Chapter 15

15

Elinor arrived on the scene. "Hello, everyone, Merry Christmas," she chirped. "Are you ready to see Santa?" she asked the little boy.

"No," said his father even as the boy hooted, "Yes!"

"Let's follow Mrs. Claus, Corky," said Jenn, and they led the boy away.

"You," Griffin Marks snarled, pointing a finger at Stef even as his sister looked back over her shoulder at him in concern.

Frankie stepped in front of her and delivered a haughty, "Excuse me? What do you mean by that tone of voice?"

Stef stepped out from behind Frankie. She could fight her own battles. "Do we have a problem?" she demanded.

"You bet we do. You're the one behind the letters to Santa. You're the one who printed my son's letter."

It wasn't said thankfully, and suddenly Stef knew why. She pointed a finger back at him. "You're the Scrooge who had a fit because we printed your son's letter, aren't you?"

"I am not a Scrooge, and you shouldn't have printed that letter. What were you thinking? Oh, that's right. You weren't."

"You can't talk to my sister like that," Frankie said, taking a step toward him.

Stef held an arm in front of her. "I can handle this." She turned her attention back to Griff. "It was sent to us. What was I supposed to do with it? All your little boy wanted was to talk to Santa and you... Grinched him. What is wrong with you anyway?"

"What is wrong with me ?" he demanded, his voice doubling in volume. "A kid writes asking for a mother, and you print the letter and raise his hopes? Are you dead from the neck up?"

People were starting to stare, and Stef could feel a sizzle on her cheeks. What was with this jerk? Who had dubbed him Krampus the Second? Who cared? She didn't have to take this kind of abuse.

"Santa did not promise your son a mother, and if you could read, you'd have seen that," she snapped. It was all she could do not to kick him in the shins. But that kind of misbehavior at the Santa Walk would not be cool, especially from the reporter who was covering it, especially with the paper's photographer standing right there, aiming his camera. Anyway, she was better than that. "I don't know who invited you here, but you need to go back to your Krampus cage and write a letter to Santa yourself, apologizing for being such a jerk," she finished.

His cheeks turned russet, and he clenched his jaw, standing there like an ice statue. Then he shook his head and growled, "You are something else, lady."

"Yeah, well, nothing like you—something I sure don't want to ever be," Stef retorted, determined to have the last word.

She got it. He marched off to the other side of the gazebo to wait for his little boy, who was sitting on Santa Mitch's lap, speed-talking his Christmas list.

"Good Lord, what was that?" Frankie said.

Stef gave a disgusted snort. "My dream man."

"That poor little boy. He's probably asking for a mommy right now," said Frankie.

"Good luck with that. No woman in her right mind is going to want anything to do with his dad," Stef said.

As Stef glared at the back of her coffee shop disappointment and Frankie tried to console her by calling the man every insulting name she could think of, Jenn returned to where they stood. "I just want to say I'm sorry about my brother."

"I'd be sorry, too, if I had a brother like him," Stef said. Then she reminded herself she was representing the paper and managed a smile. "Never mind. It's all right. This can be a stressful time of year." That was still no excuse for being rude to a stranger, someone who was only doing her job. The man deserved a lump of coal up his ass.

"It's been hard for him since his wife died." Jenn looked ready to cry herself. "Hard for all of us. She was my best friend. And his."

"No wonder he's so angry," Frankie said.

Her words pulled Stef away from her own anger. She remembered how horrible it had been for Frankie after Ike died. She'd been the walking wounded. She also had a vague memory of her mother, who'd turned into a zombie after Stef's father died. Stef had felt sorry for little Corcoran when she'd read his letter. Maybe his father needed a serving of sympathy, too.

Still, he'd just taken his anger out on her and publicly humiliated her. She looked to where the little boy was hopping down the stairs, holding the candy cane Mrs. Claus had given him and smiling. At least someone was happy.

