two inches. I was just over five-three and a buck twenty-five in weight.
“Whatever.” Bella escaped into the back room while I fielded all questions about Santa and the missing candy canes.
“He’s coming.” I held firm to that promise. “And instead of candy canes this year, we have chocolate.”
“We do?” Finn mumbled behind me.
“Yes.” I grabbed the basket of individually wrapped truffles at the end of the counter. They were a dollar a piece. Fifty cents my cost.
“You’re giving those out?” the mom asked.
“Of course.” I smiled.
“Cha-ching,” Finn said behind me.
The little girl grabbed three.
“Just one, sweetie,” her mom said.
“But I used to get three candy canes for Christmas past, Christmas present, and Christmas future.”
Way to go, Craig.
“Of course you get three truffles.” I smiled.
“Cha-ching. Cha-ching. Cha-ching.” Finn was just asking to be put in timeout.
I moved my hand behind my back and flipped him the bird.
After the girl and her mom moved on to look around the shop, I turned toward him.
His jaw hung open.
I didn’t swear. And I didn’t give people the bird. At least … that was the mom he used to know. Things changed.
All things fuck took over my life. I used the word. I signed it with my middle finger. And I did it with Kael Hendricks.
I liked fuck.
For a moment, I considered getting a T-shirt that said as much or maybe a bracelet or necklace with fuck engraved someplace. The one around my neck at that moment said WWJD. I would keep that one for Sundays and grief recovery meetings.
“Did you seriously just give me the middle finger?” Finn whispered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pressing my lips together, I blinked innocently several times.
His mouth curled into a grin. “Who are you?”
I was the woman who let a man go down on her at the end of a gravel road on Thanksgiving.
“I’m your mom. Now go see if Bella’s having any luck with the Santa situation.”
The cha-chings started to add up, especially when customers came into the store, realized Santa wasn’t there, grabbed three fucking truffles, and left without a purchase.
“No luck.” Bella frowned, tossing her phone onto the counter like it was her phone’s fault that we couldn’t get the Santa costume.
“You just couldn’t reach them?”
“No. I reached them. But they already loaned it out to someone else.”
“Who?”
She shrugged.
“Santa’s across the street!” hollered one of the customers, pointing to the window.
I craned my neck to see. “Son of a bitch.”
“Mom!” Bella gasped.
My language startled another one of my children.
“Him.” I glared out the window to the entrance of What Did You Expect? with a growing line … There was Santa and a woman dressed up as an elf taking photos.
Kael Fucking Hendricks and one of his employees emerged through the entrance of his store with trays of hot drinks and what looked like some sort of goodies—probably that caramel apple bread or peppermint bark. They handed it out to everyone waiting in line.
In line for Santa.
In line for photos.
In line to buy newer, hipper specialty foods.
We were over.
Not that we were really anything more than wild animals who liked to screw, but that was over.
He could have Tillie, Izzy, Amber or anyone else in Epperly. Okay, not Bella. But literally anyone else. I didn’t care.
I couldn’t let him fuck me and my business. Not anymore.
“What are you going to do?”
“Not me. You.”
“Me?” Bella squinted at me.
“No.” I exhaled. “It can’t be you. That would be too suspicious.”
“What would?”
“Amie. I need to call Amie.” I grabbed my phone and headed toward the back room. “Watch the register.”
Amie answered on the second ring. “I heard.” I didn’t have to see her to imagine the cringe on her face.
Small town. Of course she’d heard that Santa was not at Smith’s this year, but instead an imposter across the town square.
“Cindy told me. But you can’t be mad. You’re sleeping with the guy.”
“We have never ‘slept’ together, and we never will. It’s sex—was sex. Whatever it was or wasn’t is now officially over. So I can definitely be mad that the one day … the one day I had to keep Smith’s afloat for the year has been ambushed by him.”
“It’s not his fault Leonard got the flu.”
“It’s his fault that he stole the costume! How did he even know to ask Leonard for it? I just found out this morning that Leonard is sick.”
“Oh … didn’t you know? Kael is Leonard’s neighbor. You know how chatty and kind Marilyn can be. I’m sure she offered it