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“Fiona’s. Her sister is in a Christmas play. We’re going to see it.”

“That’s so nice. Let me know if it’s something you think Harris could sit through.”

I laughed.

“He’s getting better,” she said.

“He is.”

“Be safe driving tonight. It’s supposed to be icy.”

“I will.”

I tried not to look over at Ryan’s house as I headed toward the car, but I couldn’t help it. I wondered how their search for live reindeer was going, if that was still on the table.

My hopes for snow in my globe were diminishing by the day. Everything I’d tried up to this point had failed miserably. It was hard to keep pieces of paper afloat without the right kind of circular air movement, apparently. Not even the leaf blower created the desired result.

I was about to open the car door when I saw a slip of white paper tucked into the weather stripping around the window. I plucked it out and unfolded it to find a phone number written there. No name, no note, just seven numbers. My eyes darted to Ryan’s house again. Was this his number? Was he worried someone else might get the note first, and that’s why he didn’t add his name or a message? Was it even him? Maybe it was someone trying to leave Marcus a note. We shared this car, after all.

Or it could’ve been Buddy the elf.

My gaze switched to the empty spot on the street where the hot cocoa trailer would be parked later. Mr. Lenny was outside his house, wheeling his trash can to the curb.

“Hi, Mr. Lenny!”

His head popped up, and he smiled in my direction. “Hello! Nice day today.”

“Very nice! Wish it would snow, though.”

“Not me!” he responded.

“Let me help you with the cans,” I said, joining him. He wasn’t extremely old or anything and seemed to manage fine, but I knew I could make the task shorter for him if I helped.

“Thank you,” he said.

I took over rolling the blue one and maneuvered it to the curb. “Got any big plans tonight, Mr. Lenny?”

“Television and soup.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“It will be. What about you?”

“A friend’s play. A Christmas Carol.”

“A classic,” he said.

“For sure.”

“Have fun,” he said and headed back up his walkway.

I climbed into my car. The note I still held was a little crumpled now. I studied the paper again. If it was from Buddy, he would’ve had to put it on the car last night. It was a little damp. But overnight damp? Probably not. Did that mean it was from Ryan?

“Why don’t you just text it?” Fiona said. “Say: Who is this and what do you want?”

We were sitting in the audience at the small theater downtown. It smelled like cinnamon from the hot apple cider they were selling in the lobby.

“I don’t know if I want to open the texting door to Ryan,” I whispered back. “I’m not supposed to be talking to him at all.” I tucked the paper I’d been looking at into my pocket. I had the number memorized at this point from how much I’d looked at it.