Humbugged

by Pippa Grant

  My siblings, man. They’re fucking awesome.

  Olivia nods seriously. “That’s a long time for a ghost to get lonely.”

  “I’m not entirely tracking the ghost,” Hope says. “How did you know about him? Her? Him?”

  “Oh, I saw him the other night. Clover’s teething, and she wanted to take a walk to see all the bright lights—they make her so happy. So we were walking around town just around sunset, and there he was, drifting out of the fridge and up to the window. I stopped to wave, but he disappeared.” She smiles at Noelle. “Maybe tomorrow, you can tell him I just want to say hi, and that he’s welcome?”

  “Liv, it’s possible Noelle’s not comfortable sharing her space with a ghost,” Cassie says gently.

  “Oh, that would be so sad. I’m sure he doesn’t mean any harm.”

  And that doesn’t seem to be helping. Noelle’s eyes are darting between us like she’s trying to gauge how seriously we’re taking Jace’s very spiritually-connected, woo-woo wife. And that’s a question none of us are ready to answer for our own reasons.

  So I punch my other brother. “Blake. How’s that reindeer?”

  “The one that came to fetch you for Santa?”

  “Go on and joke, man, but you’re gonna miss me when I take off for the North Pole.”

  “He’s good,” Hope interjects.

  She tells us about the phone calls she’s made to local shelters and the vet who came to check on the reindeer, and we keep walking toward the sheriff’s station. Meanwhile, the seniors keep blowing up downtown Happy Cat, but no one seems to be sick.

  Maud leads us in our next round of songs, and Noelle joins in, but she’s not smiling the way she did before the Fart Apocalypse.

  This lady needs a Christmas miracle.

  And I’m just the guy to give it to her.

  Seven

  Noelle

  The next morning, I still can’t explain how my recipe box ended up on my stovetop, or how the burner under it got lit, but I’ve decided no more whiskey in my eggnog. And I take extra care setting out the ingredients for my cupcakes today.

  Christmas cupcakes.

  “I hope I didn’t offend you by moving in,” I say to the stillness as I bustle about the kitchen in the pre-dawn light, turning on the oven and lining up measuring cups. I don’t actually believe in ghosts, but it can’t hurt to vocalize that I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, just in case there are spirits listening. “I’m trying really hard to use this holiday season as a fresh start, and to spread cheer and happiness. I hope the music and the baking smells make you happy too.” I pause. “I mean, if you can smell. If you can hear, I assume you can smell. Right? Or at least remember what it was like to smell?”

  There’s no answer, so I turn my Christmas music on—softly, this time—and get to work.

  I feel like I have a solid idea where I went wrong yesterday, and I’m going to fix it today. Cookies aren’t usually on my menu—Dough on the Square is the other bakery in town, and they’ve been making cookies and donuts forever.

  I intruded on their territory, and the universe stepped in to remind me that you don’t make friends in a new place by trying to butt in where you shouldn’t.

  Plus, I love cupcakes way more than cookies.

  So today, I’m making Christmas cupcakes.

  Some with reindeer antlers. Some with Christmas trees. Some with elf ears. Some with bells.

  Decorating cupcakes is one of my greatest joys in life. After photography, anyway, but pictures and I are on a break. Sugar and I, however, are going to be together forever.

  I’m lost in my piping, humming to myself and twisting green holly leaves onto the top of a cupcake, when something soft brushes my leg. I jump, and a hazy blur darts lightning-fast from the kitchen into the front of the shop.

  “Hello?” I call.

  My heart is pounding. My mouth is dry. My piping bag is dropped.

  And a cool breeze rustles through the kitchen.

  “Hello?” I call again, but this time it’s a whisper. I turn slowly, the hairs lifting on the back of my neck.

  The door to the alley is open.

  And I’m beginning to suspect there’s a creature in my bakery.

  A mouse? A groundhog? A furry gosling?

  A ghost?

  A slamming sound fills the alley outside.

  I shriek and grab the nearest blunt object, which is also gooey because it’s a cupcake. But maybe I can blind someone with frosting to the eyeballs?

