| |
Steve’s cell phone jangled at noon, jarring him awake. He sat up in bed, hit his head on the bookshelf above the headboard, and grumbled. He’d been trying to sleep in because Lincoln had kept him up playing chess until two a.m. prattling on about Kasparov versus Topalov, 1999, and Byrne versus Fischer, 1956, and all the other historic games. Lincoln might not be socially adept, but like Steve, he could cycle through stats in his head like a champ. What was Steve supposed to say to the brother he hadn’t seen in months, he was tired? No, he’d muscled through. Now, he swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scanned the phone’s readout, saw Dave’s name, and scowled.
Forcing a lightness he didn’t feel, he answered, “Hi, boss.”
“Good morning, sunshine. Did you deliver the prize? Brie hasn’t sent photos yet.” Dave drank a sip of something and let out an ahh. “I’ve been texting her, but she’s not answering.”
Maybe she didn’t want to admit mission failure, either, Steve thought, or she was protecting him, which made him wince. He didn’t need protecting, and he sure as heck didn’t want her to jeopardize her job on account of him.
“FYI, it’s not okay to ignore my calls or texts,” Dave warned. “You two are not on vacation. Capiche? I expect normal work hours.”
“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat. “However, lest you forget, Brie and I don’t come in until two in the afternoon. We work nights.”
“Not when you’re on assignment.” Dave sounded like he was cutting food of some kind. The knife rasped against the plate. He began chewing something.
Steve waited.
After a long, unbearable moment, Steve heard the silverware clank on the plate.
Dave said, “You didn’t get it, did you?”
“Get what?”
“The agreement. In writing.”
Steve hesitated.
“Did you even find the mother?” Dave asked.
“Yes, but, it’s complicated.”
“Look, pal”—Dave diced something loudly; chop, chop, chop—“we announced this family as the winner. We need this family. Not another one. Not a runner up. The bad publicity could hurt KPRL. Got me? So put on that Santa suit and get this mother to accept the prize or else you lose your job. It’s as simple as that. You’re not getting any younger, boy-o. Do you hear me? Not any younger. Tick-tock.” He ended the call.
Steve scanned his text messages. None from his agent and none from Brie. Irked, he tossed his cell phone on the nightstand and threw off the Trail Blazers’ comforter. He clambered to his feet, his toes instantly chilled by the hardwood floor, and slogged into the bathroom. He turned on the shower. Knowing it would take a full minute to warm up, he studied his face in the mirror.
Nope. You’re not getting any younger, boy-o. There are no jobs coming your way. It’s do or die time. Get this stubborn, beautiful woman to sign. Or else.
––––––––
For the life of him, Steve couldn’t shake his brother. Lincoln wanted to go wherever Steve went. At one thirty in the afternoon, Steve once again donned the Santa suit, and he and Lincoln strolled toward Aroma Café. Carolers were singing “Deck the Halls” in front of a Sweet Place. A pushcart vendor hawking handmade Christmas décor was moving along the sidewalk, her smile bright and inviting.
“I like Christmas time,” Lincoln said. “Don’t you?”
Steve grunted.
“You do.” Lincoln elbowed him and guffawed. “I know you do.”
Near the cafe, a little girl in a green coat rushed in front of Steve, blocking his path. Breathlessly, she said, “Hi, Santa. Can I tell you what I want for Christmas?”
Her mother looked at Santa expectantly.
Steve sighed. This was the last distraction he needed, but looking at the girl’s face, seeing the optimism that flooded her gaze, he crouched down. “Okay, young lady, but I have an appointment. So make it quick.”
“I want a brother.”
In spite of himself, Steve chuckled. “I’m not sure I can do that. I’m in charge of toys, not real human beings. How about I get you a boy doll who can stand in as your brother until—” He glanced at the mother who, bundled in her puffy parka, appeared more than a few months pregnant, and mouthed Boy? She nodded. “Until a baby brother comes along. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Her mother said, “What if the doll has brown hair and eyes like yours, sweetheart? Would you like that?”
“Uh-huh.” The girl nodded.
Steve said, “Done. Brown hair and eyes.” He tapped his temple. “On Santa’s nice list. I’m assuming you’re nice.”
“Very nice!” she chimed.
“Okay, then. Merry Christmas. Ho, ho, ho.” He held up his white-gloved hand for a high five.
