“Merry fuckin’ Christmas, ya filthy animals.”
After dinner,we all retreat to the living room and resume our places around the fire. The mood has shifted, and now everyone is full, satiated, and sleepy.
My gaze keeps drifting over to where Jett is on the couchacross from me. His eyelids look heavy, and the soft cream-coloured cable-knit sweater he has on makes me want to go curl up next to him.
I’ve had too much mulled wine, and I’m drunk on the atmosphere. I’m being hypnotized by the dulcet tones of holiday music coming from the radio.
My thoughts are interrupted by Ally sitting upright from her place on the couch and making an announcement.
“I think it’s time to open presents,” she says, and everyone rallies, sitting up a little straighter. “Who wants to start, and reveal their secret Santa?”
“I can.” Hudson reaches for his gift under the tree. “I had Grady.”
He pulls out a box wrapped in shiny red paper, handing it to Grady. As Grady opens the box, he pulls out some crystal highball glasses, whisky rocks, and a smoking kit with different flavours.
“So you can make a proper old fashion at home, not just at the bar,” Hudson explains.
“Thanks, Hud.” Grady smiles, appreciating the thought behind the gift. “I guess I’ll go next. I got Wren.”
She opens a brand-new leather-bound sketchbook and charcoal pencils.
“This is amazing, Grady.” She beams. “I needed a new one. I’ve filled all mine up.”
“Okay, okay. I want to go next,” I say, grabbing the snowflake covered bag and handing it to Ally. “This is for you.”
She opens the silver envelope first and finds a piece of paper in the card explaining her gift. She squeals with delightas she reads it and rips the paper out of the bag, pulling out a tartan scrunchie.
“A scrunchiesubscription?”
I grin at her as I watch her pull her usual lilac scrunchie from her ponytail and put her hair back up with the new one.
“You’ll get a new scrunchie every month. They’re usually seasonal patterns,” I explain. She launches towards me and wraps me in a tight hug.
When Ally releases me, she reaches for the gift with my name on it.“Here, open yours.”
It’s not addressed from anyone, so I don’t know yet who had me for their Secret Santa. When I remove the sparkly bow and thick gold paper, I find a simple wooden frame, with a photo that looks like it’s been cut out of a newspaper.
The grainy picture looks familiar. I recognize the building as the front of Thistle + Thorne, with its white wooden siding, two bay windows flanking the front door, and scalloped trim adorning the overhang.
But the person standing in front of it is what makes my breath catch in my throat.
Because there’s Aunt Dahlia, standing proudly, wearing a long, flowing paisley print dress and leather clogs. My heart clenches when I think about her, her legacy in Heartwood, how badly I want to keep it alive.
The frame also contains the associated article, a short snippet about the café, and about how my aunt bought the building despite rumours that the building was haunted. There’s a quote from her about a ghost sighting she had the day she got the keys. It makes me love her and Thistle + Thorne even more.
Tears collect on my lashes as I read it, the words becoming blurry.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper.
“That’s so nice, Poppy,” Spencer adds. “Who did this?”
Jett clears his throat. “I did.”
“Jett?” Wren nearly shouts, the word coming out with a laugh and a hiccup.
Someone cut her off from the mulled wine.
“What?” He asks the room, but his eyes are fixed on me. “I can’t get my friend a nice gift?”
