A Very Grumpy Lumberjack Christmas

5. Noel

5

NOEL

S tepping out onto Main Street in downtown Mistletoe, my renewed holiday spirit goes into overdrive, fueled by the music, the people, and the entire vibe. After spending the evening and most of today decorating the exterior and interior of the house as best we could on our own with the bitter cold, driving snow, and high winds, there was only one thing left to do—

Well, two.

The fact that the corner of the living room still stands bare of the single most important piece of Christmas regalia doesn’t sit well with me, but at the same time, the mere thought of having to step foot on the Crisps’ property again prevented me from stopping to throw a tree on the top of the rental car.

Driving past it on the way into town, I forced my eyes to stay on the slippery road.

No rabbits or hunky, grumpy lumberjacks were going to distract me from my destination today—or my goal.

My gaze drifts down to the small box in my hands that holds the shattered remains of the ornament .

Let it go, Noel.

I could have thrown it away last night when I swept up the shards. I should have tossed it into the trash, along with the memory that came with it.

Could have.

Should have.

But couldn’t.

In the end, as I stood over that open trash can, broken pieces of the beautiful gift mimicking the ones of my heart, my hand wouldn’t brush them into the bin. It shook as I tried to. And eventually, I put them into this box—along with any hope of anything ever feeling the way it did that night again.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t allow Mistletoe and the sights, smells, and sounds of Christmas Eve day to envelop me and soothe away the pain that lingers from the losses I’ve suffered—both Dad and the man who gave me this ornament.

And it’s already working wonders.

Tugging my beanie down farther over my ears to combat the wind, I scan downtown.

Mr. Monson stands on the corner across from me, dressed as Santa Claus, ringing the charity bell over his red bag for donations, greeting everyone as they pass by with a jolly, “Ho, ho, ho.”

Members of the mayor’s staff mill about the town square, still setting up for the ceremony tonight, despite the incoming major blizzard.

They won’t cancel for anything .

Not even subzero temperatures have ever stopped a Mistletoe Christmas Eve celebration.

A “little” snow and wind won’t, either.

Instead of heading for the square to watch everyone skating and the final preparations, the smell of Mrs. Wagner’s sugar cookies draws me away from my car and toward the bakery .

I hadn’t planned to make any stops other than to the Rose Boutique, but I can’t resist that scent.

Which is precisely her intent.

The wise woman cracks the front door, even in the most frigid of temperatures, to ensure anyone passing by will get a noseful and be unable to resist stopping in.

My mouth waters, imagining the flaky goodness melting against my tongue.

Just a quick stop.

I tug open the already-cracked door, and the bell above jingles. Instantly, all eyes turn in my direction. A few people I don’t know—likely tourists in town for the ceremony eye me before quickly returning to their conversations. But most of the faces and longer stares are far too familiar.

Nancy Wagner’s eyes snap open wide. “Noel”—she rushes from around the corner, wiping her hands on her apron—“I heard you were back and that you got into a car accident. Are you all right?”

Word travels far too fast in this town.

“I’m fine, Nancy. Just swerved to avoid a rabbit and hit a little ice. Ended up in the ditch. No damage to the car or me, I promise.”

I force a smile because she genuinely means well, and her concern isn’t an act. As one of Mom’s best friends, she practically helped raise me, so I shouldn’t be dismissive of her—even if I have no desire to discuss what went down with Luke.

She wraps her arm around me and walks me over to a vacant table like I can’t—or shouldn’t—stand after my “ordeal.” Squeezing me tightly, she leans in conspiratorially. “I bet you could use a sugar cookie”—she winks—“or two.”

The woman knows me too well.

After thirty years of satisfying my sweet tooth, she should.

“And a cup of coffee, too.” I slowly lower myself into one of the chairs at the small round table. “Please.”

Her gray brows rise. “Would you like a latte or cappuccino instead?”

Latte?

Cappuccino?

Where the hell am I?

Last time I was here, the coffee came from the same old carafe it had for decades—with burned-on remnants of hundreds of pots before it permanently staining the bottom.

