Chapter 16
Later that afternoon, I was halfway through icing the third tray of sugar cookies as promised for Graham when Evelyn stormed into the B& B kitchen like a woman on a mission. Her clipboard was clutched in one hand, a red pen poised in the other, and the frazzled look on her face said she was one minor inconvenience away from swearing in front of the church ladies.
“Please tell me you’ve found a Santa,” she said, her voice low but sharp, like she was trying to stay calm but failing miserably.
“I did,” I replied, glancing up from the mess of sprinkles and icing on the counter.
She froze, blinking at me as though I’d just told her the Christmas lights untangled themselves. “You did?”
I straightened, brushing flour off my hands. “Yep.”
“Who?” The way she said it made it clear she wasn’t asking out of casual curiosity. Evelyn was bracing herself for bad news, probably expecting me to say something horrifying like the mayor’s brother—who had an unfortunate tendency to mix eggnog with whiskey and tell long-winded stories about his glory days as a softball star back in high school.
“Graham,” I said, keeping my voice even.
Her brows shot up, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh, cry, or both.
“Graham?” she repeated, as though she needed confirmation.
“He’s good with kids,” I said quickly, defending my choice before she could object. “And he looks great in red.”
Evelyn didn’t seem entirely convinced. She leaned against the counter, staring at me like she was trying to decipher a puzzle. “You’re telling me Graham—the hockey star that told me he has a fear of public speaking—is going to let us put him in a Santa suit, seat him in front of half the town, and take pictures with toddlers all evening long?”
I crossed my arms and gave her a pointed look. “He said yes.”
“Did you threaten him?” she asked, half-seriously.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I used logic. And cookies.”
Evelyn snorted, finally looking more amused than skeptical. “Well, whatever voodoo you used, I’ll take it. Just make sure he shows up.”
“He’ll show,” I said, though the confidence in my voice wavered slightly. Graham had agreed, sure, but he didn’t seem super enthused about the whole idea if I was being fair.
Evelyn gave me a long, appraising look. “You’re a miracle worker, Isla. But if this goes south, I don't know what we will do.”
Before I could respond, the door swung open, and Graham stepped inside, wearing his usual post-practice look: a thermal henley, dark jeans, and an air of casual charm that felt criminal this early in the morning. He stopped short when he saw Evelyn, then raised an eyebrow at me. “What’d I walk into?”
“Just telling Evelyn you’re our new Santa,” I said, trying to keep my tone light and unbothered.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but then he relaxed, leaning against the doorframe with a slow grin. “Ah, yeah, if you need me, I can help for sure.”
“You’re doing it for the kids,” I reminded him sweetly, though my eyes dared him to argue.
“And cookies,” he added, his voice dropping into something warmer, more private.
Evelyn watched the exchange like a referee about to call a foul. “Just make sure you’re here on time, Graham. Suit up an hour early. And don’t forget the beard.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, his tone mock-serious.
With that, Evelyn swept out of the room, clipboard still in hand, muttering something about checking on the tree lights.
The door had barely shut behind her when Graham turned to me, crossing the space with a slow, easy stride. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“What, watching you sweat a little?” I said, leaning against the counter. “Maybe.”
He narrowed his eyes, though there was no real heat in his gaze. “You do realize this is going to be a disaster, right? I don’t have a Santa voice. Or the patience for screaming toddlers.”
“Just smile and let them pull your beard,” I teased. “You’ll do fine.”
He tilted his head, his expression softening. “You think so?”
There was something quieter in his voice now, something that made my teasing tone falter. “Yeah,” I said, more gently this time. “I do.
You’re good with people, Graham. Even if you don’t think you are.”
He held my gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between us, before he finally looked away with a quiet chuckle. “You’re making it hard to say no, you know that, right?”
“That’s the idea.”
He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“More than cookies?” I teased, though my pulse jumped at his words and the ease in his tone, the way his words felt heavier than the moment warranted.
