Under the Mistle-Foe (Christmas Falls: Season 2)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

REMY

I hadn’t known what I was thinking when I asked Jett that question, like I wanted him to come to the diner. I told myself paying customers were always welcome at the diner.

And that was the only reason for the little ray of happiness that blossomed in my chest when he came by the next day and took his seat at his usual booth by the window. The one that gave me the perfect view of him from the kitchen.

He was wearing my scarf and beanie, the one I’d put on him yesterday. Along with his long coat, he looked cute, all bundled up like that.

Something tickled the depth of my heart as I watched him shed his layers and settle into his seat, but I focused back on the task at hand. Rory was off today, leaving me the only one in the kitchen. Dad wasobediently sitting by the register, though when Jett arrived, he migrated to his table to chat with the younger man.

It wasn’t busy today since most were probably finishing their Thanksgiving leftovers, so after doing a quick inventory, I went up front as well. I found Jett chatting all chummily with Atlas—because of course he was. He charmed the hearts and made friends with everyone he came across, except for me. I smiled at the thought that I’d somehow become his friend in the end.

I brought over some fries I’d just fried up, and they made room for me at the booth. We munched on the snack as they continued their conversation.

“We just became friends and now I find out that you’re moving soon?” Jett’s deep rumble sounded as he teased Atlas. “Where did you say you’re moving to?”

“Kither Springs,” Atlas said with a toothy grin. “Here, I’ll show you. A popular travel vlogger visited the town recently and showed the idyllic countryside. It’s a completely different vibe from our town, with mountains and grassland as far as the eye can see. Heard it has mild weather year-round too.”

“No snow? Sounds nice,” Jett added.

“How can you celebrate the holidays in mild weather and no snow?” Dad shook his head. “It makes no sense.”

Jett and Atlas shared a smile. “I’ll let you know after my first holiday there next year,” Atlas said with a laugh. “Though I will miss all the festivities that happen around here.”

“I can’t imagine being anywhere else other than Christmas Falls for the holidays,” Jett said. “But I think it’s super sweet you’re moving to a new town for him.”

“I didn’t take you for a romantic,” I commented. Jett glanced toward me, a slight pink tinting his cheeks as he looked away.

His reaction was interesting and made me wonder why he was single, if he was into love and all that jazz. Then I remembered how he was going to go on some single’s night for Thanksgiving before I’d invited him over.

A nasty feeling I didn’t want to acknowledge sneaked up at the thought of him not being single. So I pushed that thought to the back of my head not to be explored again.

Jett’s relationship status—or lack thereof—was none of my business. I just had to keep reminding myself of that.

It was busier at the diner the next day. Folks seemed to have come out from their Thanksgiving food coma for fresh air and a change of pace. Jett had come today as well, with his laptop this time. He had it out in front of him, but he was mostly chatting with the few people he was sharing his table with.

Not that I was paying attention to his actions or anything like that. I was just keeping an eye on my dining area. My long-past dream of taking over the diner came rushing back. I looked through the serving hatch again to hear the chatter and laughter of familiar faces as they enjoyed their meal. This was what Dad had meant when he said the diner was a community. And it wasn’t so bad.

November ended with the comfort of home and a cold splash of reality into December.

Dad had texted me saying a friend was picking him up for an errand. I had no reason to question him and figured he and Uncle Rob were up to something again.

What I hadn’t expected was that by deciding to head to the diner early, I’d find Dad and Jett outside the diner door setting up the same arch Mom had used ever since I could remember. Even after all these years, the plastic green foliage covering the metal arch was still vibrant and full of life.

Dad was leaning on his crutches, mostly giving out orders as Jett assembled the dang thing. Something about the scene had me snapping. Or maybe it was the chilling reminder that this was yet another tradition Mom would never get to enjoy again that struck a nerve. Or the fact Dad felt like he couldn’t rely on me once again to help with setting up the arch. I was still a failure in his eyes, and he had to run to the perfect Jett for help.

It had me seeing red as I strode up to the two. Jett was on a ladder, hanging up the mistletoe in the middle of the arch while Dad held it steady for him. He hung the fresh mistletoe—nothing compared to the real thing my mom had always said—then a huge beaming smile bloomed on his face as if he was proud of the entire thing.

Jett caught sight of me, his crooked smile brightening. His smile did something to my insides, making them feel tighter, which only made my irritation rise even more. It must have shown on my face, because his expression quickly fell as he climbed down the ladder.

Dad turned around to face me too, weariness in his eyes. The exhaustion aged him, making him look so vulnerable, and his broken leg did nothing to help that image.

I swallowed whatever words that had bubbled in my throat. “Fuck,” I muttered and turned back the way I came.

“Remy…” Jett called out, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not when I felt like my insides would crawl out of my skin. I needed to be alone or else I’d do or say something I’d regret.

I worried Jett would follow me, as he was prone to do, but thankfully, Dad stopped him and told him to give me some space. I was lighting up before I could even figure out where I was going. My feet took me forward, and a cloud of smoke trailed behind me.

Annoyed stares followed me on the sidewalk. This place was so different from New York, where nobody would bat an eye at a smoker on the streets. Here, I felt like I was committing the vilest crime, and yeah, sure, the smoke wasn’t good for the environment or whatever, but what it was good for was keeping me from blowing my top. It gave me something to do, something to focus on, something that I could control .

