Humbugged

by Pippa Grant

  With a tired wiggle of her brows, Noelle dumps her sponge in her pail of water. “Yeah, me too. I’m beat and this is clean enough for me to open. I can keep digging flour out of the cash register with a cotton swab in between customers tomorrow. You going to head back to your place?”

  I glance at the clock on the wall and sigh. “I probably should. As much as I want to go to your place, I’ve got to be on the road by six tomorrow.”

  She nods. “But we’re still on for Snowmen after Dark?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ll text you some ideas for props for our snowmen in between school visits tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” She kisses me goodbye. I nobly avoid lifting her onto the counter and putting on an X-rated show for anyone who might be passing by, and force myself to head out to my truck.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the gravel parking spot beside the cabin just after midnight, tired, but already knowing sleep isn’t going to come easy. I can’t stop thinking about Noelle, wishing I was with her, cuddled up in her fluffy yellow bed instead of facing down a night sleeping solo.

  Which isn’t normal. At all.

  I like sleeping alone. I’m a big guy and I enjoy stretching out and taking up space. By the time I’m spread-eagled across a mattress—the way God intended a man to sleep—there isn’t much room left for a snuggle buddy.

  And that’s always been fine with me. I get my snuggle on for a few minutes after the main event, then I make my excuses and head home for a good night’s rest without any cold toes trailing up my calf or cute little lady snores keeping me up past my bedtime.

  But now, I would run ten miles through the snow for the chance to warm Noelle’s freezing feet between my hands.

  I’ve got it bad. And keeping this thing going for another six weeks is absolutely a stupid idea. If I’m this crazy about her now, by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around, I’ll be a lovesick mess.

  Letting out a sigh that already sounds way too angsty for comfort, I trudge up the stairs to the cabin’s front stoop to find an envelope taped to the door with a sticky note stuck to the middle of it.

  Looked important—is scrawled across the note in familiar handwriting.

  Jace, I think. Or maybe my dad. All our mail has been going to my parents’ house—mine because I’m not sure how long I’ll be in Happy Cat, and it’s always been easiest to use my parents’ house as my permanent address, and Jace’s because his and Olivia’s new place is too far from town for regular mail delivery.

  Jace bitches about being twenty minutes from work, but I know he loves the farmhouse on the hill he and Olivia bought not long before Clover was born. It’s a sweet piece of land, with a spring-fed creek running through on one side, plenty of woods for kids to run through and explore, and a killer view of the gently rolling hills around Happy Cat.

  It’s the kind of place I’d like to have someday—close to family and friends, but isolated enough that no one’s going to hear Noelle scream my name when I make her come.

  “Fuck,” I mutter as I push inside and flick on the light.

  Because Noelle is already a fixture in my future fantasies.

  And because the envelope in my hand is important.

  It’s from Headquarters Marine Corps in Quantico.

  Pulse picking up, I rip open the seal and pull out a single sheet of paper. The Marines believe in brief, efficient communication, and by now it’s not like I need a lot of instructions to know how to follow orders. The letter tells me I’ve been selected for a special assignment in South Korea, starting in March. I need to be prepared to report for training in Virginia two weeks prior, and in the meantime, put my affairs in order and prepare to ship out.

  My heart thumps out a protest, but I ignore it.

  My personal preferences don’t factor into this equation. I committed to serving my country and going where they need me to go, when they tell me to go there.

  And it’s not like I have any pressing reason to stay in Happy Cat. I’ve enjoyed being closer to my family, but I’ll still see them several times a year, and they’ll be here waiting for me when I’m ready to retire and decide what comes next.

  And Noelle…

  Well, the timing should be spot on. We’ll enjoy each other until Valentine’s Day and I’ll leave for Quantico a few days later. Perfect.

  But it’s not perfect. It makes my fucking stomach feel like I ate prunes for dinner. Prunes and vinegar, with a hot sauce chaser.

  God, I am in so deep with her.

  I drop the letter on the antique secretary’s desk in the corner and turn my back on it. Normally, I’d pick up the phone and text my Marine Corps buddies, see if any of my ride or dies are stationed in South Korea or headed there in the spring. But tonight, I book it straight to the shower and then to bed.

  Seeing my friends again will be nice, but nice can’t compare to the all-consuming awesome of being with Noelle. Even going for an insanely slow run, followed by several hours of tedious cleaning, was fun.

  Because I was with her.

  My girl.

  But she isn’t my girl, a fact I repeat over and over again as I drift off to sleep, reminding myself we are just friends with benefits, a temporary situation. I will force my stubborn brain to accept reality, and the reality is that we’re not supposed to be together forever.

  Instead, my subconscious offers up a few obscenely dirty dreams, featuring Noelle in nothing but a big red bow wrapped around her chest, waiting for me to unwrap her under a sparkling Christmas tree.

  Noelle whipping up that peppermint icing she’s been promising me and begging me to lick it off her tight pink nipples.

  Noelle waking me up with a kiss and whispering that she loves me too.

  That she doesn’t want me to leave.

  That she’ll come with me to South Korea or Outer Mongolia or the moon if that’s what it takes to keep us together.

