by Tif Marcelo
I crack up at the thought.
“Oh, man.” I wipe the side of my eyes. “That’s good. That’s really good.”
He digs a hand into his coat pocket, still chuckling, and retrieves his buzzing phone. “Sorry, I have to get this. Hello? Hey, Mom.” His smile dims a smidge. He turns away, as if hiding himself.
I twist in the other direction, too, to give him privacy, and tamp down my ever-growing curiosity about Teddy. I click the e-reader app on my phone. Once again, I thank the heavens above for technology; it makes it a million times easier to escape.
“Yeah, things are okay here. I’m totally fine, Mom,” Teddy whispers.
Except I can’t seem to focus with Teddy speaking in these hushed, sweet tones.
“Of course I’m staying safe. I’m fine,” he continues. “You guys enjoy. Yes. I’ll take more pictures. Did you? No, I didn’t see that comment. Okay. Love you. Yes. Okay. Tell Dad I love him too.”
I bite the inside of my lip at the cuteness of it all. It adds an extra layer to my confusion, at the family drama Ms. Velasco hinted at, and the rest of Teddy’s secret.
“Sorry about that,” he says, placing the last of his chess pieces in the right squares. “So, are you ready? While you hustle me in chess, I can tell you all about Syracuse life.”
After a beat, I say, truthfully, “As I’ll ever be.”
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 23
When I arrive at work the next day for my last training shift with Teddy, a new list is posted on the break room corkboard.
Employees working the New Year’s Eve at the Lake event.
I charge straight for the list. As I run a finger down the letter-size paper, Teddy bounds in with a groan. “Dang, it’s cold out there.”
I press a finger against the list to keep my place. His hair is dotted with gigantic snowflakes. They’re the soft kind, not wet enough for snowmen, and oh-so-easy to shovel. “Morning.”
The voice that escapes my throat is froggy, but all at once my body temperature is a degree hotter. Last night, after a quick game of chess, which I won, we hopped on the trolley and sang with the carolers, effectively taking out number eight on the Mission: Holly list.
Carm is going to kill me.
“Is that the list?” When I nod, he draws nearer. “I kinda hope I’m not working.”
“What? How come?” The question takes precedence over the need to see if my name is listed. “This is only the biggest thing that’s happened to Holly since the town was added to CNN’s Best Cities to Live In list.”
“It’s going to be a mess. This place is going to be packed and for what? For a couple of middle-aged people to talk about their heyday? But”—his gaze moves from me to the list itself as he shrugs out of his coat—“I want the hours.”
He goes on to tell me something about his schedule, but the words glide past me. All I notice is the heat from his body after he’s finally out of his coat. It’s like the siren call of warm sheets from the dryer—I want to snuggle into him.
Stoooop. I’m being paid to train him for one last day, and I can’t allow him to ruffle my feathers, either from frustration or these ridiculous wayward thoughts, despite our truce.
“Lila?”
I shake myself from my trance.
Teddy eyes the list I’m still pointing to. The nail bed of my pointer finger is white because I’m pressing so hard. With a jolt, I keep on with the search. “Wait. There’s a second page.”
I flip the page up, but even before I can scan the paper, he says, “I’m in.”
My heart leaps. Perhaps I’m on the list too. As my gaze nears the bottom, my hopes are dashed.
“Sorry, Santos.” He smiles through gritted teeth. But, the fact that he cares takes the edge off the fact that he’s once again taken my spot.
Again, it’s not his fault.
“At least my mom has tickets already. It would have just been neat to work it.” Then I read the rest of the page and gasp. “Holy crap, Teddy. Fifty percent sold out in five days!”
“Wow.” Teddy stuffs his coat in the locker. “I don’t know how Tita Lou does it.”
“Because she’s awesome.”
“I guess so.”
I frown. How could he not know that? But before I can ask, Ms. Velasco enters. “Hey, you two. Here’s your task list for the day, if possible.” She hands Teddy the list and waves goodbye, presumably to make her rounds to the Inn side.
Teddy reads off the list. “Hang icicle lights on windows. Remove shot glasses from display case, replace with snowflake ornaments. Remove blank journals and fill endcap with Holiday by the Lake. Easy-peasy.”
We only have a four-hour shift. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us today.”
He looks down at me with a glint in his eyes, like I’ve issued a dare. “You think we can’t get it done?”
I peer at him. “Is this motivation I detect? What have you done with the Teddy Rivera we know and don’t love?”
He shuts the locker door and leans his shoulder against it. “Guess I had some fun last night, and I just thought…” He trails off.
“What?”
“Might as well try to take it easy on you for our last shift together.”
“So you’re going to say yes to whatever I ask you to do?” I cross my arms.
“Yeah. I will.”
“All right, then.” I brush past him and head toward the shop.
From behind me he says, “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
* * *
An hour after opening the gift shop, I’m wiping down the doors of fingerprints when Teddy emerges from the hallway. He’s carrying a box to the register labeled Icicle lights. He looks pained; I asked him to take on the lights, and I know his “suggestions” are ready to jump off his tongue.
