“Thanks.” Jonah stands and helps me rebalance the stack.
“Death by Naked Whidbey calendars would definitely go in the police report hall of fame.” I set the box on his desk.
“Is this all we have left?”
“Yep. I’m going to have to place another order. It’s insane.”
“Brilliant to have June carry them at the yarn store. She’s already sold an entire box. If someone asks for a baby blanket pattern or yarn for booties, she mentions the calendar. She’s brilliant.” Lost in thought, Jonah taps the cardboard.
I let him have his moment.
“Right, enough about her.” He straightens up. “I’ll be taking off for Baja once you get back. Really looking forward to having a few days solo to start the new year. Need to get my head on straight.”
He’s been working non-stop for months. “How’s the new space in Langley?”
“Good. Pinball machines have all arrived. Shelves are built for vinyl and books. I’m interviewing staff after I get back from Baja.”
“It’s going to be great.”
“We’ll see. I’m used to being in the coffee hut. Not sure how I feel about managing a big project like this.”
“With Olaf finally retiring, Dan will be officially taking over the Dog House. He’ll be available to give you advice or help out. We all will. The island needs this place, especially the teens. I would’ve loved a hang out space like this when I was in high school.”
“Yeah, me too.” He meets my eyes and nods.
“Plus, you’ll have the added bonus of being across the street from June.”
“Eh, not sure that’s a good thing.”
“Why not?”
“She’s not speaking to me right now.” He shrugs and then stands.
“What happened?” I’m being nosey and I don’t care.
“Long story. You need to get out of here and get ready for your trip.” He ends the conversation by walking toward the office door. Stopping in the doorway, he says, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you both”
Before I can react, he’s gone.
“Merry Christmas!” I yell back, but I’m not sure he hears me and I’m left wondering about the mysteries of Jonah’s life.
I hope the new year brings good things for all of us.
A Jonah and June Holiday bonus scene
Jonah
If anyone is wondering Can you have too many twinkle lights?, the answer is absolutely not according to June.
Gazing down the row of white tents in Seawall Park, the aforementioned lights sparkle in the pale, late afternoon. For a Saturday in December, the weather is dry and mild—an early Christmas miracle it’s not cold, gray, and rainy.
Local crafters fill the narrow strip of land below First Street. Normally, the park would be empty this time of year, which makes it the perfect location for a winter market to expand the annual sip ’n’ stroll downtown without blocking the parade route. The view over the water to the snow-capped mountains is a beautiful reminder of how lucky we are to call Whidbey home.
June wanders through the vendors, greeting people with hugs and friendly waves. Since we started Craft Whidbey on her property, she’s become the ambassador of all local artists, even joining the local business council with Dan and me.
Spotting me, she grins and weaves her way to where I’m standing near the entrance to the market.
“Hello, handsome.” She kisses my cheek as I wrap her in a hug.
“I missed you.” Inhaling her warm, familiar scent, I take a moment to enjoy the peace being in her arms brings.
With a laugh, she leans back, her hands interlocked behind my head. “We’ve been in the same place all day.”
“Not together. I’ve barely seen you outside of working this week.” I sound like I’m pouting, because I am.
“After tonight, we have nothing to do but take a long winter’s nap and enjoy time together.” To punctuate her meaning, she gives me a soft kiss.
She’s lying of course. We’ll both go back at it on Monday and work long hours through Christmas Eve. Such is the life of small business owners, but we will make the most of our two days off. Carter and a very pregnant Ashley are hosting Christmas at their house this year. Eric and Cari will be there too, along with the four dozen tamales Cari and her mom will bring.
“Earth to Jonah.” June taps my nose. “Where’d you go?”
“Sorry. Was thinking about tamales,” I confess with a guilty smile.
With a laugh, she pokes my chest. “You’re obsessed.”
I shrug. Not going to deny the truth. “I love their New Mexico tradition. I might have to hide some to freeze for later.”