  I hold it aloft as I spin. “Who’s there?”

  Cassie peeks in the open door. “Hey. You okay?” She sees my no-doubt terrified expression and cupcake-weapon and her brow furrows. “Oh, no. Did Olivia scare you last night? She didn’t mean to. And even if she did see a ghost, it would be a friendly ghost. Olivia is literally the nicest person in the universe, and she believes we’re all cosmically connected. That ghosts and spirits and auras are natural extensions of our shared life force and stuff like that.”

  I slowly lower the cupcake. “Hi. No, it’s fine. I’m good. My dad was a Marine. I don’t scare easily.” I’m also such a liar. “What’s up?”

  She smiles, but it looks a little guilty around the edges. “I, um…wanted a cupcake,” she whispers. “I know you’re not open yet, but I’ve been up since four AM aching for fresh icing and—”

  “Oh, of course! Please. Come in.”

  “It’s not like I can actually fit anything in my stomach with this little person squeezing all my internal organs, but the cravings are so intense.” She waddles in, belly first, in a short-sleeved maternity shirt and leggings. I’d freeze my rear end off if I walked more than a block outside right now, and it’s not even below forty.

  “What would you like?” I motion to the mostly full case and racks of fresh cupcakes behind me. “Chocolate? Chocolate mint? Chocolate raspberry? Chocolate cherry? Vanilla? Gingerbread? Snickerdoodle?”

  “You made snickerdoodle cupcakes?”

  I nod.

  She claps. “That sounds amazing!”

  I pull a cinnamon-sugar cupcake frosted in a plain swirl decoration from the rack and pass it to her.

  “You are a goddess,” she says, sniffing deeply over the cupcake. “What do I owe you?”

  “Um, a favor?”

  It slips out before I have time to think. But when her blue eyes light up behind her glasses, I get the feeling I’m actually doing her a favor.

  “Yes! Oh my gosh, yes. Of course. Anything,” she says. “I’ve basically been put on forced maternity leave, and I can feel the boredom crushing in all around me. Ryan hid my computer because he says I don’t need the stress of worrying about work when I’m already dilated to two centimeters with three weeks to go. Except technically, I’m full-term, and I’m so sick of being pregnant, that I—” She breaks off with a laugh and a shake of her head. “Sorry. Preggers brain. What can I do for you?”

  I’m going to sound so stupid, but I have to ask.

  It’ll bring me peace of mind to know I shouldn’t read anything into the past few days.

  “I just wanted to know if Clint is always so…attentive to the new people in town?”

  She bites her lip and that hungry look tightens her features again. Apparently gossip is nearly as tantalizing as a fresh cupcake. “Well, Clint has been stationed overseas most of the past six years, and I didn’t know him well when we were growing up, since he was younger than my sister and me. But I’ve never seen him sparkle at anyone the way he was sparkling at you last night. I didn’t know his eyes could literally shoot lasers. The happy, sparkly kind of lasers, I mean.” She huffs. “Though I should have, I guess, since he’s superhuman, if the memes are to be believed. Have you seen them?”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. They’re funny.”

  “So funny. And so is he. Once you get used to the larger than life stuff.”

  “I don’t mind the larger than life stuff. I like him. He seems like someone anyone would be lucky to call a f
riend.” Just a friend.

  Her eyes narrow. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think he’s thinking purely friendly thoughts about you, Noelle. His voice when he calls you Cupcake sounds…”

  “Sweet?” I offer.

  “Sexy,” she counters, making my cheeks flush. “Like he wants to lick all the icing off your top and savor your cake to the last crumb.”

  I laugh uncomfortably—because I would like to do similar things to the crazy hunk of burning hero who’s set his sights on me for some reason—but Cassie just admitted she doesn’t know him well, so how can she really be sure he likes me?

  And even if he does, does it matter?

  No, it doesn’t.

  Because that delicious Marine isn’t on the menu for yours truly.

  “Clint’s great,” I say, “but you said it yourself. He’s a lot younger than we are.”

