The Holiday List (The Script Club 4)

My brain was putty at the moment. It took me a second to process that I was Mr. Miller.

“Oh, sure, but…just call me Chet.”

“Is that your real name?” Lincoln asked.

“No, my given name is Charles, but that’s my dad’s name too. They always called me Chet when I was little. Mom said it was either that or Chip, so I guess I’m glad the Chet stuck.”

Lincoln giggled. “If your name was Chip, you could be Dorito Chip.”

“I’d prefer chocolate Chip,” I replied, pleased when he giggled at my silly joke. “Speaking of which…I brought cookies.”

Sam widened his eyes comically. “Linc, this guy makes a mean cookie. You’re in for a treat. Come on in, Mr. Chet Miller.”

We sat at the island like we did last weekend—only this time with Lincoln between us, asking a million questions about outer space: What’s the hottest planet? Can a star turn into a planet? Do you think humans will visit Mars? In case you’re curious…Venus, yes, and yes.

“I totally want to go to Mars. Or the moon. Do you?” Lincoln asked around a mouthful of cookie.

I considered the question thoughtfully. “I might be convinced to go to the moon, but I’m not sure about Mars, which is ironic since it’s literally my job to study it. But it’s a long trip, and I’m not an astronaut.”

“Oh. What are you?”

“I’m an astrophysicist and a robotics engineer. I play with robots.”

Lincoln gaped. “All day?”

“Pretty much. Every day is different. I spend a lot of time with diagnostics, recalibration, and…stuff like that too,” I added, modulating my tone to sound…less geeky.

Not that Lincoln minded. His awestruck expression didn’t waver. “Do you make the robots yourself?”

“No, not by myself. I help, though, and I get to operate them now.”

“Whoa. That’s so cool,” he enthused before firing another ten questions my way.

I wasn’t used to anyone looking at me like I was a rock star. It was kind of nice. And it was so easy. All I had to do was answer questions about things I loved. Geez, maybe I was better with kids than I thought.

Ding dong.

Sam pulled his wallet out and inclined his chin meaningfully. “That’s your friend. Your movie ticket has been paid for. I’ll give you money for snacks. Don’t overdo it and be sure to thank Mr. Tanaka and—”

“I know, I know.” Lincoln hopped from his stool and turned to me. “Can you come over again? I have more questions.”

“Sure. I volunteered to help your dad decorate your house for the holidays. If he agrees to autumnal cheer, I’ll be back tomorrow with pumpkins and gourds and a list of everything we’ll need to deck the halls for Christmas.”

Linc gasped. His mouth fell open as he swiveled his head between Sam and me. “Really? Will you get a tree too? Can you get it tomorrow? Can I come?”

“Not tomorrow, but—”

Ding dong.

“Let’s discuss holiday cra—stuff later. Say good-bye to Chet,” Sam instructed firmly. “Your friend is waiting. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Lincoln said, turning to me with an impish grin. “Good-bye, Dorito.”

“Good-bye, Chip,” I countered, hoping I understood the joke.

Lincoln chuckled, pausing in the doorway to wave before racing away.

Well, that wasn’t so bad, I mused, slipping a notebook and pen from my bag. If I did all the holiday-cheer spreading while Lincoln was around and answered a few space questions, this would be easy as pie. I could cross “Good deed for someone in need” off the list and ideally, distract myself from staring at his delectable dad.

“Hey, sorry about that. Jase didn’t share the movie playdate info with me till yesterday. If I’d known you two were going to hit it off so well, I would have asked you to come by earlier,” Sam said, reclaiming his barstool.

I smiled. “He’s a very curious child. And he seemed to like me.”

“Of course he likes you. I told you he would.” He tugged at his sling with a humorless chuckle. “I wish I knew half the shit you do about robots. It would make my life so much easier. Want anything else to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? I’m gonna grab a beer and turn on the game.”

I furrowed my brow. “Okay, but…we have to discuss—”

“Holiday stuff. Got it.” Sam moved to the fridge and uncapped a beer, taking a sip before meeting my gaze. “But Michigan’s playing Penn State today. I want to check the score. Do you mind?”

“Um…I guess not.”

I gathered my things and met him in the living area, perching on a corner of the sectional while I organized my notes. I sneaked a sideways peek at my host clicking through channels. His forehead was creased as if he were deep in thought. Unhappy ones.

“Fuck, third quarter already,” he grumbled. “PI. Where’s the flag?”

Unhappy football thoughts, I amended.

“What flag?”

“The penalty flag. Ahh, there we go. Third and ten at the forty, four minutes left. We’re up by ten and we’ve got the ball.”