It doesn’t take long. “Here’s what I think—”
I laugh. He’s so predictable. “Nope. We’ll outline the windows just like Ms. Velasco asked.” I scrub the glass harder.
He grimaces. “Fine.”
The windows on three of the four sides of the Bookworm Inn gift shop are floor to ceiling, with thick panes of glass. They’re the second thing you see as you crest over the hill. The first, of course, is the turret of the main house, lit like a beacon every night. Add the lake behind it, which is a sparkling ribbon under the bright night sky and all together, it’s a gorgeous sight.
When lights outline the windows, it takes the shop from impressive to spectacular. Because what warms the heart more than twinkle lights?
Whoever put the lights away last year, however, did not take their time. It was clearly the work of a seasonal part-timer who wasn’t thinking about the people who would have to unravel them. I lift up the nest of wires and bulbs. This is going to take forever.
Teddy groans, and I can’t even blame him.
Customers enter and head straight to our gift shop books area, to the biggest display: The Holiday by the Lake cookbook.
“I’ve got this.” Teddy gestures to the box when a customer meanders close to the register.
“Sure?”
A grin lifts the right side of his face. “This isn’t rocket science.”
“I’m just saying.” I hold both hands up with a laugh. “You’re not exactly patient.”
“Oh, I’m patient, Santos. I think you’re confusing strategy with refusal.”
“What do you need to strategize?”
“Everything’s a puzzle. How many T-shirts we put up. How we get these lights on the window. Even where we set up the bobbleheads.” He nods to the stack, now positioned in another part of the store. “Without strategy, you can be aimless.”
“Like my rainbow shelves?” I gesture to the free library, which is now back in order.
“You don’t think it did its job?�
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I pause and consider. Since I put the books back in order, I have noticed fewer people milling around the gift shop. “I…guess it did.”
“Aha! You liked it!”
“Maybe.” I try to keep my smile contained, but it has a mind of its own. I might have made my point that it’s sometimes better to do what’s on the list, but every other time Teddy veered from it, something good emerged. The bobbleheads are now safely out of the way of traffic. Even my rainbow shelves, though technically incorrect for classification, was received well by library goers.
Is the predictable way the best way? Or is there room to be creative? Can I still be creative even with a bio major? What happens to my blog when my focus is on school?
My runaway thoughts have me on my feet. “I’ll be back.” I smile at a group of women, clustered where the tree ornaments are displayed, grateful for the distraction. “Good morning! Welcome to the Bookworm Inn.”
They’re swift in their choices—they must be part of those tours that only allow a half hour at each stop—and approach the counter as a group. They coordinate with matching shirt colors, each with a travel cup of coffee in their hand (no wonder they’re so chipper), wearing elf accessories. Their perfumes mix into what I imagine is a plume of smoke emanating above them. They all want a piece of the counter, like there are more secrets to the film behind the register.
The leader of the group, a Black woman wearing elf earrings, looks like she’s about to burst. “So, we heard that Jonah Johanson is coming to the Inn. Is it true?”
“It is. Actually…” From under the counter, I retrieve a freshly printed flyer. Hands fly toward me like I’m a card dealer in Vegas.
“Oh my God,” says a woman of Asian descent, with an elf hair clip holding back her silver-black hair, as she fans herself. “We have to find a way to come back!”
“Couldn’t this have been scheduled at another time?” the shortest of the group, a fair-skinned blond woman, whines. “I still have family here for New Year’s Eve.”
The rest chime in with their opinions. One complains that she didn’t have enough time to make plans; another says that she refuses to get out of her pj’s until January second.
I can only stand there with a gritted smile. Because customers are always right, fangirls cannot be interrupted, and there’s no one else in the gift shop for me to tend to.
At the window, Teddy’s grinning, probably rolling in laughter in his head at my attempt to appease this tour group. He reaches up to hook the lights onto the Command strip I painstakingly hung last year. He’d taken off his green sweater, and is now in the Inn polo.
And his arms…they’re on full display, and much closer than they were when he was climbing.
I mean, of course he’s got arms, but apparently, what was hidden in his sweater were corded forearms and biceps and triceps. And hello, deltoids, and abs that peek out when he reaches up high. Even Carm wouldn’t have failed this test.
Thank goodness for AP Bio.
“Do we need tickets?” The leader of the group waves the flyer. “Miss?”
“Um, what?” I say, tearing my eyes away.
“Tickets.”
“Oh, yes. But we don’t take payments here.” I point to the flyer. “You’ll have to go on the website or call this number.”
“Have you read the book?” another person in the group asks. “I’m the only one who hasn’t read the book or seen the movie. I’m just here for moral support.” A sheepish smile appears on her face.
“Yes, I have. Though it’s been years since I read the book. I actually saw the movie first.” I cut short on telling the truth, that the book was just all right in comparison to the movie—which almost never happens, but this one’s a rare exception. “In fact, we have copies around the corner. And the DVD and the CD soundtrack are over there.”
That seems to satisfy the group—half of them scuttle back to pick up DVDs and CDs. Soon, their voices trail along with their footsteps as they leave the gift shop.