"Don't let Griff's behavior discourage you from what you're doing," Jenn said to her. "Everyone loves your Letters to Santa page. I love your Letters to Santa page." She bit her lower lip, then confessed, "I'm the one who sent the letter in for my nephew. It seemed like a good idea at the time, especially since the year before his dad conveniently lost his letter." She shook her head. "Griff really is a great guy."

"I'm afraid he didn't show off very well just now," said Frankie.

"I know. But that's not the real him. He's trying hard to be a good dad. I guess I can see why he doesn't want Corky asking Santa for a mommy. It would only set him up for disappointment. But he wants one so badly, wants to be like the other kids. He doesn't remember much about his mother. All he knows is that he used to have one who loved him, and he wants one again."

"He's a cute little boy," Stef said. His father was good-looking, too.

Richard had been good-looking. In the end he'd proved to be a super tool. Looks counted for nothing.

"Anyway, I really am sorry. Please don't hold Griff's moment of anger against him."

"It's Christmas. Peace on earth, goodwill toward men," Stef said. She still didn't care if she ever saw this particular man again, though. Hurting or not, he was a jerk.

"Thanks," said Jenn. Then, with a final apologetic smile, she hurried off to catch up with her brother, who was already leading his son away.

Stef frowned as she watched them go. "Boy, can first impressions be misleading. He seemed nice when I met him in The Coffee Stop. If I ever see him there again, I won't be buying him a drink. I'll be dumping it over his head. I get that he misses his wife, but that's no excuse for yelling at people. I mean, who acts like that?"

"So much for that idea," muttered Frankie as she watched her not-so-perfect candidate for her sister march away through the crowd, towing his son along.

"What idea?" asked Stef.

This would not be a good time to mention how she'd talked Stef up to Griff's sister the last time she'd been in the shop. "Nothing. I'd better get back to the shop, and you need to get back to work. I'll see you later."

Stef was studying her suspiciously. Time to go.

"Don't. Say. A. Word," Griff growled as Jenn caught up with him and Corky. The effort of trying to hold himself together had him grinding his molars so hard he probably wouldn't have teeth by the end of the day. Meanwhile, his son was skipping along beside him, holding his hand, clueless to the charged current in the air between his aunt and his father.

"Okay, I'll say four. Way to go, Scrooge."

"Don't you put what just happened on me," he snapped.

"Why not? That's where it needs to be. Talk about rude. You had a chance to start something with someone nice, and you blew it."

"And you know she's nice because?" The question was barely out of his mouth before he knew the answer. "The sister. You talked to her sister."

Jenn said nothing. She didn't need to. Her red face said it all.

"You were talking to a complete stranger about me."

"Not a stranger. I've been shopping at her shop."

"A stranger. You didn't even know her name."

"I was buying a t-r-a-i-n last time I was in and happened to mention that someone had a dad who was single and a nice guy. Thanks for making a liar out of me."

"Don't you dare turn this back on me, not after what you did." He glared at his interfering, mess-making sister. "Talking to a total stranger about me!"

Corky had caught the tension in the air and wasn't skipping anymore. He looked up at his father in concern. "Is Aunt Jenn in trouble?"

Big-time.

"Aunt Jenn shouldn't be," Jenn said, frowning at Griff.

"But Aunt Jenn's a grown-up," Corky pointed out.

"Even grown-ups get in trouble," Griff said, trying to keep his voice calm. It was taking a supreme effort since inside he was an erupting volcano.

"It's okay, Corky. Your daddy's just having a bad day."

More like a bad life.

"But he'll get over it because he knows he's loved. Now, I have to go. You be good for your daddy," she said, and ruffled Corky's hair. "Bye, Scrooge," she said to Griff, her tone of voice not as pleasant as it had been when she was talking to his son.

"Hate to see you go," he said.

"Why is Aunt Jenn in trouble?" Corky asked as they continued toward the car.

Because she's making me crazy. "Never mind. It's just boring grown-up stuff. Let's go home and have some hot dogs."

"I don't want Aunt Jenn to be in trouble," Corky said, no longer happy.