I walked away from the main area and entered Sugar Plum Park. Even in the early morning, people wandered around. Lovers on a morning date or families enjoying the quiet festivities before they got on with the rest of their day.

The peaceful atmosphere was a stark contrast to how I felt as I stomped deeper into the park. The further away from the crowd and closer to nature I got, the lighter everything felt. I could physically feel the steam leaving me.

Christmas Falls hadn’t even spared the park from the holiday decorations, which were hanging on each of the lampposts. The trash cans hadn’t escaped the holiday flair either.

Seeing the familiar obsession our little town had with Christmas had a way of calming me. Five years away, and some things never changed, regardless of how much everything else had. In a weird way, it made my problems not feel so big anymore, reminding me that things would be okay.

I was much calmer by the time I left the park. I entered the diner from the back, but I could hear the people clamoring from the front. The diner was open and the breakfast rush was about to come upon us. I barely had time to put on my apron before going into automatic mode to help Rory cook.

Orders were flying in so fast I didn’t have time to stop and think. It was exactly what I needed right now. To move my body, do something I loved in a place I loved, without complicating it with the memories that surrounded me.

When the rush was over, I walked to the front. I looked around and didn’t see the familiar head of brown hair in his usual seat. Most of the customers had left already, so maybe he’d decided to leave as well.

Dad’s eyes watched me the entire time, and I knew he would have words for me. It was embarrassing as hell to throw a tantrum as an adult, never mind having my dad witness it.

I padded over there, feeling my metaphorical tail between my legs. At least the diner was mostly empty, so the entire town wasn’t witnessing my shame. I walked to Dad’s side. His eyes never left mine once.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” I started. He hummed to acknowledge he’d heard me. We stared at each other for a minute, neither of us saying anything before I asked the question that had been on my mind.

“Why didn’t you ask me to help you? Am I that unreliable?” My voice was soft as I tried to mask my hurt.

Dad grabbed my hand. His hands were rough and calloused from years of working in the kitchen, but his hold on me was surprisingly gentle.

“I never meant for you to feel that way. I just didn’t want to burden you.” He sighed, patted the back of my hand, then gestured for me to sit on the stool next to him.

“You have your own path, and I don’t want to become baggage?—”

“You’re not!” I interrupted. I wanted to say more, to tell him that the only person holding me back was me , but he held up a hand to stop me.

“I know after what happened to your mom, you felt like you needed to leave.”

My shoulders drooped. After Mom’s passing, I ran as far away from Christmas Falls as I could, and I hadn’t looked back since. I was a horrible son.

“I’m not saying this to shame you or make you feel bad.” Dad gently knocked my knee with his red cast. I looked up to face his serious expression. Dad had always been expressive in his emotions. He was easy to anger, then just as easily laughing away all his problems, but he was rarely serious like this, which only made me sit up a bit straighter .

“It’s okay if your heart isn’t here anymore. It’s okay to start over in a new city if that’s what you need to do. But every time you come back to visit me, I see the guilt and worry hanging over your head when you think I’m not looking. So I wanted you to know that I’m doing just fine. I’ll be okay , so you don’t have to worry about me or feel pressured every time you come to visit. Christmas Falls may no longer be your home, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel at home when you’re back.”

Christmas Falls may no longer be your home .

Those words hit me like a forty-ton truck. Because despite moving to New York, the Big Apple never felt like my home, not in the distinct way Christmas Falls had been for me.

But how was I supposed to find my home if I kept running instead of healing?

I needed some time to process this. It was nice knowing Dad hadn’t found me unreliable, and that he just hadn’t wanted to burden me, but I never wanted him to feel like a burden in the first place.

That was something I needed to work on within myself. I knew that. But those things were always easier said than done.

I stood and told Dad I was heading to grab a drink at Jolly Java. Before I left, he held something out for me. “Do me a favor and hang this on the arch outside. To celebrate one of my happy memories this year in Christmas Falls.”

The item dropped into my palm. It was the little frying pan ornament I’d gotten Dad on a whim at the Arts and Crafts Fair last week.

Fuck. The wind must have gotten inside the diner and stunned my eyes.

I gripped the little ornament and quickly turned away before the wind got any stronger and had me tearing up completely.

It was another one of Mom’s traditions. She’d set up the mistletoe arch in front of the diner to wish everyone who walked through those doors happiness and love.

Then she had us slowly fill up the arch with happy memories of Christmas Falls from that year. Random ornaments we’d picked up throughout the year, notes we’d received, pictures capturing a moment we loved. I’d even tried to hang up a monster truck I’d gotten as a present one year. It’d been too heavy to place it at the top of the arch like I’d wanted, but I’d settled on displaying it in front of the arch for a day.

It didn’t matter what it was; the arch would be filled with all our cherished memories from that year. And it was always full, every year.

I’d always avoided coming to the diner whenever I’d visited in December, scared that Dad kept this tradition going— and even more scared he hadn’t . I pretended that if I couldn’t see it, then it wasn’t a scar that stabbed at my heart.

I’d only been back to Christmas Falls a handful of times this year and hadn’t had enough happy memories to contribute to the arch, but as I hung the first happy token—courtesy of Dad—I felt lighter than I had in years.