Which leaves me back to the quiet.
Then I hear a curse.
“Everything all right?” I no longer see Teddy. Glancing out the window, I see snowflakes flutter down like feathers after a pillow fight.
“I’m here, near the coffee cups.”
Teddy is on his knees. He lifts a tangled mess of wires. “The second set of lights are being a pain. Can’t seem to find where it goes haywire.”
“Here, why don’t I take one end and you take the other?” Dropping down on my knees, I plunge my fingers into the box and find the socket, then spread the lights between us.
We work on the strand of lights, him from his end and me from mine. It’s silent except for our occasional grunts of frustration, admittedly more from me than from him. In fact, he’s a little speed demon, his fingers working methodically through the strands.
My mind slides back to the training checklist. “Oh, I forgot to ask. Have you read the book?”
“Which one?”
“Holiday by the Lake.”
“Uh, no.” He unravels another large knot.
“You’ve watched the movie, though?”
“Nope.” He scoots on his knees closer to me so we’re now a foot away.
I give him a horrified look. “It’s part of the checklist! You need to know what this inn is about. Customers love to discuss the film.”
“I know what the film’s about, and what this business is about. It’s a tourist trap, no disrespect to Tita Lou—but it’s capitalizing on Hollywood and fame.”
“I mean, that’s true, but the way you say it sounds so harsh.” I bite the side of my cheek.
“Why?”
“Because…besides this business being your aunt’s, it’s also the same business that hired me and that employs a good amount of the town. The people who come to visit the Inn also end up eating at Scrooge’s, grabbing dessert at Blitzen’s. They skate at the ice rink.”
“I didn’t think about it that way,” he says, now only a knot away. His fingers stop, and he looks up at me. We’re so close that when he speaks, it’s a breath above a whisper. “Look, there’s more to how I feel about this place. Tita Lou and my mom don’t get along, and it’s because of the Inn.”
“I can’t imagine anyone not getting along with Ms. Velasco.”
He takes a breath. “When my Lola died, Tita chose to stay here even when she could have moved to California with my family. I respect her as a businesswoman and what she’s done for this town, but from our point of view, she gave us up to be here. I’m here to work and climb for my competition, but that’s all. My mom’s not happy that I didn’t come home, and I’m…I’m just trying to keep the peace.”
“This explains—” I start.
“Explains what?”
“Your attitude. Of you acting like you both love and hate this place.” Something my dad said earlier this week claws through. “But sometimes you need to make your own decisions. After all, you made the decision to stay here for Christmas. You all but threw yourself at your aunt. You could simply decide to want to be here. Look around. You’re in the best place for Christmas.”
His stare is serious, intent. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Actually, this place is kind of growing on me.” Teddy’s face softens, like he’s given up the fight. And maybe he’s talking about more than just being in Holly.
The thought of it sends a tingle up my spine.
But the bell over the door rings.
Another customer.
TINSEL AND TROPES
A HOLIDAY BOOK BLOG
Title: The Dreidel Dilemma (Hanukkah Hijinks #2) by Liz Zimmerman
CATEGORY/GENRE: COZY MYSTERY
What compels you to keep a secret for someone else?
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br /> I couldn’t stop thinking about book 1 (click here), so I splurged on an ebook for book 2, which was still an $11.99 purchase. I tried to keep that out of my mind while reading the book. (Here’s a quick post on my expectations when I purchase ebooks above a certain threshold. Can you tell I’m still not over it?)
The Dreidel Dilemma takes secrets to another level. In this book, our protagonist from the first book is let in on a town’s secret to keep a coveted and historical dreidel safe from a corrupt government organization that hired him in the first place. Several tropes come into play. Our protagonist must put up a front with his partner and act as if they’re in a relationship, which ends in an office romance. All the while, he comes to terms with the importance of this dreidel to this community for the secret history it holds.
In the first book, Menorah Mayhem, we see that a secret can unite. In this book, the author asks: When are we culpable? If we enable the secret, then are we responsible for its consequences?
Was there enough Hanukkah in this book? Absolutely, and as much as I didn’t want to read this because of its cliffhanger, knowing (through a quick Google search) that there are actually four books to this series, I wanted to see how the author would handle what felt like a more intricate plot against a Hanukkah backdrop.
And it was a good risk.
Pros: It’s a book 2. I love sophomore books in a series—not a popular opinion, I know. In a usual three-book series, book 1 gives me the backstory and book 3 is the wrap-up, but book 2 is where I feel the characters come alive.
Cons: See above. Meaning that there’s a little bit of a lull in this book. It’s quieter, and it still ends in a frustrating cliffhanger.
Recommended for: Those who don’t mind waiting for the big aha moment in a second book.
Rating: 4 stars
Before I press publish on the post after work, I hesitate with my finger hovering over the mouse’s button. It feels different now. This blog post is no longer being sent to my anonymous (tiny) mass of readers, or even to Carm. Now there’s someone else, someone who’s waiting for me to post, someone who knows me personally.