Humbugged

by Pippa Grant

  Meet Logan Alexander O’Dell, Cassie’s note says.

  Hope and Olivia have already asked the pertinent questions—height, weight, how was labor, etc.—and all that’s left is for me to send a heart-eyed emoji with an all-caps CONGRATULATIONS!

  So we’ll have a trip to visit the baby in our plans for today too!

  Sugar cookies, then. Definitely sugar cookies, with yellow frosting and the baby’s initials on them. No green or red—he’ll forever have his birthday associated with Christmas. So today, he gets yellow.

  The color of sunshine.

  My battery is low, so I head over to Clint’s desk, where he keeps a spare charger, and plug it in. But as I’m turning, a letter catches my eye.

  I don’t mean to read it.

  I don’t.

  But the Marines logo and the words special assignment and March practically leap off the page to slap me in the eyeballs.

  My heart pounds. My knees go weak. And for the second time in five minutes, tears sting the back of my nose.

  He has orders.

  He has orders.

  “No,” I whisper.

  The letter’s dated last week. He’s known about this. Known for a while.

  He knew last night. He knew he had to leave, but he still made love to me in the woods, bathed in moonlight, and acted like we were on the verge of starting something serious.

  Or maybe I read the signs all wrong.

  Maybe he wasn’t saying “let’s get started on forever.” Maybe he was saying goodbye…

  I swipe at my eyes.

  “He’s a good man,” I repeat to myself. “He’s a good man.”

  But why didn’t he tell me? When was he going to tell me? Was he going to tell me at all? Or was he just planning to ghost when it was time to report?

  “He’s different, Noelle. He is.”

  But is he?

  Is he different than Derrick?

  All the memes suggest he’s the best of the best, but they’re just that—memes. Entertainment. No man is actually larger than life. Not even Clint O’Dell.

  My phone rings, and my dad’s face lights the screen. I try to swallow all the emotion clogging my throat, but I can’t. I know my dad won’t judge me. He might be a tough-as-nails, crusty old Marine, but he’s also my dad, and he’s never expected me to deny having emotions.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t try.

  I swipe to answer and put the phone to my ear, turning away from the letter.

  Muffins. I’m still baking muffins, dammit. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Happy early birthday, pumpkin. How’s my little girl?”

  A tear rolls down my face as I move back into the kitchen and pull the flour out of the cupboard. “I’m…okay.”

  There’s a beat of silence. Then, “You having trouble with a boy again?”

  I could deny it. Pretend it’s just trouble adjusting in Happy Cat. But he’s my dad, and he’ll see right through me.

  So I buck up and tell him the truth. “I fell in love with a Marine, and he got orders. Right when it seemed like we were really clicking and I don’t… I can’t…” I take a deep breath. “I don’t want him to leave.”

  More silence.

  He’s probably debating between demanding Clint’s name so he can do a thorough investigation, and assuring me that if this boy is worth his salt, he’s worth fighting for.

  I grab eggs and milk from the fridge and pre-heat the oven, and soon enough, Dad clears his throat. “You love him?”

  “I tried really, really hard not to. But he’s just such a great guy, Dad.”

  “Does he love you back?”

  I try to stifle a miserable laugh, but I don’t quite make it. “Maybe? I think so. But I’m not the best judge there, am I?”

  “Did he ask you to go with him?”

  I sniff. “He doesn’t know that I know about the orders. I don’t think I was supposed to see the letter. I wasn’t snooping, I swear, it just…happened.”

  He grunts. “Not something a man can hide for long.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I confess. “I thought we could just be friends, but…I can’t help the way I feel.”

  “Well, sounds to me like change is coming whether you like it or not. You gonna hop online and buy an amusement park this time?”

  This time, my laugh is real. “No.”

  “But you’re gonna leave this new town you’re living in, aren’t you?”

  My breath catches as I realize what he’s saying.

