“Santa’s helper, huh,” Bran says slowly. “Like…for kids?”
I roll my eyes. “No, for fucking grownups. Ofcoursefor kids. I sit on a stool next to Santa and hand out candy canes and tell them their drawings are masterpieces, and once in a while somebody brings me their broken toy to see if I can fix it, and I—” My voice catches; I crush my napkin in my fist. “Iloveit. The look on their faces when they see Santa, the way they light up when you remember their names.”
He watches me, something complicated moving behind his eyes.
He heaves a resigned sigh. “I’m going to say yes,” he says. “But only because kids are involved. Not because I can’t tell you no.”
Relief floods me so fast it makes me lightheaded. I duck my head so he doesn’t see the stupid smile tugging at my mouth.
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but there’s no real heat in it. He glances at his watch, then around for the waitress. “We’d better get on the road, then, if we’re going to make the drive back before it’s too late.”
He catches the server’s eye and lifts a hand.
“Check, please,” he calls.
As she nods and disappears toward the register, his fingers find mine under the table again, squeezing once.
We’re going back into the lion’s den.
Back to Lucy Falls. Back to my apartment and my sad little tree and the hummingbird waiting in its tissue paper.
Back to a town that feels less like home than it did a week ago.
But I won’t be walking into it alone.
TWENTY-EIGHT
BRAN
Ican’tbelieveIcaved.
The thought has been pacing the back of my skull ever since we pulled out of that Tennessee restaurant and pointed the truck north. It beats time with the wipers as they swish across the windshield, the dark ribbon of highway unspooling in front of us like it’s got nothing better to do.
I shift in my leather seat, rolling my shoulders, trying to get comfortable. It doesn’t help. Nothing does when the wrong kind ofwhat ifis chewing at you.
What if this is exactly what Thurston is waiting for?
What if he somehow knows Twiggy Gentry will be at Floyd’s Toy Emporium tomorrow, playing elf for a bunch of kids who just want candy canes and cheap plastic wands?
He shouldn’t.Logic says that.
He’s not a dad—that we know of, anyway. He doesn’t strike me as the “take your kid to see Santa” type. Parent-focused advertising is not his lane. This event isn’t even advertised widely—Tally told me that much. It’s more word-of-mouth, community-home kind of thing.
Still. The idea of her in a crowded shop, predictable time, predictable place, makes my teeth grind.
“Siri, call Jack,” I say into the dimly lit cab.
Beside me, Tally’s gaze snaps over, surprise flaring in her eyes. “Why are you calling Jack?”
Because you talked me into doing the one thing every cell in my body says is a bad idea. Because if anything happens to you, Kael won’t have to kill me—I’ll do it myself.
I don’t answer her before the call connects.
“Bran.” Jack’s voice comes through over static and radio murmur. “Everything okay?”
“We’re fine,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Just wanted to give you a heads up. Tally is supposed to be at Floyd’s Toy Emporium tomorrow…some kind of public service thing she agreed to do for the kids. I didn’t feel right about not letting her do it and figured it would be safe, but I did want to check in with you and get your thoughts.”
