Sincerely,
Ho Ho No
I set the letter down and glance up, feeling the lightest of tugs on the corner of my mouth.
Am I ... am I smiling?
No, that can’t possibly be it. I don’t smile, especially during the holiday season, when tacky garlands are worn like scarves. And especially not this season, when Nola could be around every corner.
But this letter hits me in my cold, dead soul and propels me to do the last thing I’d ever have considered doing when Arden first handed it to me ... and that’s write back.
From under the cashier counter, I pull out a notebook and then grab the pen that’s tucked behind my ear. As I’m putting ink to paper, the floorboards from the back buckle under the heavy stomp of Arden, who is holding a blow-up reindeer while sporting a grin so wide, I think I can see every tooth in his mouth.
I point the pen at him. “Don’t say a freaking word.”
He holds his free hand up. “Not a peep. I’ll just wait here while you finish up so I can deliver that for you.”
“I hate that you’re getting so much joy out of this.”
“I don’t. I’m actually loving it.”
“I bet you are,” I say and then focus on my response.
“Morning, Caleb,” Denise says from over the bakery counter. “How are you?”
“Good,” I answer, taking in the bustling Knickers Café. Filled with too many Christmas sweaters to count, cheerful jingles, and the smell of spiced apple cider, the café is booming on the one day a week I take off from the hardware store.
Of course.
“Uh, are there free seats upstairs?” I ask, hoping that it’s quieter up there.
“Yeah, there should be. Do you want your usual?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll have it sent right up.”
“Thanks.” I offer her a wave and, newspaper in hand, head on up the creaky, steep stairwell to the second floor.
Vaulted ceilings painted white make the space seem larger than it is, and with two-person tables spread throughout, it offers more seating while keeping the groups small. I spot a table next to one that’s occupied by a bag.
Typical.
People think they can claim a table just by setting a personal item down. If I weren’t worried about becoming the town curmudgeon—have to keep a healthy business—then I’d kick the bag to the ground and claim the table as mine just for the hell of it.
But to maintain a good name in town, I refrain from showing the leather bag my boot and take a seat right next to the table. Settling in, I unfold my newspaper and hold it up, blocking out the rest of the café.
Now if only I had earplugs to block out all the monotonous chatter as well as Bing Crosby telling us just what kind of Christmas he’s wishing for.
“I told you, I didn’t take any manuals from the manual drawer,” I hear a feminine voice say as its owner takes a seat at the table next to mine. Ah, great, my neighbor has arrived. Just in time to annoy me. “Why would I do that? Do you really think I’m that petty?”
Feels petty to me.
“Well, I’m not,” the voice responds, a touch louder, and for some reason, it feels ... familiar. “Chris, just stop. If I wanted to mess with you, I would have dipped your ties in the toilet before I left and never told you.” She pauses, and I swear ... I swear I know that voice. “Well, I guess you’ll never know if I did.” I grip the newspaper a touch tighter as I feel myself wanting to peek over it. “I don’t know, look it up on the internet and stop bothering me. Don’t forget, you’re the one who dumped me. You’re the one who ended this relationship, not me.”
And then it hits me.
That voice.