  God, I wish. I wish it so hard that I wake up wishing.

  But then I put it all out of my mind and go to work, because that’s what a Marine does. And this Marine doesn’t want to dwell on the impossible future, he wants to enjoy every second of the present until it’s time to leave Happy Cat, and Noelle, in the rearview mirror.

  Nineteen

  From the texts of the O’Dell brothers

  Clint: Heads up – Since Blake went and got married and won’t be my date to Snowmen After Dark this year, I’m bringing Noelle. Thought she could use a night of fun. Don’t be dumb and don’t make her uncomfortable.

  Jace: Pay up, suckers.

  Ryan: DAMMIT. *angry emoji* Cassie said there was nothing going on.

  Blake: Ha! Idiot. Stupid move, betting against Clint scoring with a lady.

  Jace: You did too, moron. Remember? It was that night Hope walked into the Wild Hog in those jeans and you couldn’t take your eyes off her ass.

  Ryan: The man is correct. You owe Jace a hundred bucks too.

  Blake: WTF? Seriously? That’s cheating, assholes. *middle finger emoji* *hedgehog emoji* *farting emoji*

  Jace: Whoa. Hey. Don’t you DARE say my hedgehogs fart.

  Clint: How about NOT BETTING ABOUT A LADY’S HONOR? *angry emoji*

  Ryan: Chill out, Clint Norris. We’re not betting about Noelle’s honor. We’re betting about her bad taste.

  Blake: *meme of Clint with the caption CLINT O’DELL DOESN’T HAVE TASTE, TASTE HAS CLINT O’DELL*

  Jace: Uh, Blake? I don’t think you get this meme thing…

  Ryan: Definitely not. That was weirdly complimentary. I think. Or at least not insulting in the way you meant it to be.

  Clint: There’s nothing going on with me and Noelle. We’re friends.

  Jace: Friends who bang.

  Blake: *eggplant emoji* *peach emoji*

  Ryan: Yes. Stick with emojis. Your emoji game is much stronger.

  Jace: Your emoji game is creepy. Can we get back to when you two are paying up?

  Clint: Did you miss the part
where there’s nothing going on between Noelle and me? We’re just friends.

  Jace: Been there, lied about that, too. Don’t believe you.

  Ryan: I believe him.

  Jace: If you didn’t have a hundred bucks riding on him NOT banging Noelle, would you believe him?

  Ryan: Yes. Okay, FINE. No. I heard they went “jogging” last night.

  Blake: Don’t ever use “jogging” as an innuendo ever again. Plus, *meme of Clint with the caption CLINT O’DELL DOESN’T TAKE A JOG. A JOG TAKES CLINT O’DELL*

  Jace: And again. STOP WITH THE MEMES. What does that even mean? That he could get abducted by a jog?

  Ryan: C’mon, guys. You know Clint and Noelle didn’t go jogging. They went to *hammer emoji*

  Clint: You guys remember my 22nd birthday?

  Blake: Hell, yes. When that dude who pierced his dick got the hoop stuck on the urinal and the fire department had to come to the rescue?

  Jace: Stop. I still have nightmares about that shit.

  Ryan: Agreed. We don’t talk about that.

  Clint: Make Noelle feel uncomfortable tonight, and we’re going to relive it.

  Blake: I’m paying up, Ryan. Clint, I completely understand. You and Noelle are not now, have never been, and will never be doing the horizontal *mango emoji*

  Jace: TANGO. TANGO not MANGO. Jesus. You can’t even use an emoji right. What in the—oh. You’re getting a blow job right now, aren’t you?

  Blake: If I were getting a blow job, I wouldn’t be talking to you dingbats. And one scary Marine.

  Clint: Ryan? Jace? Agreed?

  Ryan: It’s very kind of you to welcome a neighbor—who you have NOT seen naked—to Happy Cat with no ulterior motives.

  Jace: Hey, I’m a bartender, I keep secrets for a living.

  Clint: From Olivia?

  Jace: Ha. Hardly. But I don’t have to tell her stuff, man. She just knows. But she’s also an angel who wouldn’t hurt a fly. So if you’re implying that my wife would make Noelle uncomfortable, I’m going to have to put a laxative in the next drink I serve you.

  Ryan: Yeah, because arming him with explosive diarrhea wouldn’t end poorly for all of us.

  Clint: So all of you understand that Noelle and I are JUST FRIENDS?

  Ryan: Never thought differently.

  Jace: Got it, you little pain in the ass.

  Clint: Good. See you with your manners in order tonight.

  Jace: You got it, baby bro.

  Blake: Like we’d be anything less than mannerly.

  Ryan: What they said. Gotta run. The snow machine’s here. See you tonight! And bring your snowman game. This is gonna be EPIC.

  Twenty

  Noelle

  Snow isn’t common in Happy Cat. Being in Georgia, we don’t expect to see the white stuff every winter. And when we do get snow, it’s usually just a thin layer of ice that shuts down the whole state without leaving behind enough fluff to roll into a snowball.

  So walking into Ryan and Cassie’s backyard just after dusk on the first day of winter, with the temperature hovering in the mid-thirties, to find six inches of snow—real snow—all over the ground is…

  Well, a miracle.