  She cocks her head. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “No way!” She slaps my arm gently before repeating, “Seriously, no way. You look like you’re twenty-one. Maybe. Just barely. I’d ask to see your ID, but that would be rude, and even this pregnant, I still have my limits.”

  I grin. “Hazard of the short and scrawny lifestyle. The last time I went through a drive-thru, the cashier asked if my mom knew I stole her car. But I feel every one of my years. I’m not a kid anymore. And I’m not looking for the things I was looking for when I was in my early twenties so…” I trail off with a shrug. “Twenty-four is young, especially for a guy.”

  “But Clint isn’t your average guy,” Cassie says. “He’s been through a lot.”

  “Yeah. My dad was a Marine. I know that drill pretty well.” I don’t mention that dating a Marine isn’t on my wish list. I don’t want her to think I’m not supportive of the people who put their lives on the line for our country—I am.

  I bleed red, white, and blue.

  But I’ve also seen firsthand how hard it is to have a functional marriage when you’re being transferred every couple of years. Or deployed, without a chance to put your arms around your significant other for months at a time. I’ve seen babies born who didn’t meet their daddies for six months or more and shattered men come home and struggle to fit into a world—and a family—that’s moved on without them.

  And I’ve seen the cheating and the lying and the leaving that happens when the cheating is discovered or the life of a military spouse gets to be too much.

  I haven’t seen my mother since I was eight years old. She begged my dad to quit the Marines and when he refused, she quit him. And quit me too, even though I didn’t have any choice in whether or not my dad stayed in the Corps.

  She walked out on Christmas morning, kissing me on the head on her way to the door and promising to be back in a jiff—she just had to grab a few things from the commissary.

  But the commissary wasn’t open on Christmas Day.

  I was too young to know that, of course, and too naïve to believe she was gone for good. It took years—years and years—for me to finally give up all hope of a birthday or Christmas card from Mom showing up in the mail for me.

  And while I know I’d never walk out on my family—no matter how hard things got—I don’t want to raise my children alone. I don’t want a husband who’s half a world away. I want a partner who will stay by my side or bring me along for the ride so I can stay by his. And though Clint is home for the time being, enjoying his family and small-town life, I know how quickly that could change.

  All it would take is a new set of orders and he’ll be gone.

  “I’m not just talking about the Marines making Clint wise beyond his years,” Cassie says, leaning back against the prep table and rubbing a hand in a thoughtful circle on her giant belly. “Also, if you ever repeat that I called him wise, I’ll deny it. But I meant he was struck by lightning when he was a little kid.”

  My eyes go wide. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Ryan found him passed out in the field on their parents’ property. Poor Ryan—he thought his baby brother was dead. Not something a man ever forgets. But Clint was just sleeping off the headache. He woke up fine aside from a little patch of white hair on the top of his head and a tendency to be even more obnoxious than he was before, which is apparently impressive.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it.

  “His family has to tease him, because that’s what family does, right? But he’s actually very charming. At least, I think he is. And Hope adores him, and Olivia says he has the best aura of anyone she’s ever met that she’s not directly related to through blood or marriage,” Cassie continues, flinching with a soft yip as her stomach begins to visibly shake from side to side.

  “What’s happening?” I lunge for my phone to call 911. “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

  “No, it’s fine.” She laughs. “It’s just the sugar. The little guy gets excited when I eat sweets. Kicks like crazy.” She offers her hand. “You want to feel?”

  “Sure.” I place my fingers tentatively into hers and she guides my palm to her belly, where a small mule appears to be kicking her to pieces from the inside.

  But it’s not a mule, of course.

  It’s a baby. A sweet little soul who’s going to join us any day now. My eyes go weirdly hot and I have to swallow hard as I feel an elbow or foot or knee rub past my hand.

  “Merry Christmas, baby,” I whisper. “Try to be born on Christmas Eve, okay? Then we can share a birthday.”

  Cassie makes an amused sound. “Oh, you poor thing. Was it awful? Growing up with a Christmas birthday? Did you get lost in the shuffle?”

