Rebel Without A Claus

Michael looked at Nicholas.

He shrugged. “Is delivery extra?”

The young guy opened his mouth, but Michael cut him off. “Nah, not for you. We’re out tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, of course. I guess you’ll be busy tonight?”

Nicholas nodded. “At the grotto. You know my grandmother’s place? Can you just leave it outside and I’ll get it in?”

Michael nodded. “If you’re sure you can manage it.”

“I’m sure. Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“No worries. Go into the barn and give Sarina this.” He tore the purchase note from the tag and handed it to him. “She’ll ring it up, and we’ll drop it off later.”

“Thanks, Mike. I’ll head in there now.” Nicholas looked at me. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t want to,” I muttered. “But I think I might be kicked out if I don’t.”

Michael laughed, confirming my suspicions.

Honestly, the audacity of him. Like I hadn’t gotten him a morning off by taking me on a very necessary shopping trip.

I knew who was getting coal in his stocking this year.

I glared at him and trudged off after Nicholas into the barn. The barn was huge and housed the smaller trees that stretched from wall to wall. Walkways were marked thanks to long logs laid out the way people would mark out flowerbeds, and we took a sharp right to the counter where Aunt Sarina was reading a battered old paperback.

She held up a finger when we approached. “Hang on.”

I stared at her. “Really?”

“It’s a good part,” she replied, licking her finger and turning the page.

“You read that book every year. You know what’s going to happen.”

“I like to experience it. Just give me a minute.”

“Would you do this if I weren’t here?”

“No.”

“So why do you do it to me? Nicholas wants to pay for his tree.”

“Quinn Langley, the longer you speak to me, the longer it’s going to take me to read this book.” She peered up over the top of her book and shot me a hard look before she turned her attention back down to her book.

And everyone wondered if I was the outlier in my family with my attitude.

No. I was not.

It came from both sides, when you learnt that Aunt Sarina was my dad’s sister.

I really didn’t stand a chance.

I sighed and folded my arms across my chest, glaring firmly at her. She was deliberately being a pain in the ass because that was what Aunt Sarina did. PITA was literally her middle name.

All right, it was Patricia, but it was close enough.

Nicholas glanced at me, then stepped forward. “Mrs. Hamilton?”

Aunt Sarina peered up over the top of her book. Given that she hadn’t moved her head, her expression was nothing short of disapproval and, actually, was quite severe.

I was a little scared of her.

“I appreciate so much that you’re enjoying your book,” Nicholas said in a smooth voice, resting one arm flat on the countertop. “If my students would read with half the enthusiasm of you, my life would be so much easier.”

Was he schmoozing my aunt?

He smiled at her.

Oh, jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell bullshit.

He was totally schmoozing my aunt.

Was she buying it?

Surely not. She was smarter than that.

At least I hoped she was.

Aunt Sarina tilted her head to the side. “Stop sweet-talking me, Nick. I won’t fall for that.”

Ding ding ding, we have a winner.

“Oh, come on. You know we have to get to the grotto for the kids.”

“Now you’re blackmailing me.”

“It’s not blackmail if it’s true.”

She sighed and slipped a fraying fabric bookmark between the pages, closed the book, and slipped it under the pallets that made up the register. “Ticket.”

Nicholas handed it to her. “That shade of pink really suits you.”

I side-eyed him.

“Really brings out the green in your eyes.”

Oh, my God.

Aunt Sarina blushed.

What was happening?

“All right, take your nose out of her ass,” I said. “I’m going to vomit.”

Aunt Sarina glared at me and gave Nicholas his total. He handed her the cash, and once she’d put that in the register, they arranged delivery for later that day. We were done within a few minutes, and me and Nicholas stepped aside for two parents who were trying to stop their overexcited kids bouncing around like Tigger on cocaine.

What? That was a perfectly reasonable way to refer to excited children. It wasn’t wrong, was it?

“All right,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“More kids who sit on my knee and make their demands for anything from a coloring book and pencils to a real unicorn?” He grinned, pulling his hat further down over his ears. “How could anyone not be ready for that?”

“You offered,” I reminded him, walking back toward his truck with him. “And it’ll be busy because the lights are being turned on at nine.”

“I know, I know. What are the chances I can take you for dinner tonight?”

He was like a dog with a bone. “About as likely as you finding one of those real life unicorns.”