Do Not Open 'Til Christmas

Home > Other > Do Not Open 'Til Christmas > Page 20
Do Not Open 'Til Christmas Page 20

by Sierra Donovan


  It occurred to Bret, as he went back to the table to leave the tip, that Mona had probably filled Chloe’s spot at the diner.

  He’d avoided the Pine ’n’ Dine for the past week or so, trying not to run into one of Chloe’s roommates, or Sherry, who’d ratted him out to Chloe about the fact that they’d dated. But it was impossible to avoid anyone in Tall Pine for too long, logistically speaking, so he’d chanced it today.

  Bret stepped outside and turned the collar of his overcoat up against the chilly afternoon air. Truth be told, he was getting tired of avoiding people, period. It took a lot of energy.

  As he walked toward the public parking lot, he approached a boy and a girl standing near the brick wall outside the row of shops. They were situated between Isabel’s Antiques and The North Pole Christmas store, where they couldn’t be accused of standing in front of either business. A TV tray stood on the walkway beside them.

  They couldn’t have been there long. Bret hadn’t passed them on his way into the Pine ’n’ Dine. Also, they hadn’t frozen rock solid yet. This had to be the coldest day so far this season, allowing the town to hold on to its coating of snow. If the skies stayed clear, it would be great for the tourist trade this weekend.

  But standing on the sidewalk on a Tuesday afternoon, the two kids weren’t likely to do too well with their wares. It was way too early for Girl Scout cookies, and a little too late for Boy Scout popcorn. Bret squinted as he got closer to the improvised display table and its paltry display of—

  The boy, about eleven years old, stepped forward. “Would you like to buy some mistletoe?”

  Hoo boy, kid. Have you got the wrong customer.

  For a moment Bret had a surreal vision of himself launching into a full-scale rant, telling the two hapless kids how much he did not need mistletoe, how very little use he had for mistletoe, and how he was probably destined to die alone. In a van down by the river.

  The picture was so ludicrous that he almost laughed, for the first time in days.

  He looked at the pair of them. The boy was tottering right at that edge between childhood and early adolescence. The little girl, silent and big-eyed, was several years younger than her brother—probably six or seven. She had pulled up the fur-trimmed hood of her coat so that just her face poked out, and Bret couldn’t even see the color of her hair. Where were their parents? Probably working, Bret surmised, unaware of this little enterprise.

  Bret eyed the display of droopy green sprigs, tied with red ribbon and packaged in sandwich bags. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll take one.”

  He handed the boy a dollar bill and waved away the change. “Get your sister home.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy nodded, the picture of politeness. And in that instant, Bret knew this kid. Probably not even in junior high yet, he already had a sense of public relations. The kind of kid who knew just what to say to a friend’s parents. In a few years, those parents had better keep an eye on their daughters.

  What the boy had overlooked was that not all thirty-year-old single men cared to be called sir.

  The little girl, on the other hand, looked at him with solemn eyes. He didn’t think anything about her was fake.

  “He is your brother, right?” Bret wasn’t sure the huckster standing beside her was above recruiting a waifish little friend to boost his sales pitch.

  Her surprise was genuine. “Yes.”

  “Why?” the boy asked, suddenly defensive.

  The girl looked at Bret with imploring eyes. “Have you seen a cat?”

  “Sophie.” Her brother nudged her impatiently.

  Bret ignored him. “You mean, have I ever seen a cat? Or did you lose a cat?”

  “He got out the other night,” she said plaintively. “When it snowed.”

  Her brother nudged her again, a bit more gently. “Sophie.”

  “It’s okay,” Bret said. “No, I haven’t seen a cat lately.”

  The girl’s eyes shimmered. If that cat had been out overnight in the snowstorm, Bret didn’t give long odds for its survival. His voice softened. “But I’ll ask around. Okay?”

  The girl nodded vigorously. Her soulful gray eyes had no trace of green or even blue. It didn’t matter.

  Bret’s voice roughened again. “How much mistletoe do you have left?”

  “Just those.” The boy nodded at the tray. About five bundles.