And it was the only option.

“When did you get an espresso machine?”

She grins as she motions toward it in the corner of the shop behind the counter. “It was a splurge. I probably shouldn’t have bought it, but you know”—Nancy waves a hand toward the two tables of customers who are definitely not locals—“trying to stay up with the times and whatnot.”

What she really means is trying to cater to a completely different clientele than she does any other time of the year. But I am not one of those frou-frou coffee people, even if I am no longer a Mistletoe permanent resident.

“Just black coffee is great, Nancy.”

I scan the shop for any other changes I may have initially missed when I walked in while she gets to work on my drink, but I make the mistake of allowing my gaze to land on the table in the corner.

Where a certain someone always sits.

As she does right now.

Oh, Lord…

Bambi Burrell gives me a finger wave from her seat, then grabs her cup of coffee and plate and comes to join me, practically bounding across the small shop like the baby deer she’s named after.

Shit .

She scoots into the chair opposite me, offering me a bright smile and a glint of mischief in her amber eyes. “So, I hear you saw Luke yesterday…”

For the love of all that’s holy…

I try to keep my annoyance out of my voice. “How do you know that?”

She smiles and waggles her eyebrows. “How I know every thing that happens in Mistletoe?”

The gossip queen hasn’t lost her crown since high school; she’s just moved on to more adult stories.

I’d greatly prefer that my love life—or lack thereof—stay out of her list of discussion topics. But I’ve known Bambi long enough to understand that ignoring her question or trying to dodge it will only further stir the pot and cause her to interject her own suppositions and theories into whatever she blasts around Mistletoe.

I manage to avoid her inquisition most of the time when I come home to visit, but now that I made the mistake of stopping in for a sweet treat and dared to do it after something as exciting as a car accident and contact with the Grinch, I might as well have my head in a guillotine.

“Yes, Bambi, I saw Luke and—”

She shifts closer, hands clasped tightly around her mug, eyes wide and ears open. “And what happened?”

If you didn’t interrupt me, I could tell you.

At least, tell her some of it.

Just enough to get her off my back.

And since Luke doesn’t come into town anymore, I won’t have to worry about him interjecting any other information into the gossip cesspool Mistletoe can become.

Nancy arrives with my coffee and plate of cookies, giving me a much-needed moment to consider how much to reveal to the woman who is walking word vomit and might twist anything I say into a coiled mess that no longer resembles the actual sentences that left my mouth.

“Thanks, Nancy.” I accept the coffee and immediately take a sip, savoring the bitter liquid as Bambi drums her manicured nails on the Formica tabletop, waiting for me to spill. Grabbing a cookie, I smile at Nancy, who continues to stand next to me expectantly, like she, too, is waiting to hear whatever I have to say about my run-in with Luke. “This looks incredible.”

Bambi’s fingers move faster as I chew my first delicious bite.

The cookie practically melts in my mouth, the familiar flavor warming me just as much as the coffee does. But I can’t put it off any longer, or Bambi might have an aneurysm right here, right now.

“Well, I saw Luke, and he was…difficult.”

That seems like the most reasonable term for his attitude.

Anything else would only make me seem like a bitter ex looking to take a jab at the man who broke her heart any way she can.

Bambi snorts and shakes her head, lifting her mug to her too-red lips. “Isn’t he always these days?”

I grasp my cookie a little too hard, cracking it slightly. “Is he really that bad?”

Why am I asking?

It isn’t as if I didn’t witness it myself yesterday.

Nancy exchanges a look with Bambi, then squeezes my shoulder. “Yeah, hon, he is. Anything you thought you knew about him pretty much went out the window the minute you left town.”

Mom and Dad told me as much over the years.

Maybe I was na?ve to believe he would have stayed the man I knew after so long, but it’s impossible to accept that he could change so much. That he could have gone from the friendly, outgoing, funny, playful, helpful, and loving person I always knew him to be to…what I saw yesterday.