“Good thing I already asked for an extra two dozen.”
My smile turns into a grin. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
Twisting her mouth, she pretends to think. “Not since this morning.”
“I love you.” I seal the words with a kiss.
“Get a room!” I swear the voice belongs to Eric Kelso, but when I open my eyes, I don’t spot him.
“Who’s the polar bear?” Gesturing over her shoulder, I point at the lumbering figure in the white fleece costume.
The enormous bear head hides the identity of its occupant behind a white mesh square in the neck. With the red Santa hat, the creature stands close to seven feet tall.
“I thought you hired him,” June whispers, not making eye contact with me. In fact, I’d go so far as to say she’s looking anywhere but at me.
Ducking my head, I bring my face into her line of sight. “Why would I pay someone to dress up like a bear for our market?”
Her attention flits to my face and then behind me. “I don’t try to second-guess your decisions. Maybe you wanted to bring the charm of the Rod and Gun Club taxidermy to the streets.”
I steal a quick kiss, tasting peppermint and chocolate on her lips. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. However, I think the gun club aesthetic is better kept indoors.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Antlers and taxidermy seem to be on trend.” Laughing, she points at her hand-knit Christmas sweater decorated with a buck head, its antlers draped with garland. It matches the dark green one I’m wearing. Yes, we’re that couple.
“If some weirdo has crashed our event, I want to know.” My shoulders tense at the thought of a creep lurking around the kids.
June’s hands come up to my shoulders and she gives me a gentle shake. “Loosen up. It’s probably someone you know having fun. He’s not bothering anyone. In fact, the little ones seem to love it.”
True enough, the bear is surrounded by a tiny army of sugar-amped, sticky-fingered children.
“Where are their parents?” I grumble. “This is Dateline 101.”
June cups my jaw and scratches my beard. “Okay, Scrooge, what’s up? We’re not hosting a party. We’re in Langley at our first winter market. It’s not like all these people are crowded into our living room, so what’s with the bah-humbug attitude? Are you playing the role of Olaf this year?”
Leaning into her touch, I kiss the edge of her palm. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Spill.”
With a sigh, I lift her hands and hold them in both of mine. I’m about to speak when Sally envelops me in a cloud of floral perfume. Given her giggling, the peppermint on her breath is probably from schnapps.
“There you are! Connie, I found him!”
“Sandy, Jonah’s over here!” Connie squeezes around her friend to hug me too.
I’m the awkward filling in a tipsy granny sandwich.
Sandy, the third wheel on their tinsel-covered tricycle, joins their group hug, patting me on the top of my head. “Thank you, thank you. This is wonderful.”
“Uh, you’re welcome?” My arms are trapped by my sides, but I manage to wiggle my way out of their hold.
“Ladies.” June’s voice interrupts the cooing. “Maybe give Jonah some room to breathe?”
“Oh, sorry. O
f course, of course.” Sally gives my bicep a final squeeze.
“We’re having the best time.” Connie’s glassy eyes meet mine.
“And we’ve had a cup of delicious holiday cheer in the warming tent.” Sandy’s words run together in a happy slur.
“The mulled wine.” Connie explains.
“And by a cup, she means three.” Sandy wiggles her fuzzy-red-gloved fingers.
Nothing like overserving at three in the afternoon. I’m not sure who’s bartending in there right now, but I can’t imagine it’s Dan. He came up with the idea to bring together the local breweries and wineries in a festive beer garden at the far end of the market.
“Jonah, you’re a genius.” Connie opens her arms for another hug, but I grab her hands in a double high five instead.
I search for June’s face and mouth, “Help me,” over the top of Connie’s head.
Laughing, June shrugs. No help whatsoever.
“Did you see our sweaters this year?” Sandy opens her coat to flash us. Naughty is embroidered across her chest.
“And it says Worth it on the back.” Connie shimmies her jacket off her shoulders to reveal the rest.