  My friends here—all of them—adore Clint. Hell, they’re related to Clint. I won’t be able to go anywhere without seeing Cassie and Olivia and Hope, and Clint’s brothers by extension. And the senior citizens will be meme-ing him for months after he’s gone.

  So do I stay, and deal with the pain? Do I run, the way I did after Derrick?

  Or do I woman up and tell Clint how I feel, and see if he feels the same way?

  But where do we go if he does?

  I stare at the protein flour, the can of pumpkin, the eggs and the milk, and I realize I can’t keep running from life. I can’t run from my problems. And I can’t assume they’ll get better somewhere else.

  Moving every few years taught me a lot.

  But I didn’t realize until just this minute how much it taught me about keeping my distance and not letting people close.

  That’s why I came to Happy Cat, isn’t it?

  To be anonymous? Start over? Leave my troubles behind instead of dealing with them?

  But trouble always finds you. And I’m always going to be there when I get to somewhere new. So maybe it’s time to work on changing the way I handle hard times instead of running away from them.

  “No, I’m not leaving,” I say. And then I repeat it, stronger. “I’m not leaving. I like Happy Cat. I like the people. They’re so nice. And welcoming. Like they understand the military definition of family, you know? I feel like they’re making me one of their own.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nod to myself. “Everyone’s a little different here, and that’s what makes us all special. It’s almost like I was supposed to land here. And last night, Clint took me to his family’s winter celebration, and it was just—it was so magical, Dad. All night. I loved every minute. I can’t imagine not belonging here.”

  “Even if your Marine leaves?”

  I swallow hard, but before I can figure out the answer to that, Dad adds, “And what if he asks you to go with him? To give up this special place you’ve found?”

  The tears threaten again as I mull over the possibility that Clint might actually want me to go with him.

  I have so much here. My bakery. My friends. My crappy little rental house. Still, it’s mine.

  But I won’t have Clint.

  Unless—

  Unless I can be brave.

  And leap.

  “Daddy, I need to go,” I whisper. “I have to bake some muffins.”

  “If that’s what you kids are calling it these days, I have some serious concerns about our next generation.”

  “Dad.”

  He chuckles. “I love you, pumpkin. I’m sorry I’m missing your birthday and Christmas again, but I’ll come see you soon. Promise.”

  “Love you too. Be safe. And this doesn’t excuse you from calling on my birthday.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I’m smiling through tears as I hang up. But as I look at all the muffin ingredients laid out again, I realize I can’t do it.

  I can’t bake.

  I’m too nervous.

  But nerves be damned. I have to go find Clint. I have to go to this amazing man that I love, and I have to leap.

  Twenty-Five

  Noelle

  I can’t find Clint.

  I can’t find him anywhere, and I’m starting to panic.

  He didn’t get home while I was in the shower. He’s not answering his phone. Hope and Olivia haven’t seen him. His parents don’t know where he is. Not even the town’
s InstaChat page is reporting any Clint sightings, which is unusual, since the senior brigade likes to sneak pictures of him running to use for new memes.

  “It’s the ghost,” Olivia says when I call her for a second time. “He’s probably talking to the ghost. Meet me at the bakery.”

  I leave Clint a note to please come find me at Second Chance whenever he gets home, and then I dash out the door, only to remember that I don’t have my car. But Clint’s truck is here, so I jog back inside to find his keys, leave him another note that I’m borrowing it to go look for him, and finally head to town.

  I pull up behind the bakery with Olivia right on my heels on her Vespa, which has to be cold. But she’s wrapped up in a scarf and a warm coat, and leaps off without hesitation. “Hope’s coming too.”

  Sure enough, another truck rumbles down the alley. It’s an ancient thing, which means it’s definitely Hope.

  And she’s pulling a trailer with Don Juan in back.

  “Oh, Noelle, the door’s open,” Olivia says in a hushed voice. “This isn’t good.”

  I peek through the door and suck in a breath.

