Page 46 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
Aunt Cindy nods. “A terrible car accident a decade ago. He inherited their house and has worked over at Evergreen Farm with the Maxheimersever since. He’s kept to himself but has relied on the town to get him through the tragedy. Not everyone likes him, but everyone has been rooting for him. Which means…”
“They’re going to favor him in the competition,” I say, feeling dumbfounded and confused.
His parents passed away and he never said anything?Why?
“Wait.” Taran steps in. “I don’t understand—if he isn’t a Christmas kind of guy, why is he suddenly joining the competition?”
“That’s what I wondered the other night when his name was announced,” Aunt Cindy said. “I thought it might be a bet between him and Atlas, and Cole lost. But after seeing you two interact, I’m thinking you’re the reason he’s doing it, not Atlas.”
I nervously laugh, feeling the anger in Aunt Cindy’s severe stare—she apparently wants this win a lot more than I suspected.
“So what did you do to him that would bring him out of hiding and into this competition?”
“Uh…nothing,” I say. “I didn’t do anything. Ever since I showed up, he’s been irritated with me.”
“Did you do something when you were younger?” Aunt Cindy asks.
“No,” I say. “Nothing like that. I…I have no idea.” I think back to our last interaction when we were teenagers, but nothing springs to mind. He was quiet that day, but it’s not as though he was a loud, raucous boy. And I haven’t seen him since. It’s why I was so surprised that he seemed so…angry with me when we first saw each other a few days ago. I thought it was funny to pretend I didn’t recognize him, but he certainly didn’t appreciate my humor. So weird. “Look, all I know is that he said I don’t deserve to win and he’s going to make sure I don’t.”
“Well.” Aunt Cindy sighs and stares toward town for a moment. “How do we handle this? The town will favor Cole, no matter what shenanigans he pulls. That was clear from watching Martha and Mae fawn over himjust now. You might win some points for representing me, but you won’t be favored because you’re an out-of-towner.”
“Maybe… What if Taran switches with me? I doubt Cole has any beef with her since they’ve never interacted. Taran can take over the Kringle duties and I can suck it up and wash the crevices.”
Aunt Cindy gives me the stink eye, which makes me shiver on the spot. “The only one washing my crevices is Taran—not to mention, once the Kringle-ees are named, they can’t change. Did you not read that in your folder? You’re in this for the long run.”
“Which means you need to get it together,” Taran says, not adding any value to the conversation.
“I am getting it together. Look at me, for Christ’s sake,” I say, holding my arms out as I jingle. “I’m wearing an old-lady sweater and a velvet bow in my hair, standing in the arctic weather and trying to win a competition for my dying aunt.”
“I’m not dying yet, but I like the angle you just took,” Aunt Cindy says with a nod of approval. “Maybe we run with that. I could look weaker and feebler. You can play up how you just want to win this for me so my legacy of loving Christmas and this town can live on.”
“I mean, that’s a touch manipulative,” I say.
“You don’t think Cole is going to take advantage of his own tragedy and work the crowd with his charming smile that people have missed for so long?” Aunt Cindy asks.
“She has a point,” Taran says. “Itisa charming smile.”
“Ugh!” I groan. “I don’t want to tell people you’re dying.”
“You don’t have to, but letting them know I’m weak? That hints toward a possible death. Besides, I’m old, so meeting my maker is right around the corner any day for me.”
“Jesus, Aunt Cindy,” Taran says.
“It’s the truth. A ninety-one-year-old woman like me is grateful for every day she wakes up to. So we play off that. We work the town withour family bond, the fact that my great-grand niblings are here to take care of me.”
“Great-grand niblings?” I ask.
“Yes, niblings. Now, go grab the powder in my room—I have some touch-ups to make. Then we need to get going. We don’t want to be late to the first competition, but remember, we need to appear as a cohesive unit. When we walk into that bar, I need you holding my hand, Storee. The more sympathy we can garner, the better. This win is ours, and I’ll be damned if we let anyone take it away.”
Yikes.
Cole
“Did you put on a new cologne?” Max asks as he stands next to me.
Prancer’s Libations may be our small town’s bar, but it has big-city vibes. Frank and Thachary are transplants from New York City, where they grew up. Opting for a slower pace, they decided to move their life into the mountains, where they took ownership of two businesses in town, the bar and the candle store.
With Frank’s background in window displays and Thachary’s bartending experience, they’ve transformed Prancer’s Libations from a run-of-the-mill small-town bar into a showstopping, must-see establishment that has been featured in many magazines and blogs. They tore out all the old booths that suffered from cracked leather and scuffed wood and installed a seating layout that is more in line with what you’d see in a New York City bar. Rather than booths, along the sprawling wall are benches covered with red plaid cushions, while the tables and chairs are in front. The bar made of rich wood is off to the right when you walk in, with green permanent bar stools that twirl. Antique liquor bottles line the back wall, bringing an elevated air to the space. And then the ceiling, the showstopper, is covered in hanging baubles, mistletoe, pine garland, and twinkle lights, all set at different heights, not a single inch of the ceiling showing. It’s been featured in many social media posts and is one of the biggest attractions in the town.