“You three inspire me,” June remarks with a giggle. “Major points for embracing the holiday spirit.”
Once we extricate ourselves from the overzealous trio, I tug June by the hand into the narrow row between two tents.
“Too many people?” she asks, a sympathetic smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
I nod.
“This is a good thing. Everyone is loving it.” She sweeps her arms around, gesturing at the crowded stalls. “It’s a huge success.”
Her grin soothes the tension in my shoulders. “I’m happy about that, but I didn’t anticipate all the hugging.”
I don’t mention the pinching because I’m trying to block out that experience.
“Come on, we’ll go find Dan and get ourselves some of that holiday cheer. We’ve earned it.” June entwines our fingers and gently pulls me from our hiding spot.
“Jonah!” Maggie Marion greets me from inside the candle tent.
She’s someone I’m actually happy to see. Her partner Gil joins her along with their dog, Biscuit, who wags his tail when he sees me.
“Maggie, Gil, this is June, my wife.” My chest still fills with pride whenever I say the word.
Maggie’s blue eyes crinkle as she shakes June’s hand. “You own the yarn store.”
“I do. You look familiar.”
“I bought your cross-stitch kits last year for Christmas gifts. My friend Selah is around here somewhere. She doesn’t craft, but loves anything to do with the downfall of the patriarchy.”
“Someone call my name?” A woman in a leopard coat and black knitted hat with the world’s largest pom-pom steps up beside Maggie.
“Speak of the devil,” Gil jokes. Since he and Maggie got together six years ago, he’s gone more salty than pepper in both his hair and his neatly trimmed beard. I like his style and decide I need to ask June to make me a cardigan à la Kurt Cobain.
“I own that.” Selah smirks at him.
Maggie makes the introductions and the women chat about the long tradition of subversive crafts.
June’s eyes widen when a tall Viking joins our circle.
“Kai Hendricks,” Gil informs us.
“Nice to meet you.” June reaches out and pets the man’s cream-wool-covered forearm.
His smile freezes in place for a moment, his eyes following the path of her hand.
“Your sweater—is this a handknit Gansey?” Her voice is low and a little husky.
I could be jealous my wife is fawning over another man right in front of me, but I know her well enough. It’s the sweater that has her full attention.
“Yes?” he answers.
Blinking herself back to the present from wherever her knitting fantasies just took her, June drops her hand as pink spreads across her cheeks. “Sorry. I haven’t seen a sweater like this in person.”
“My grandmother made it for me, many years ago. I think it’s a little tight, but Selah insists it still fits.” His loving gaze connects with hers.
“Like a glove,” Selah purrs as she tucks her hand around his elbow.
The sexual tension between them surrounds our little group in a charged haze.
“Well, enough about yarn.” Maggie breaks the awkwardness. “We’re going to the beer garden to find Quinn and Ryan.”
Selah rolls her eyes. “I heard all the parents are gathered there, using the fence as a pen for their children to run amok. Doesn’t the rule about no one under twenty-one allowed apply to the under-four-foot crowd as well?”
Her voice holds disdain, which makes Maggie stick out her tongue. “We’ll find you a corner seat with the other curmudgeons.”
“Speaking of,” June pauses, catching my eye. “My mom texted earlier from the ferry. She and Olaf should be here by now.”
Scanning the crowd, I search for the Santa lookalike and my mother-in-law. Two years ago, Olaf dressed up as jolly old St. Nick himself. At least he nailed the old part.
I miss his constant stream of good-natured complaints from behind the bar of the Dog House. Never thought I’d feel that way, but absence does strange things to a man’s heart.
“Maybe he’s in the polar bear costume,” I joke but June doesn’t laugh. Huh.
The sound of children singing draws our attention to the far end of the park.
“Isn’t the one in the pink faux fur our Lizzy?” Selah asks.