  There’s something dark splattered all over the floor, walls, and work surfaces, and one of my copper pans is dented and lying crooked on the floor.

  “Is that Clint’s ID?” Olivia says, pointing to a military-issue identification card on the floor.

  That does it.

  If the ghost, or whoever’s been doing this, has hurt Clint, they’re going to regret it. Big time.

  I barrel into the room. “Where are you, you friggin’ grinch?”

  I turn in a circle, listening, but all I see is my utility room door open.

  With the door to the basement at the back open too.

  Oh, no.

  If Clint’s down there, we’ll never find him.

  Olivia drifts toward the door, and it doesn’t take a mind-reader to know what she’s thinking.

  “No,” I tell her. “You stay and call the sheriff. My bakery, my problem. Besides, Clover needs you. Kids shouldn’t grow up without their mothers. I’ll go down.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine.” She touches my shoulder. “Wait for Hope. And Don Juan.”

  “But if Clint’s hurt…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I can’t wait.”

  And I don’t.

  I grab for the nearest weapon and head down into the creepy basement, knowing at least some of what I’m going to find.

  The remnants of someone’s hopes and dreams. Lost things that have gone unclaimed. Junk that was never loved or cared for.

  And please, please, not Clint.

  But if he’s injured and needs help, I’ll take care of it. Of him. I’m the daughter of a Marine, dammit. I can do this.

  Plus, I’ve armed myself with my marble rolling pin, so worst case, I can do at least some damage to whoever’s plotting against me and my bakery.

  I sneak down slowly, hugging the wall, squinting into the shadows, but it’s dark down here.

  Except for two faint pools of light in the corner…

  A moment later, I catch the sound of soft voices that get louder as I continue my descent, careful not to make any noise.

  “You could’ve just asked her.”

  The voice is so familiar and clear, so alive, that I have to clap my fingers to my mouth to hold back a sob. Belatedly, I recall that I’m holding a rolling pin in that hand, and end up smacking myself in the nose, missing the other person’s reply.

  “Who’s there?” Clint calls. “Noelle? That you?”

  “What’s going on?” I ask in my tough-girl voice.

  Just in case.

  “C’mon down, Cupcake. We solved a mystery this morning.”

  “Are you safe?”

  His answering chuckle is so welcome that I find myself fighting tears again. “Barely scratched.”

  He appears at the bottom of the stairs, a little dusty, with a few red marks on his face illuminated by the cell phone in his hand, but whole and safe.

  I fly the rest of the way down and launch myself at him, dropping the rolling pin to the floor. “You’re okay!”

  His arms go around me, and I suddenly don’t care where he goes in the world, so long as he takes me with him.

  Please, please want to take me with you.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” He strokes my back while he holds me tight. “It’s okay. Nobody’s hurt. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  “I love you,” I sob into his neck. “I love you and I thought you were hurt. And I know you have to leave, but I love you, and I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  He squeezes me harder, and it’s the best feeling in the world. “I love you too, Cupcake. So much.”

  His voice is husky, and his arms so steady and reassuring that I don’t just want to believe him. I…do. I believe him. I feel the honesty in his words deep in my soul in a way I’ve never known.

  “I was so afraid the ghost got you.” I can’t squeeze him hard enough.

  “Friendly ghost. Promise.”

  “But—”

  “Here. Hold on—there’s someone who owes you an apology.”

  I lift my head, remembering we have an audience.

  Steph Wilson, the receptionist at the accounting firm next door, is huddled on top of the reindeer float looking like I used to feel when my dad would give me a dressing-down.

  I can’t find words, because I know what Clint’s implying.

  That my neighbor—one of the people who came over to help out after the bakery was broken into—is the one responsible for all the trouble.

  He sets me on my feet and beckons Steph closer.