  “I’ll take the rest,” Bret said, and handed the girl a ten-dollar bill.

  * * *

  When he got back to the office, Bret found Chloe alone in the newsroom. They’d reached a tacit understanding since the day his father was hospitalized. Bret tried not to be excessively polite, and Chloe didn’t press him to talk. About anything.

  But today they were alone, and he had a pocketful of mistletoe in his overcoat. Somehow it felt like a loaded combination. She looked up from her screen, her eyes quietly assessing, lips slightly parted, reminding him of that night at her door. Stupid mistletoe.

  He greeted her with a nod and made for his office without stopping to hang his overcoat on the rack.

  “Bret?” Chloe’s voice called him back, and that sounded like trouble. Sure enough, when he turned, she said, “I’d like to ask you a favor.”

  He approached her desk with caution. “What?”

  Her shoulders squared. “Tomorrow night’s the town council meeting. I know that’s my beat. But my roommates and some other friends are going out Christmas caroling and—” She paused and pushed through with that determined jut of her chin. “I just haven’t had much Christmas. I wondered if there was any way you or Chuck could cover it.”

  Bret wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn’t. Chloe had put in a lot of hours, and with everything he’d added into the mix, this had to be a rough Christmas for her.

  “Why not,” he heard himself say. “I’ll get more out of the council meeting, and you’ll sure as heck get more out of the caroling.”

  Okay, that sounded glum even to his own ears. He couldn’t walk away on that note. He thought of the kids who’d sold him the mistletoe and remembered his errant promise.

  He asked, “By any chance have you seen a cat?”

  Chloe gave a sharp intake of breath. “Why?”

  It wasn’t the response he’d expected. Chloe looked at him wide-eyed, and Bret wondered if that was the look she used on traffic cops when they pulled her over.

  “I ran into some kids today,” he answered. “The little girl told me they lost a cat. I said I’d ask around.”

  Chloe blinked. “Tiffany and Kate saw one the other night.” She sounded hesitant. “In the parking lot at the Pine ’n’ Dine.”

  Bret tried to interpret the dismay in her expression. “Was it dead?”

  She blinked again, and color flooded her face. “No.”

  She didn’t say any more, but Bret started to put two and two together. About a month ago, the night the photocopier jammed, Bret had thought she made a pretty good liar. He hadn’t known her very well then.

  “Did you get the kids’ number?” she asked.

  “No. I didn’t think of it. I thought it was a long shot. Maybe you could make up a flyer. You could . . . mention where the cat was last seen.”

  Like last night, he thought. In your apartment. Maybe on your lap.

  Chloe bit her lip, and Bret was sure he’d nailed it.

  She shifted in her chair and changed the subject. “I had a call before you came in,” she said. “They’re having a living Nativity at Tall Pine Community Church two nights before Christmas. Live people, real animals, the whole bit.” A smile touched her lips. “They even got hold of a camel somewhere.”

  That was less than a week away. They should have started promoting it sooner. Of course, Bret would have known about it, if he’d set foot anywhere near the church in the past few weeks.

  Chloe waited for his answer. She probably expected him to say no, or relegate it to a news brief. Bret wondered how hard she’d fight for it. Perversely, he decided to find ou
t.

  “And?” He kept a straight face. “You’d like to, what, interview the camel?”

  Ignoring the quip, she persisted. “They haven’t tried something like this in quite a few years. Pastor Craig’s really getting the youth involved on this one. I think it’s worth a nice advance piece.”

  “So do I.”

  Chloe, who’d already opened her mouth to argue further, went silent. She looked at him as if he were an imposter, and he almost felt bad for messing with her.

  In truth, his mood felt lighter than it had in days. They were having a normal conversation, and the floor hadn’t opened up under their feet.

  “Christmas may not be my favorite thing,” he said. “But I never said I don’t believe in what it stands for. Get with Ned, see if you can set up a good photo while you’re at it. Maybe they’re doing some kind of walk-through rehearsal. If the camel isn’t already booked for Good Morning America.”

