—right. And I can’t do that.

“Are you feeling okay? You sound phlegmy.” It’s true, but I also suspect appealing to her vanity might help wrap up this call ASAP.

“Just a head cold.”

“Maybe you should get some rest.” She could stop doing other people’s work, at least.

“I’ve been resting. Now, with Facebook you want a different approach, because that’s where you’re going to get the grandmas, and they’ve got the cash to spend in the shops. I was thinking—”

“Lila. No. I’ve got it.”

“Just send me permissions to your pages. I’ll take care of it.”

I’d need another glass of wine before I can deal with her overeager assistance. “I don’t have all that here.”

“You’ve only got a week! If you’re not on top of thisdaily, it will fall apart.”

My stomach cramps right up. Probably a good thing I haven’t had dessert yet. I picture town square practically empty, just a few hardcore locals there to enjoy the tree lighting. A meager crowd wandering through the Christmas market, my artist friends disappointed at the turnout. Tumbleweeds blowing through when the tree lights up.

“I’ll post something tonight.” I’ll add reminders to my phone to update the accounts a few more times over the next week.

“What?”

“What do you meanwhat?” Her tone is too pointed to mean she didn’t hear me.

“I mean what are you going to post?”

My silence over the line is better than any lie detector test. I have zero ideas.

“Maybe something about Santa.” Everybody loves Santa.

“Hope, I can do this stuff in my sleep. I don’t mind helping you.”

“Shouldn’t you be writing up press releases touting the latest in self-driving cars?” It’s not exactly what Josh’s company does, but my brain struggles to wrap around the tech stuff. “Running damage control on the latest malfunction?”

“I’m more likely to write up an exposé for TMZ right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just a joke. Think how bad that would look for Josh.” Even her laugh sounds phlegmy.

“I just don’t have the brain space for this right now. Mom’s doing her usual over-enthusiastic push about work and guys. I can’t go through all your social media ideas at the same time.”

“Who’s the guy?”

Argh, of course she caught onto that. I almost want to tell her. But Lila usually takes Mom’s side on the “Hope needs to find a decent guy” convo, and I’m not prepared to deal with questions about Griffin. Also, that glass of wine I chugged is kicking in.

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“No, it isn’t. Are you seeing someone new?”

“What? No. What’s that?” I call, as though talking to someone else. “Oh, Dad’s cutting the cheesecake Mom made. I have to go.”

“You’re such a liar—”

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