"Okay, she's not," Griff lied. "Everything's okay."

Nothing was okay. He could hardly wait until Christmas was over.

The crowd was growing as more people came to town to check out the wares of the various vendors and artisans, which made Frankie's walk back to the shop slow going. She was halfway there when a man in a lumberjack jacket and a stocking cap who was laughing with some buddies stepped backward into her, knocking her sideways.

"Sorry. Are you okay?" he asked, catching her arms. The pub crawl wouldn't start until six, but his breath smelled like he'd already been crawling. His eyes brightened at the sight of her. "Well, hello there."

One of the men with him was Brock. He lifted a hand and gave her a frosty smile. "Hi, Frankie."

"Frankie, huh? Cute name," said the man, looking her up and down like she was a giant piece of beef jerky. "You know this lady, Brock?"

"We've met," Brock said stiffly. So, still mad at her for ending things with him.

"Brock, it's always nice to see you," she said, determined to be polite.

"I wouldn't mind seeing you," the stranger said to Frankie.

"Don't waste your time," Brock told him.

Oh, for heaven's sake. His behavior couldn't have been any smaller if he'd been an ant. She forced a smile. The male ego was a fragile thing, but she was sure it wouldn't be long before Brock found someone to patch his up.

"You all enjoy yourselves," she said, addressing the group in general, and then moved on.

She returned to the shop to find it empty except for Adele and Mr. Bellagamba, who was keeping her company. At the sight of Frankie, red crept up his neck and onto his cheeks. He gave her a sheepish hello.

"I see we have a lookie-loo," Frankie teased, trying to lighten an awkward moment.

"I'm going to buy something," he rushed to assure her.

"Mr. B, I'm only teasing," she said.

"Oh." He nodded, taking that in. "Frankie, I hope you're okay with me seeing your mom. I should have asked your permission."

"No, you shouldn't have," Adele said.

"That's sweet of you, but Mom's right. You certainly don't need to. You're both adults. I'm happy she's found someone wonderful to hang out with."

"I meant what I said last night," he went on. Then he smiled at Adele. "If you don't mind me stealing your mother for a while, we're going over to Treasured Jewels to look at rings."

"Santa Walk sale," Adele added.

"I think that sounds wonderful," Frankie said, and hugged him. "Take her and don't come back. And welcome to the family. Now you'll have something to show off Christmas Eve," she said to her mother.

"And someone," Adele added, and smiled at Mr. Bellagamba.

Happily ever after , thought Frankie as they left the shop hand in hand.

It was a joy to see her mother so happy. If only things could have worked out as well for Stef.

What a horrible coincidence that her coffee shop dream man had turned out to be the angry father who'd caused trouble for her at the paper. The meeting that could have been so cute had been nothing but ugly. So disappointing.

For Frankie. Stef was too angry to be disappointed.

Frankie understood that hurting people often hurt others, and it was obvious this man was hurting. It was too bad it had spilled over onto Stef. That romantic candidate was out of the race. Stef didn't need to take any more emotional hits than she already had.

Customers began to drift back into the shop. Soon it was full, and Frankie was swamped and wondering what she'd been thinking to let her mother off the hook for the rest of the day.

"Sorry for the wait," she told the line of people ready to purchase holiday goodies on sale. "My best employee just got engaged, and she's off ring shopping."

"That pretty young girl who works here?" asked one woman.

"Elinor? No, she's busy being Mrs. Claus. My mom's getting married."

One of their regulars piped up. "Adele?"

Frankie nodded.

"Good for her. And what a great way to celebrate Christmas."

Indeed, it was.

Finally, closing time arrived. The hot cider had long run out, and there wasn't a candy cane anywhere in sight. Holiday Happiness had done a brisk business. Now Frankie was ready to relax.

She turned the sign on the door to Closed, locked up and texted Mitch. Ready to pub crawl?

Maybe Stef would like to join them. It would probably be good for her to end the day on a happy note.

Starting right now with Elinor.

