Page 15 of Resting Scrooge Face
“Oh really?” I ask, returning the snark. “Because when you walked in here, it seemed like you had no idea what you needed besides white paint.”
“Are you really going to argue with me over this? It’s paint.”
“You started it,” I say, clearly acting like a mature adult.
“Not making friends,” Arden says.
Nola taps her toe, looking like her patience is wearing thin. “Do you realize how hard it was for me to come here? Very hard, so please, just give me a gallon of white snow in eggshell so I can get out of here.”
“White snow?” I ask just as she slips a paint chip out of her pocket and holds it between us. I snatch it from her. “Could have started with that.”
“Could have shown me where the paint was so we avoided the earlier interaction.”
“Are you really this agreeable all the time? I remember you being less cranky.”
“Ooooh, bad move,” Arden says.
Her brows lift in surprise. “Yeah, well, I remember you being a touch more charming, but here we are.”
“Hewasmore charming, wasn’t he?” Arden adds.
“Not helping,” I shoot back as I watch him shove another bite of my cinnamon bun in his mouth. I pick up a gallon of eggshell paint, scan the color, and then reach for my can opener, which is not in its normal spot on a hook near the scanner.
“What are you looking for?” she asks. “Your manners?”
I shoot her a seething glare.
“He hasn’t had manners for years,” Arden says. “Afraid he lost those a while ago.”
“Where is my paint can opener?” I shout, annoyed with Arden and irritated that I look like an idiot in front of Nola.
“Is that it?” Nola asks, pointing to the metal opener that’s resting on the shelf right in front of my face about an inch above its hook. She snorts.
Arden snorts and sips my coffee.
And I start to fume.
“It’s not funny,” I say as I start to pop off the lid.
“It’s sort of funny,” Nola says, now moving over to Arden.
“It’s very funny,” Arden says as he picks up the cinnamon bun and offers her a piece. And to my chagrin, she takes it.
“Glad I can be so amusing this morning.” I remove the lid and set it to the side as I adjust the paint color levels on the colorant machine to make the “white snow” shade Nola needs.
“Oh, before I forget,” Nola says as I lift the paint can. “I want to give you this.” From the corner of my eye, I catch a glint of gold sparkle under my store’s fluorescent lights. I turn just in time to catch Arden slipping a very familiar gold envelope into his pocket.
What.
The.
Hell.
There is no way.
No freaking way that ... that ... no. It can’t be true.
There’s no way that Nola is Ho Ho—