  “It wasn’t always my favorite. But my dad did his best to make it a special night, and now I don’t mind at all. It’s kind of nice to have double the reason to celebrate, actually.” At least, that’s what I’ve told people for years. And this year, I’m making it a reality.

  “Then you have to come with me to Hope’s tonight. We’re dressing up the animals and taking pictures for the sanctuary’s InstaChat page. It’s going to be fun and festive.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “Intrude? Never. Happy Cat is all about sharing the fun.” She pushes away from the table. “I’ll pick you up around six. We’re eating stew first to fuel our creative juices and then heading up to the barn with costumes and cameras.”

  “Okay. That sounds great. I’ll bring dessert.” A girls’ night. What a great idea. I miss having close friends, and this will be an excellent way to avoid getting in any deeper with a certain gorgeous, easy-to-swoon-for man I’m determined to keep in the friend zone.

  “Perfect!” Cassie’s all smiles as she waddles toward the door. “But don’t tell Hope I already had a cupcake this morning or she won’t let me have another one tonight.”

  I laugh and shoot her a thumbs-up. “Deal.”

  She wiggles her fingers my way. “See you soon. And think about what I said, about Clint being mature for his age underneath all the silliness, and how you should give dating him a try.”

  “You never said that.”

  She pauses in the doorway, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Oh, right. But I meant to. So think about it. It’s not like there are that many single men in their thirties in town. You might have to date someone younger to find a guy who’s decent and unattached.”

  And Clint is so much more than that.

  We both know it.

  It doesn’t need to be said.

  But I say it anyway. “Clint O’Dell doesn’t try to be perfect, perfect tries to be Clint O’Dell?”

  She laughs. “That’s the spirit!”

  “But no man is really perfect.”

  “They’re not, but you don’t need a perfect man. Just one who’s perfect for you.”

  I try not to wince. I don’t have the best track record with picking perfect for me. “I don’t see Clint being that guy for me. He’s nice, and attractive, but we just don’t fit like that.”

  “You might be right. But�
�you could also be wrong. Either way, what’s the harm in leaving yourself open to something happening?” She shrugs. “Think about it. You’ll see I’m right. Women as pregnant as I am are always right. People agree with us or we sit on them until they change their minds.”

  I laugh. “See you tonight.”

  “Tonight,” she echoes, disappearing into the alley. I hear a car start a moment later and realize she must have driven right up to the back door to hunt down her cupcake.

  My cupcake, when she could have had donuts or any number of pastry goodies from Dough on the Square.

  I don’t know if she intended to pay me and my baked goods a compliment by choosing us, but warmth glows in my chest nonetheless.

  Warmth that’s doused as soon as I think back over our conversation about Clint.

  Cassie adores her brother-in-law. If I screw things up with him—the way I’ve screwed things up with all men, thus far, bar none, even when I was trying so hard to be a good partner—she probably wouldn’t like me as much anymore. And it would be really nice to have some gal pals here in town. I’ve been so busy launching my business and nursing my broken heart that I haven’t had much time for socializing.

  You haven’t made time, the inner voice counters. If you have time to re-watch every season of “The Gilmore Girls,” you have time to get out and make some sharp, witty, fast-talking friends of your own.

  The voice has a point.

  Before I can ponder it further, however, the gray streak from earlier darts across the room again. Except this time, the smoky-colored haze skitters across the ceiling, not the floor, and by the time I spin to face it the apparition has vanished.

  Poof. Gone.

  Just my eyes playing tricks on me, I tell myself. It’s not a ghost. It’s a hallucination from stress overload and not sleeping well last night.

  But still…

  My heart is attempting to pull a jackrabbit and dash right out of my chest.

  “We’re cool, I promise.” My voice is shaky, which isn’t very soothing. I try to level it out as I keep talking to the probably-not-a-ghost. “I’m going out tonight so I won’t be hanging around, cooking at all hours instead of heading home like a normal person. So you’ll have some alone time if that’s what you’re after. I like being alone sometimes. Don’t you?” I pause, awaiting a response and immediately feeling ridiculous for it.