  “Thanks, Bret.” She smiled, that dimple showing below the corner of her mouth, and suddenly Bret wished for a herd of camels. Dangerous, he reminded himself. Especially with that mistletoe still in his pocket.

  He started to move on, and Chloe sat forward, hands returning to her keyboard. She wore one of her cardigan sweaters again. In the colder weather, she still wore them in the office, and pulled on her coat over them when she left. This one was dark blue.

  Dark blue, with traces of fine white hair clinging to the sleeves.

  Bret couldn’t resist. He reached over the desk and carefully pinched a few of the hairs off the cuff of Chloe’s sleeve. She looked up, startled, and Bret stood stock still.

  All he’d really touched had been yarn and cat fur. Absolutely no reason for anything like a sizzle to race up his arm, unless it was the flash of surprise in Chloe’s eyes.

  Surprise . . . and maybe a little guilt. Bret felt a deep tug inside. He knew she hadn’t meant any harm. She’d been rescuing a stray animal, not trying to deprive a little girl of her pet.

  “Don’t worry,” he said.

  “About what?” She blinked rapidly. She’d never make it as a felon.

  “That cat your roommates saw,” Bret said. “Once you get some flyers up, I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

  Chapter 16

  Chloe rang the doorbell as her fellow carolers shuffled on the porch with stapled lyric sheets and flashlights.

  “What page is it on again?” Gwen asked in a loud whisper.

  “Six!” Kate hissed as the door swung open.

  Aaron McNamara’s mother stood in the doorway with a look of slight confusion as she surveyed the baker’s dozen of carolers clustered on her porch. Christmas caroling wasn’t unheard of in Tall Pine, but people still didn’t always know how to respond to it.

  Chloe’s brother Joel strummed a slightly off-key chord on his guitar, and they launched into a ragged version of “Jingle Bells.”

  She’d seen carolers on Evergreen Lane perform in beautiful a cappella harmony for the tourists. This was nothing like that. Chloe and her friends had been doing this since junior high, and musical proficiency wasn’t a requirement. All you needed was a lot of heart. And a little nerve.

  Mrs. McNamara’s puzzled look lifted, and she smiled. A moment later, her smile grew when she spotted Chloe in the group. She nodded to them and turned from the door, as if to round up other members of the household. That was what happened at their most successful stops. That, and sometimes cookies.

  This time, Mrs. McNamara didn’t get far, because Aaron was already rolling up behind her in his wheelchair, pushed by a pretty dark-haired girl. A couple followed behind them, holding clear mugs of what looked like eggnog. Chloe didn’t know if the brunette with Aaron was the errant girlfriend, but spirits looked pretty bright.

  Then Aaron and his friends started singing along, which made it a great stop. Before the song was over, a man in his forties stood behind the rest, shaking his head with faint amusement at the ruckus on the porch. He hadn’t been there the day Chloe interviewed Aaron, but she guessed he was Aaron’s father.

  Joel strummed the last chord of the song with a flourish and shook his hand as if to loosen it. Chloe knew his fingers stung from the cold.

  “I’m amazed you’re out here tonight,” Mrs. McNamara said.

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Chloe said. Her eyes fell on Aaron and his friends. “Merry Christmas.”

  In point of fact, she didn’t know how long their group of carolers would hold out. Temperatures had already plummeted to the freezing point and didn’t show any sign of stopping. They’d come to Aaron’s house first, the one place she’d insisted was mandatory for the evening.

  “Do you know ‘O Holy Night’?” the girl behind Aaron asked, and looked puzzled when they all laughed.

  “You do not want to hear us do ‘O Holy Night,’” Mitch said.

  “It’s a little out of our range,” Tiffany explained. “We tried it at one house years ago without any practice. We didn’t realize how high it went until—”

  “Until it was too late.” Chloe couldn’t help laughing. “I think that was one house that was really glad to see us go.”

  “How about ‘Silent Night’?” Aaron asked.

  “That, we can handle.” Joel strummed an opening chord.

  They stood close together and shivered their way through “Silent Night,” and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” while their audience joined in.