I take another bite to give myself a moment to consider what Nancy said. Holding up the final small piece, I smile at her. “I’ve missed these.”

“You wouldn’t have to if you visited more often or maybe even moved home…”

Leaning back slightly in my chair, I raise a brow. “Did my mom pay you to say that?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No. It’s just really nice having you here under more pleasant circumstances.”

I try not to let the sorrow hit me immediately, but it’s hard not to think about the last time I was here and saw her when she baked everything for Dad’s wake.

“Honey?”

Blinking away the forming tears, I glance up at her. “What?”

“Your dad, he was super proud of you and what you’ve done with your career. He’d be happy you’re home for Christmas, but he knew why you left and never wanted you to feel guilty about it.”

It’s the same thing he told me time and again. The very words Mom repeated after he died and I considered quitting my job to come home to be with her…

I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that from someone else, too.

“Thank you.”

Some of the guilt about leaving that always weighs on me seems to dissipate as I devour the rest of my cookie and set to work on the second, sipping at my coffee and watching people scurry back and forth on the sidewalk outside, hustling to get ready for Christmas tomorrow.

“Is that it?” Bambi raises a brow. “He was difficult and…”

Shit.

I was stupid to think that would be enough to appease her.

“And he dragged my car out of the ditch and sent me on my way. It was a very brief, unfriendly encounter I don’t hope to repeat anytime soon.”

Her eyes widen slightly.

Crap.

That may have crossed the line into the bitter ex territory.

Forcing a smile, I sip my coffee. “But if I run into him, it’ll be fine. It’s been a long time since we were together. Ancient history.”

Nancy nods with a smug grin. “Mmmhmm. Well, since that boy never sets foot in town this time of year, I think you’re safe. Unless you go and decide to run your car off the road in front of the tree lot again.”

“Very funny.”

She chuckles and moves away to check on the other tables while Bambi watches me expectantly.

“What?”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re not telling me something.”

There’s a lot I’m not telling her and never will.

“Nope. That’s it!” I check outside again at the snow continuing to fall. “Are you heading to the ceremony tonight?”

She nods, still eyeing me. “I plan to…”

“Good.” Excellent segue to a safer topic. “I’ll see you there.”

And walk the other direction as soon as I do.

Right now, it’s time to ditch the bakery before she can grill me any further and do what I actually came into town to accomplish today.

I grab the box from the table and start to make my way toward the counter to pay, but Nancy motions me away with a swift hand.

“Your money isn’t good here.”

“You know you’re not going to be able to afford to keep that fancy machine if you don’t let people pay.”

She smiles. “I’ll let other people pay. Not you, hon. Not when I changed your diapers.”

“Oh, God. I don’t need to be reminded of that, but thank you.”

I slip back out onto the sidewalk. The sultry sounds of Bing Crosby piped over the speakers across Main Street in town square fill my ears, and I sing along as I walk the half block to Rose’s.

Transferring the box to one hand, I tug open the door and step inside, welcoming the blast of warm air.

Bethany glances up from behind the counter. “Noel, welcome home!”

I smile and approach her, my hands trembling slightly around the box. “Thank you. It’s good to see you.”

And with her , I mean it.

Unlike Bambi, she’s actually happy to see me home for reasons other than providing fodder for the town gossip mill.

“What can I do for you?”

I hold up the box. “Well, unfortunately, I broke my favorite ornament.”

“Oh, no.”

“I’m almost positive it was purchased here, and I was hoping you might have another one.”

Even if I should let it go…

She holds out her hands. “Well, I can certainly take a look.”

I pass it over the counter to her, and she sets it down and flips back the lid, staring down at the remains.

Bethany reaches in and pulls out the largest piece to examine it. “This is beautiful. Or…it was.”

Like a knife to the chest.

“I know. It slipped out of my hand.”

That was shaking.

Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who gave it to me.

“I’m sorry, Noel, but I don’t think this is one of ours.”

“What?” I glance around the shop at all the handmade ornaments. “But it looks just like something you’d carry.”