The girl slapped it.
Steve rose, and said to Lincoln, “Go inside the café. Move.”
As they entered, Brie, carrying bags from the Christmas Attic and three other shops, hurried to them. “Ho, ho, ho,” she crooned. She had dressed for the weather in a white parka, white turtleneck, and black trousers tucked into boots. She’d even donned eye makeup, which she usually didn’t do unless the studio’s makeup artist put it on for her. What was up with the look? Who was she trying to impress?
“You’ve been shopping,” Steve asked.
“Tis the season. I love this town.”
“You look rested.”
“I slept great.”
In fact, Brie seemed more relaxed than Steve could remember. How he wished he could feel that way.
“Dave called,” Steve said. “You didn’t return his text messages.”
“And admit defeat? As if. I thought by staying quiet, I could buy you a little time. Let you figure out your next move.” She waved a hand at the Santa outfit. “Red suits you.”
Steve scowled. “Have you seen Hope Lyons?”
“Recently? Nope.”
He approached the fresh-faced hostess, Trudy her nametag read, and asked her to seat them at Hope’s station. Trudy said she would if she could, but Hope was at her daughter’s holiday play. She wasn’t going to return today.
Steve sagged. Swing and a miss. Major strikeout. “Let’s go,” he said to Brie and his brother.
“Where?” Brie asked.
“I don’t know. For a walk. I need to clear my head.”
“No.” Lincoln stamped his foot. “I’m hungry. I need to eat. Mom wants me to have lunch.”
Steve sighed. “Yes, she does, and I promised I’d feed you. Table for three, Trudy.”
“This way, Santa.” She seated them in Lincoln’s preferred booth and said their waitress would be with them shortly.
A few minutes later, Steve swiveled in his seat and scanned the café. “Where’s our waitress?”
“Huh?” Brie asked. She was sitting opposite him and Lincoln scrolling through photos on her cell phone.
“Our waitress. She’s a no-show.”
“Patience is a virtue, Santa,” Brie replied.
“And time is money,” he retorted.
“Gold is money,” Lincoln said. “Silver is money. And pennies are money, though they aren’t worth a red cent, Dad says.”
Brie snickered.
Gabe sauntered to the table and handed the three of them menus. “Hiya, Santa. Hi, Lincoln.” He straightened the lapels of his red jacket and adjusted the knot on his tie. “Hello, lovely lady.”
Brie batted her eyelashes. “Hi, you. You weren’t in earlier.”
Steve cocked his head. “You came in before, Brie?”
“Yep,” she said.
“When?”
“At nine. I needed coffee before I went out to buy one of everything.”
“Was Hope here then?”
“Yes, why?”
“Why do you think?” Steve asked, unable to keep frustration from his tone. He twirled a hand. “Did you even think to get her to accept the prize?”
“I don’t do your bidding.”
“But—”
“She and I chatted, but no, I didn’t get her to accept.”
“Because?”
“It’s your job.”
No, fooling, Steve thought glumly. Literally, his job.
“I’m hungry,” Lincoln cut in.
Brie turned to Gabe, her gaze twinkling. “What’s the special?”
“You,” Gabe responded.
“Ha-ha,” Lincoln said. “You.”
Steve gawked. Gabe was the reason Brie had donned makeup? She liked him? Given her track record, Steve would have guessed she was over and done with romance, not to mention Gabe was nothing—nothing—like her exes. He was a good, kind man. Nothing studly about him. Nothing self-centered, either. Steve remembered meeting Gabe’s wife. She was as affable and sweet as he was. They had been a perfect pair. Him and Brie? Steve couldn’t see it, but what did he know? He and Gloria had been a bust.
Brie said, “Where pray tell, Gabe, is Hope’s daughter’s holiday play?”
Steve blinked and did a mental forehead slap. Why hadn’t he thought to ask the question? He blew Brie a kiss. She was a godsend. “Yes, kind sir,” Steve said solicitously. “Pray tell, where?”
“Hope Valley Elementary.”
Brie mock-groaned. “Well, that was a no-brainer.”
Lincoln said, “A no-brainer. Heh-heh. Without a brain, you’re dumb. Unless you’re the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. He didn’t have a brain, but he was smart.”
Right about now, Steve was feeling pretty darned stupid.