  * * *

  Aaron’s house alone was worth the trip.

  Afterward, they left their four-car caravan at the curb and proceeded to two more houses up the street. But the thin layer of snow still on the ground was just enough to get their shoes wet, knees were shaking, and hands were so numb it was hard to turn the pages of their song lyrics. Then Mitch’s girlfriend started to cough, and they left, taking two other members of their company in their carload.

  “If I don’t get something hot to drink I’m going to die,” Gwen announced.

  Ten minutes later, the remaining nine carolers were at the Pine ’n’ Dine, pushing together a group of tables at the back. Chloe found herself at the far end, next to Tiffany, across from no one, as Sherry brought their cups of coffee or hot chocolate.

  “This isn’t your station.” Chloe picked up her cup of cocoa. She’d decided to take a break from coffee for the night. Maybe she’d even go to bed early.

  “I didn’t think anyone else could put up with you guys.” Sherry nodded toward the counter, where Darla waited on a group of tourists. Darla had worked at the diner for over twenty years, and she didn’t always have the longest fuse.

  “Good point.”

  Sherry bustled her way down the table with the remaining cups. Chloe sipped her drink. Good, but it didn’t compare to Mandy’s recipe. She really ought to get back over to The Snowed Inn sometime soon.

  “Are you falling asleep?”

  Chloe jerked up out of a brown haze she didn’t know she’d slipped into. But Tiffany had left her seat and Sherry was leaning in front of her, so some time must have passed.

  She grinned weakly. “Sorry. I guess this is just the longest I’ve sat down without a computer screen in front of me for quite a while.”

  “How’s Bret treating you these days?”

  The question caught her off guard, and she looked away. She hadn’t prepared her turtle shell for the Pine ’n’ Dine.

  “Good,” she said, a fraction late.

  “I was wondering how he’s doing,” Sherry said. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Which is kind of unusual for him.”

  Tiny needles of useless jealousy prickled at Chloe. She pulled on a smile. “I may or may not have mentioned you told me about you two.”

  “That’s old news.” Sherry didn’t miss a beat. Bret hadn’t reacted much, either. So Bret’s assessment during their trip to Barstow was probably true; whatever romance he and Sherry had had in the past, it was long over. Not that it made a difference to Chloe’s situation.

  “He wouldn�
�t be thrilled with me right now,” she said. “I let him do the town council meeting tonight so I could go caroling. Now here I sit.”

  “Playing hooky? I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Chloe sighed. Tiffany still hadn’t returned. Joel, catacorner from her seat, looked like he was trying to make some long-overdue time with Gwen. Maybe that was why Sherry was talking to her. To keep her from being the wallflower at the table.

  Keep your nose out of it, Chloe told herself.

  Maybe just one intellectual question.

  “Why doesn’t Bret like Christmas, anyway?” Chloe lifted her cup to take a casual sip. Part of it sloshed onto the table before it made it to her mouth. So much for casual.

  “It’s definitely not his favorite time of year,” Sherry said slowly.

  Chloe waited, head tipped. It was one thing she’d learned from her experience interviewing: sometimes you didn’t ask the next question right away. You waited to see where your interviewee would go.

  Sherry inclined her head, too, as if deciding. “He never told you about his mom, did he?”

  “No.”

  Sherry eyed Joel, but he had his full attention on Gwen, and Kate was talking to Lucy. “She died at Christmastime. Right after Bret got out of college. Cancer. It took about four months . . . but it was a really long four months.”

  “That would be hard.” Chloe’s voice came out a whisper, because there wasn’t a lot of air in her lungs.

  “It was.” Sherry’s eyes were directed somewhere over Chloe’s head, as if she were seeing the past. “They waited until the end of the summer to tell him. And then he shot straight for home. He left behind a job offer at the Washington Post to do it. I think—”

  “Job offer?” Chloe interrupted. “He had an internship at the Washington Post.”

  Sherry nodded. “And his mom and dad waited until he was finished before they told him. They didn’t want him running home any sooner, and they were right, because that’s exactly what he did. He dropped everything.”

 

‹ Prev