She nods, twisting the piece in the light to examine Santa. “The plain green globe might be, but this painting…”—she shakes her head and snags another chunk—“it doesn’t look like anything I did.”

“Well, this was from ten years ago. Maybe your mom?”

After all, it was Rose’s name on the shop and had been since before I was born.

“Definitely not.” Bethany leans over conspiratorially and peeks toward the rear of the shop, where her mother is probably lurking. “My mom kind of sucked at decorating these. I did most of the painting, or she paid others to do it. But I don’t recognize this style. And please don’t ever reveal that dirty family secret.”

I bark out a laugh and quickly cover my mouth to try to stop it. Rose’s shop has always been regarded as the place to get custom and high-end ornaments, which means she must have been hiring really great artists to get them done if she can’t do it herself. “Well, I wonder where it could be from, then?”

Bethany sets the pieces back in the box, leaving the top tucked back and open. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask whoever gave it to you?”

My throat tightens as I stare down at the shards, but I force a swallow through the lump there. “I’ll do that. ”

She offers a sympathetic smile. “Anything else I can do for you?”

If only there were.

There apparently is no replacing what’s in this box, just like there’s no hope of ever seeing the old Luke again.

I step out of the shop onto the street, clutching the last remnants of who he once was in the open box and staring down at them.

Where the hell could the ornament be from?

This town might look like it puked Christmas, but when it comes to hand-blown glass and hand-painted ornaments, Rose’s is the only place that has ever carried this quality.

I stand on the curb, watching a few cars trail by in the rapidly accumulating snow on the road, considering if there is anywhere else I haven’t thought of, any other possibilities before I give up all hope.

The weatherman said the storm will hit tonight, closer to midnight, and this steady fall of heavy, wet flakes will increase until then as temps continue to plummet and winds increase.

Potentially as much as twenty inches of snow over the next two to three days—one of the largest blizzards we’ve had in decades.

And it has to fall on Christmas…

It seems the Grinch has gotten his way.

Luke is probably thrilled the town’s holiday plans are likely going to be in shambles.

I can already see the difficulty everyone’s having in trying to get set up for the ceremony tonight. Papers and garland float away in a blustery gust. Light strings don’t hang properly and keep coming detached. Even the temporary dais they’re setting up doesn’t seem to want to cooperate—pieces haphazardly strewn near the top of the courthouse steps when it should be fully built and ready by now.

Would they actually cancel?

If they did, it would be a first.

But this storm feels different.

More dangerous.

Like whatever is coming will change things in a way no one in this sleepy town could anticipate.

Still, despite the nasty winds, freezing temps, my broken ornament, and even the gossip swirling thanks to my return home and run-in with Luke, I can’t help smiling, staring up at the massive town tree.

The centerpiece of Mistletoe.

A physical representation of the Christmas spirit towering above everyone and everything.

Looking at it brings a flood of beautiful memories.

Decades of standing beneath it and watching Dad direct the decorating. Attending the Christmas Eve ceremony with Luke. Skating on the ice and playing pick-up hockey games with him and our friends.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, my feet carry me to the curb, and I glance either way before I hurry across crawling traffic, drawn to the tree the same way I always have been.

Snowflakes float around me, the crisp, clean scent mingling with those coming from the bakery and other shops lining the square on all sides. “Winter Wonderland” plays through the speakers, mixing with the laughter of children on the ice and running around the square.

My heart warms as I make it to the base of the tree and stare up at it. By far, it is one of the largest trees I’ve ever seen that wasn’t still standing in the forests surrounding Mistletoe.

And it’s absolutely perfect.

Stunningly symmetrical branches filled with fluffy needles and a strong trunk that supports its massive weight completely straight despite the wind’s best effort to batter it into submission.

I can almost forget all the reasons I have not to be happy in this moment—

Until the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

And not from the wind.

This is a different kind of chill.

One brought on by the gaze of a certain man.

My body heats as someone moves up close behind me, and a familiar gravelly voice floats over me with his warm breath on my cheek. “I should have known I’d find you here.”