  She climbs off the float, staring at the floor. She’s closer to Clint’s age than mine, but she looks much younger as she approaches us, her usually stern expression soft and guilty-looking. “My dad owned this place back when it was a flower shop.”

  She pauses. Clint folds his arms and gives her a keep going look.

  But she looks so miserable, I can’t help wanting to give her a hug. Yes, she’s hurt me, but she’s clearly in far more pain than I am.

  “When he died, he left his house to me and his shop to my sister. I wanted the shop, but Amanda wouldn’t trade. She moved out of town a long time ago and didn’t want either one. She said I would be wasting my money trying to revive dad’s already failed business, but I was saving up to buy it anyway. And then… Well, then you bought it. But I thought if things didn’t come easy your first few months here…”

  “That you could chase me away?” I finish.

  She sniffs, nodding miserably. “It’s just…I feel my dad when I’m here. And I miss him. I just wanted more time with him, you know?”

  I’m shocked. And hurt.

  But I also completely get it.

  I miss my dad too, and I can see him again. In real life.

  I sigh. “Why didn’t you ask me if I might be willing to sell?”

  Her lips press together. “I tried, when you first got here. But you weren’t like you are now. Approachable. Friendly. You were…”

  “Hurt,” I finish for her softly.

  And intentionally distancing myself from everyone around me, even if I didn’t realize it.

  “What’s going on down there?” Hope calls. “Do you need Don Juan? He heard Clint’s voice and he’s pretty excited about seeing his favorite person. Though I’m not sure how he’ll fare on the stairs.”

  “I’ll be right up,” Clint calls, giving me a gentle squeeze on my shoulder before turning to my neighbor. “Steph, show Noelle the secret door. And then promise her you’ll never use it again. And then apologize. Then you two can get to work figuring out how to make this right.”

  He kisses me on the head, and murmurs in my ear, “And then you’d better come upstairs and see me. I’m not anywhere close to done with telling you how much I love you.”

  He heads up the stairs to keep the reindeer out of my bakery, and I turn back to Steph.

  “I’m sorry
, Noelle,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I just wanted the flower shop back so badly, and I didn’t know how to ask for it.”

  I cross my arms at my chest. “Well, people could have gotten hurt. Not knowing what’s in my baked goods is dangerous. So many people have serious allergies, even to seemingly harmless things like beans and marshmallows.”

  She cringes. “Wow, yeah…I didn’t think about that. Now I feel even worse.”

  “Not to mention that I could’ve gotten hurt by that recipe box fire. That was you, right?”

  She nods miserably again.

  “And you could’ve gotten hurt coming up and down these rickety old stairs.”

  “You’re completely right. And I’m so sorry.” She wipes her nose, the tears falling freely now. “I’ll turn myself in to the sheriff this morning. And I’ll pay damages. I just wanted… Wondered…” She sniffs harder. “Do you think maybe I could come sit in here sometimes? Please? To be near my dad?”

  Maybe I’m crazy, but I can’t stop myself from nodding. It’s Christmas. And she’s alone and grieving a lost parent. And I know exactly how that feels. “Of course, honey.”

  Her wide eyes glisten. “Really?”

  “Really. My mom left when I was a kid, and I miss my dad too ,” I say. “And I can still call him almost anytime I want. I’m not cool with the idea of you staying in here by yourself right now, and I’d prefer you use the front door, but if you want to come talk to him during business hours, I get it. And I’m on board.”

  She lunges at me, wrapping me up tight as she says, “Oh, thank you, Noelle. Thank you so much.”

  I pat her back with one hand. Hugging her feels awkward—she has been sabotaging my bakery and spreading unholy farts through the seniors of Happy Cat—but it’s Christmas.

  “Thank you,” she says again as she pulls away. “I’m so sorry. And thank you.”

  “Noelle? Steph? Sheriff’s here,” Clint calls down the stairs.

  Steph wipes her eyes, and nods. “On it. Ready to take my medicine,” she says, and then she heads upstairs.