Page 38 of Go Back to December

Luiza throws me a pleading look. Her frosty demeanor has melted after my White Elephant concession. “Can we fix it?”

The question that matters to me is why. Why is everyone so upset whenever Allie’s name comes up?

And while we’re at it, who the hell is Allie?

“We could try a glue gun?” I suggest.

“There’s a closet with all of that stuff out in the barn, upstairs. Would you go get it? I should check on Mamá and text Annabel at the lake to get her advice. She’s the architectural sister. She’ll know how to repair it.” Luiza gives me a sly smile. “And if I were you, I’d want to check out the barn.”

Little sister code for My brother is going to hate what you find there.

I duck outside and cross the snow-covered back lawn to reach the barn. A set of stairs leads to an insulated door, which opens onto the loft-like second floor. Minnow bounds over and will not calm down until I’ve hugged and cooed and scratched him into submission.

“Okay, relax, boo,” I murmur. “What’s Baz hiding in here?”

Light from the neighborhood holiday decorations floods in through the wide windows, illuminating a scene from a Money Honey furniture catalogue. The overall mood is boarding-school posh, with a navy and deep-red color scheme. Framed classic film posters hang on the walls. There’s a set of twin beds. The one next to the window has a pillow monogrammed with the initials SPJ. A ragged-looking stuffed animal peeks out from beneath it.

This must be Baz’s childhood bedroom. Everything about it is glaringly normal; it even smells faintly like pine-covered boy.

The answer to whatever’s keeping Baz and his family apart is here, in this room, but I’m missing it. And I want to find out.

Almost as badly as I want to save the café.

Chapter Eleven

When the hospital valet pulls up in a silver hunk of German engineering, that vein pulses in Baz’s neck.

“You took my car.” His tone carries the same weight as if he’s accusing me of punching a puppy. “Why didn’t you book a rideshare?”

“It’s Christmas morning, Baz. There are no drivers at this hour.”

The valet hands me the SUV’s keys and helps me move the passenger seat to accommodate Baz’s long legs. I hop in the driver’s side and adjust my seat and the mirrors. Ignoring Baz’s set jaw and homicidal stare, I drive out of the hospital, into the crisp calm of the holiday morning.

Cold has settled over the city, along with more clouds that promise sleet or snow in the afternoon. We glide through the quiet streets on six cylinders of three hundred eighty-two horsepower, and I could get used to this. If I believed in owning fuel-guzzling wastes of finite resources.

And a certain irritating attorney wasn’t fuming beside me.

I’d woken this morning resolved that my Christmas mission was to help Baz and his family mend fences. The idea makes me feel better about accepting this crazy deal he’s offered, and if I do this, then working with Baz to save the café will be more manageable.

The appropriate thing to do at the present moment would be to ask how he’s feeling. But his mouth is set to sullen, and I refuse to fill the silence to make things less awkward for him.

When he can no longer stand it, he says, “How was last night?”

The vibe he’s attempting is cool casual. I wait several minutes before replying, “Informative.”

His fingers drum against his unbraced thigh, begging me to elaborate, but I resist.

“Did you practice your hustle?”

The line of questioning focuses on me, not his family, which is a careful move. Brilliant, really. I should be taking notes. “I let Luiza win the White Elephant.”

“What?” he roars. “Rule Three!”

“There was no escape! Your mom—Hustler-in-Chief—roped me into it. Everything was fine. More than fine. I had fun. They did too. Except—”

“What?”

I stop myself from mentioning the broken ornament, and the sadness that permeated the house, thicker than the eggnog. “Your family misses you.”