Page 9 of Under The Meh-stletoe

I cleared my throat. "My phone is somewhere in the truck's cab. So… no."

I rubbed my hands together. It was a cold day; I shifted in my spot to warm myself up and release some of my nervous energy.

She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tilting her lips. "I texted you an hour ago."

"Sure. I haven't touched my phone in a few hours. Did you need me for something?"

"There's a seasonal emergency. Santa's missing." She crossed her arms.

I groaned and shut my eyes. "Fun."

"Loads."

I took a deep breath. We would need to discuss details, brainstorm some options. I could either go back to my tiny office, postponing the tree cutting, or postpone the conversation.

"I'll text you in a few hours," I said.

"Oh, no. I don't trust that, considering the response to my latest."

"Email me. I'll respond tonight."

She gave me a friendly punch on the arm. "C'mon. Give me five minutes to talk about this. I only need the simplest of plans… or the next two steps."

I squinted at her. She grinned. It did exactly what I imagined she expected. My resolve melted several degrees.

Ale dipped her head in the direction of the town hall, as if motivating me to go back in there for a few minutes. She stared at me with an innocent look. A reticent smirk twisted the corner of my mouth.

"Five minutes," she insisted.

If Ale had returned to Laguna Island to stay, I might as well get used to having her in my vicinity. Avoiding her wouldn't work, anyway. In fact, if we spent more time together, this pesky little spark of attraction might run its course and go to the land where all infatuations went to die.

"Fine. You have two hours." I opened the passenger's door. "Get in the truck."

"Excuse me?"

"Please," I added, in case that was her issue. "We'll talk on the way there."

It worked. She got in the truck, while I rounded the front and got in the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?" She latched her seatbelt to its closure.

I did the same and started the motor. "We're going for a tree."

"A… Christmas one, perhaps?"

"The only highlight of the damn season. I get to chop down a tree."

And vent all my frustrations into it.

We left the parking lot and I drove toward the outskirts of the town. I turned on the local radio station, and its old, recorded programming filled the cab. In the year I'd lived in Laguna Island, I had learned the whole repertoire. By this point, I knew what the next three songs would be.

"Wow. That sounds like my childhood." Ale sighed. "Why are you listening to that?"

"It makes me feel like a local."

And the next song would be one of my favorites by Soda Stereo, and I didn't want to miss out on it.

She laughed. "No local listens to the local radio station. We're in the age of streaming, did you know?"