Cindy laughed, her heavy heart easing.
“Fair enough.” She reached out, squeezing her sister’s hand. “But seriously, don’t lose hope, MJ. Matt’s coming back, and Aisle Files is going to love Snowberry Weddings. We’ll both get our happy endings.”
MJ lifted her glass again, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Now that, my dear sister, I will drink to.”
School was in full force the first week of December. But after the last bell mid-week, Red picked up Benny in his truck, and they headed to town for the first skating rehearsal.
The ice rink in the middle of Park City looked like a snow globe someone forgot to shake. Centered between two hotels with balconies that gave tourists a direct view of the ice, it was also the site of more than one spontaneous snowball fight, which was Benny’s favorite part about the place.
The rink sparkled under strings of white lights that zigzagged across the open air, and all around, people stopped, sipping drinks, watching the event rehearsal for The Skating Spectacular with Santa.
Right now, Benny wasn’t so sure “spectacular” was the word he’d use.
He pressed his mittened hands to the cold railing and squinted at the ice where his great-grandfather lumbered across the rink like a man trying to skate through peanut butter.
“Ho-ho—whoa!” Red bellowed, his arms pinwheeling. The red Santa coat flapped like a parachute behind him before he barely regained his balance.
The line of teen figure skaters gasped, then giggled. Their coach—a skinny lady in a sparkly tracksuit named…something—clapped twice. “Places! We take it from the top!”
Benny ducked his chin into his scarf to stifle a moan. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had.
He loved his great-grandpa almost as much as he loved every Star Wars movie ever made, but watching Grandpa Red skate was like watching a bear do ballet. Kind of hilarious and terrifying all at the same time.
“Santa, you’re supposed towaveto the crowd while you toss the gifts,” the coach called, cupping her hands. “Remember? Big smiles! Big joy!”
“Lady,” Grandpa called back, proving he couldn’t remember her name either, “if I’m still upright, that’sbig joyenough!”
Plus, did she forget he was famous asGrumpySanta? Wasn’t that the whole idea? Benny bit his lip and tried to keep himself from jumping in to defend his best friend.
The rehearsal music started again—a happy version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” that sounded like elves breathing helium. The skaters zipped around, forming stars and snowflakes and candy canes while Santa stood in the center, gripping his velvet sack like it contained live dynamite.
When his cue came, he was supposed to hoist it over his shoulder, pluck small toys from it, and throw them into the crowd.
Instead, he froze.
Because that was a lot to ask of an eighty-three-year-old man.
“Mr. Starling!” the coach cried. “Now!”
Grandpa squinted, lifted one fuzzy angel doll halfway, and grumbled, “Nope.”
The music screeched to a stop.
Benny moaned into his mittens. Oh, no. He knew that tone. That waspre-eruption volcanotone.
The coach skated over, sparkles flashing like warning lights. “What do you mean ‘nope’? Red! You’re Santa Claus!”
“Exactly,” Grandpa said, puffing out his chest. “Santa doesn’tthrowpresents at people. He sets them under the tree. That’s his whole thing!”
The coach blinked. “They’re lightweight toys?—”
“They’reprojectiles!” Red shot back. “And this sack weighs more than a dead reindeer!”
The coach squeezed the bridge of her nose, not nearly as amused as the giggling skaters and a few of the onlookers.
“We needmovementfor the finale,” she said, sounding a lot like Mom when Benny swore he’d cleaned his room but read for an hour instead. “We can’t have Santa just standing there like—like?—”
“Like Santa?” Red offered.