  I pause at the edge of the yard and take in the enchantment.

  The snow.

  The colorful glow of the Christmas lights strung around the house and the welded statues scattered through the yard.

  Clover in a thick red coat, sitting in the snow, touching it as though it’s magic while Jace and Olivia build a fort around her, the adults making googly eyes at each other.

  Cassie and Ryan laughing with Mr. and Mrs. O’Dell.

  Blake and Hope sneaking a kiss behind the largest welded statue of the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz.

  A table with a pile of homemade sugar cookies and peanut butter blossoms and chocolate crinkles, next to a mismatched collection of mugs and a large drink dispenser that I’d bet my last cupcake has hot chocolate in it.

  This is literally the Christmas celebration I’ve always dreamed of. Family, snow, lights, laughter, and love.

  Love… You can feel it, as thick in the air as the smell of cinnamon drifting from inside the house, where I’m guessing some kind of cider is simmering on the stove.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about love today. As I counted down the minutes until I got to see Clint again, realizing that the world wouldn’t feel quite right until I was with him again.

  And now we’re here.

  And we’re going to share an incredible night. Together.

  “Wow,” I whisper, blinking quickly against the sting in my eyes.

  Clint puts a hand low on my back, guiding me deeper into the yard. “I promised the lady snow. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

  “How?”

  “My dad knows a guy who bought a broken snow-making machine at a flea market. Like the ones they use on ski slopes? Anyway, he fixed it, and now he snows us over every year. Awesome, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” But the truth is—I didn’t need the snow to make this the best Christmas ever.

  I think I just needed him.

  He smiles softly at me, almost like he knows what I’m thinking, and a minute later, a shower of white explodes around us.

  But this time, it’s not flour. It’s a snowball.

  I leap back from the carnage on Clint’s shoulder and scurry behind him in case more are coming.

  “Got you!” Jace crows.

  “I’ll let you have it, civilian,” Clint calls back. “All of you. Go on. Get your shots in before I take you down.”

  “Getting cocky again, little brother? We all know what happened last year.”

  Both men dive for the snow.

  “Don’t ruin the snowman snow!” Cassie yells. “Or so help me, gentlemen, I’ll have Sunshine Sex Toys make the tiniest dildos ever and name them after you!”

  Clint and Jace both freeze.

  “Dada,” Clover says.

  But it sounds weirdly like dildo, and I cover my mouth to keep the giggle from slipping out. Hope and Blake both have coughing fits, and Ryan’s eyes go wide.

  “She’s so verbally advanced,” Mrs. O’Dell sighs proudly.

  “Fine,” Clint says with an exaggerated eye roll. “We’ll just have to out-snowman you. C’mon, Noelle. You’re going to be a way better partner than Blake was last year. Couldn’t roll a snowman body to save his life.”

  “You weren’t any better, no matter what the memes say,” Blake retorts, and everyone laughs.

  Clint and I pick a corner of the yard and start building snowman body parts. Every time our shoulders brush, even with both of us in thick coats, my skin tingles and my body flushes. Every time he smiles at me, my heart glows. And every time he sneaks in throwing a snowball at one of his brothers, I giggle and dive for cover as they return fire.

  I can’t ever remember being this happy. I don’t ever want it to end.

  After we have our snowman mostly assembled, I rest a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I’m going for cookies and to grab our prop bag. You need anything?”

  He starts to lean in for a kiss and stops himself, then grins sheepishly. “Nope, I’m good. But fuel up, Cupcake. I think we’ve got a solid chance at winning this competition.”

  “Me too.” I make my way to the cookies, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. So hard, I can’t banish my grin as Cassie and Hope slide up next to me.

  “So…you’re here with Clint?” Cassie says slyly.

  “Yeah, he said he didn’t want to be the ninth wheel.” But I can’t stop smiling, and I’m sure they can see right through me. Still, I aim for casual as I shrug and add, “And he thought I might enjoy a night out after everything that’s been going on at the bakery.”

  “If I ever find out who’s responsible for trying to chase you away,” Hope growls, “I’m sending Nutquacker and George Cooney after him.”

  “George?”

  Cassie nods. “We’re pretty sure your trash can is his new favorite. And
he’s good in a crisis. He’s weirdly human sometimes.”

  “In the best way.” Hope grabs two mugs and fills them with hot chocolate. “Nutquacker, though—the poor goose is just out of it lately. Did I tell you he’s been sleeping in Don Juan’s pen every night? I don’t know what he’s going to do when we find the reindeer a more appropriate home.”

  I almost drop the peanut butter blossom I’m nibbling. “What? What’s more appropriate than your farm?”

  “Someplace north of the border probably,” Hope says. “It’s too hot around here in summer for a reindeer to feel comfortable. I need to rehome him somewhere he won’t overheat.”

  “Aww, that’s sad.” I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “But understandable.”

  Hope’s brow furrows. “I still don’t know where he came from. Usually with a rare animal, my network can figure out where he was before he got lost. There aren’t that many traveling Santa acts with reindeer, you know? But I’ve got nothing. No one’s heard of any missing reindeer.”