Elinor! Elinor? Frankie texted.

Mrs. Claus. She was expecting it.

Well, Frankie wasn't. She frowned . Where are you? I'll catch up with you.

Sips , came the reply.

Sips was another new hot spot in town, a wine bar that specialized in high-end wines and charcuterie boards. Frankie could go for something to eat. She wished she'd gotten back her red dress from Elinor, but oh well. She hurried home and changed into jeans and a red sweater and her favorite boots, then grabbed her winter jacket and her Santa hat and went out the door, looking forward to enjoying a glass of white wine and recapping the day with her Mrs. Claus and Mitch.

Holiday lights were on all over town, and the predicted snow was lazily making its way to the ground. Let it snow. Frankie had all-wheel drive.

Everyone in Carol had decided to party. The sidewalks were packed, and there wasn't a parking place to be had on any of the town's main streets or in its paid lot. She parked in the special parking in back of the shop, but it was still a bit of a walk to Sips. She was glad for her sturdy boots and her warm coat and gloves.

The wine bar was housed in one of the town's older buildings, but inside it was modern all the way—chairs of black leather and wood around tall wooden tables. A couple of artsy paintings of wine bottles and glasses on white walls. Hanging cylinder lights. A tree strung simply with white lights stood in one corner, and that was it as far as Christmas decor went.

The people inside made up for it. Ugly sweaters abounded, and Santas of all shapes and sizes were sipping wine and laughing. Some of the women wore fancy red dresses with their snow boots, and a couple of women had donned white wigs and fake spectacles and red skirts with aprons to look like Mrs. Claus.

But the day's official Mrs. Claus was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the Santa. What the heck?

I don't see you , Frankie texted Mitch.

Sorry. Elinor wanted to go to La Bella Vita.

OK , Frankie texted back, and hurried out the door and down the street. Her hurrying wasn't quite as fast as she intended as several people stopped her to compliment her on the success of the day's activities. But she finally made it. Now, where were they?

A text came in from Mitch. On our way to Carol's Place.

What? Already? Frankie felt like she was playing a grown-up version of tag as she started for the new destination. This was a pub crawl, not a pub race. What was Elinor's hurry?

"We wish you a Merry Christmas," warbled the Dickens Carolers as she rushed past them.

She was beginning to think she could use all the wishes she could get.

Carol's Place was packed with more Santas and Mrs. Clauses, as well as elves, Grinches and ugly sweater fans. "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" was playing at top volume, and people were on the wooden dance floor line dancing to it.

At a far corner table, she caught sight of...Barbara and Brock? Frankie blinked to make sure she wasn't seeing things. She wasn't. There they sat, holding hands across the table, Barbara looking emaciated but elegant in her black sweater and leggings and red scarf, Brock in a matching black sweater and jeans. It looked like he'd found a woman who wasn't bothered by age differences. But of all the women to latch on to. She'd feed his ego well, though, so good luck and Merry Christmas.

Frankie continued to search the room and finally caught sight of Mitch and Elinor at a table on the other side of the place, their server setting down what looked like peppermint martinis in front of them. The same drink Frankie and Mitch had enjoyed together the year before. Elinor had changed from her Mrs. Claus outfit into the hot red dress she'd worn the night before. Frankie's dress. A holly leaf of jealousy poked at Frankie.

No need to be jealous. This was Elinor's big day. Mrs. Claus had a right to enjoy a peppermint martini with Santa.

But not in Frankie's dress.

They were seated at a table for four. Perfect. Frankie texted Stef to come join them, then donned a smile and went to their table.

"Hi, guys," she said as she slid into a seat.

"Hey there. Glad you found us," Mitch greeted her.

Elinor didn't say anything. In fact, Elinor didn't look at all pleased to see Frankie.

That was when Frankie knew that the suspicions she'd been denying all along were not simply suspicions. Viola was right. There was a reason Elinor was turning the pub crawl into a pub chase.

And Frankie didn't like it one little bit.