“Close call,” he said, his grin widening. But as he turned to grab one of the un-iced cookies off the counter, his hand brushed mine, just for a second. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have made my breath catch.
But it did.
“Please tell me you’ve found a Santa,” she said, her voice low but sharp, like she was trying to stay calm but failing miserably.
“I did,” I replied, glancing up from the mess of sprinkles and icing on the counter.
She froze, blinking at me as though I’d just told her the Christmas lights untangled themselves. “You did?”
I straightened, brushing flour off my hands. “Yep.”
“Who?” The way she said it made it clear she wasn’t asking out of casual curiosity. Evelyn was bracing herself for bad news, probably expecting me to say something horrifying like the mayor’s brother—who had an unfortunate tendency to mix eggnog with whiskey and tell long-winded stories about his glory days as a softball star back in high school.
“Graham,” I said, keeping my voice even.
Her brows shot up, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh, cry, or both.
“Graham?” she repeated, as though she needed confirmation.
“He’s good with kids,” I said quickly, defending my choice before she could object. “And he looks great in red.”
Evelyn didn’t seem entirely convinced. She leaned against the counter, staring at me like she was trying to decipher a puzzle. “You’re telling me Graham—the hockey star that told me he has a fear of public speaking—is going to let us put him in a Santa suit, seat him in front of half the town, and take pictures with toddlers all evening long?”
I crossed my arms and gave her a pointed look. “He said yes.”
“Did you threaten him?” she asked, half-seriously.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I used logic. And cookies.”
Evelyn snorted, finally looking more amused than skeptical. “Well, whatever voodoo you used, I’ll take it. Just make sure he shows up.”
“He’ll show,” I said, though the confidence in my voice wavered slightly. Graham had agreed, sure, but he didn’t seem super enthused about the whole idea if I was being fair.
Evelyn gave me a long, appraising look. “You’re a miracle worker, Isla. But if this goes south, I don't know what we will do.”
Before I could respond, the door swung open, and Graham stepped inside, wearing his usual post-practice look: a thermal henley, dark jeans, and an air of casual charm that felt criminal this early in the morning. He stopped short when he saw Evelyn, then raised an eyebrow at me. “What’d I walk into?”
“Just telling Evelyn you’re our new Santa,” I said, trying to keep my tone light and unbothered.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but then he relaxed, leaning against the doorframe with a slow grin. “Ah, yeah, if you need me, I can help for sure.”
“You’re doing it for the kids,” I reminded him sweetly, though my eyes dared him to argue.
“And cookies,” he added, his voice dropping into something warmer, more private.
Evelyn watched the exchange like a referee about to call a foul. “Just make sure you’re here on time, Graham. Suit up an hour early. And don’t forget the beard.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, his tone mock-serious.
With that, Evelyn swept out of the room, clipboard still in hand, muttering something about checking on the tree lights.
The door had barely shut behind her when Graham turned to me, crossing the space with a slow, easy stride. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“What, watching you sweat a little?” I said, leaning against the counter. “Maybe.”
He narrowed his eyes, though there was no real heat in his gaze. “You do realize this is going to be a disaster, right? I don’t have a Santa voice. Or the patience for screaming toddlers.”
“Just smile and let them pull your beard,” I teased. “You’ll do fine.”
He tilted his head, his expression softening. “You think so?”
There was something quieter in his voice now, something that made my teasing tone falter. “Yeah,” I said, more gently this time. “I do.
You’re good with people, Graham. Even if you don’t think you are.”
He held my gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between us, before he finally looked away with a quiet chuckle. “You’re making it hard to say no, you know that, right?”
“That’s the idea.”
He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“More than cookies?” I teased, though my pulse jumped at his words and the ease in his tone, the way his words felt heavier than the moment warranted.
“Close call,” he said, his grin widening. But as he turned to grab one of the un-iced cookies off the counter, his hand brushed mine, just for a second. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have made my breath catch.
But it did.
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