A dark-haired girl leads a line of kiddos marching through the crowd, adults clearing a path for them. Among the pack of little ones are Alene and Mac Day, Ellie and Shaw Donelly, and Rosie Kelso toddling and trying to keep up. The polar bear dances at the end of their tiny conga line.
“What are they singing?” Gil asks. “Or should I say screaming.”
My ears strain to discern meaning amidst the high-pitched word soup.
“‘Let it Go’,” Maggie declares.
“Still?” Selah asks. “Will it ever stop?”
“You sound just like Olaf.” June laughs.
“The snowman?” Selah gives her a confused look.
“No, the old bartender at the Dog,” Maggie corrects her friend.
“Poor man. My sympathies.” Selah frowns. “Oh look, now it’s a full-on parade.”
A group of elves dance through the crowd, followed by a whole herd of reindeer-onesie-wearing adults.
John and Diane walk over to our group. He’s dressed in his usual flannel and boots, but his wife is wearing a red sweater trimmed in white fleece that matches her Santa hat.
“Not sure I’m a fan of the onesies,” Gil says, and John nods in agreement.
“I think they’re adorable. So comfortable, especially when you’re pregnant.” Diane casts a quick look at June.
“Speaking of, where are Tom and Hailey?” June asks, ignoring Diane’s not so subtle hint.
We haven’t told anyone yet, and June’s not showing unless you notice her fuller breasts and the roundness in her face. I wonder if women have a sixth sense for knowing when other women are pregnant.
Part of my mood today is fear that June is overdoing it. This market has been a lot of work, and after losing an early pregnancy in March, I’m allowed to worry about the woman I love more than anything in this world.
We’ll be in the second trimester at New Year’s and plan to share the news then—just to be safe.
Tom and Hailey, who is pregnant with their third—and, according to her, final—baby, approach us. She’s in a Santa onesie, her round belly stretching the fake black belt.
“Who’s in the bear suit?” Tom asks. “I spotted both Kelsos, so it isn’t one of them.”
“My guess was Olaf,” I tell him.
“Wrong.” June points out her mom and her boyfriend—man-friend? Acquaintance? I never know what to call him now.
“Darn it.” I resign myself to go up to the bear
and ask as soon as the impromptu dance party parade ends.
“Anymore guesses?” June asks, pointing at the tall figure, who has somehow grown even taller since I last looked.
As it turns out there’s no need to ask his identity.
Not when I see the unicycle the polar bear rides in a circle around his tiny legion of followers.
“Don’t tell Carter,” I say with a laugh, knowing it’s my old business partner inside the costume.
“Too late.” June points at my brother-in-law. He’s scooped Rosie into his arms and scowls at Falcon. “Guess some things never change around here.”
There are some parts of life I wish I could freeze forever, and moments like this are top of the list: laughing with friends, creating new traditions while enjoying the old, and the simple joy of being together.
After the market and sip ’n’ stroll wind down, June and I hop in the VW to lead a line of cars south from town to the Craft Whidbey property for our official after-party.
An enormous pyre of wood looms in the dark of the field, flanked by the vintage trailers lit with old-fashioned Christmas bulbs. The dry wood alights with ease, roaring to life and soon crackling with flames and creating a circle of warmth.
Standing and sitting around the fire are my favorite people. This community of friends and family is my whole world, and I wouldn’t trade this island life for anything.
“It’s snowing!” June points to the sky.
Fat flakes drift down through the trees, swirling and dancing in the air.
Oohs and aahs, the kind most often heard at firework displays murmur through the crowd.
Wrapping my arms around June, resting my chin on her shoulder and placing my palms on her belly, I kiss her neck by her ear. Her gloved fingers slip between mine.
“Merry Christmas, to all,” I whisper, saying a little prayer that we’ll all be gathered here together again next year.
Thank You
Thank you for reading this Very Merry Wingmen collection of holiday shorts. Please consider leaving a review on your retailer of choice, Goodreads, or BookBub.
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