Page 37 of Moody's Grumpy Holiday

I scoffed. “Fine. I think it’s quite adequate. Perhaps even…charming.”

Hudson’s grin threatened to take over his entire face. His eyes crinkled and his teeth gleamed, and against my wishes, the corner of my mouth curled to mimic his.Oh, no.I bit the inside of my cheeks to nip the unwarranted smile in the bud, but he was talking now and it was hard to listen and keep track of my facial muscles at the same time. Don’t ask me why…it just was.

“Charming! We’ve got ourselves a winner, ladies and gentlemen!” He clapped and threw his arms in the air. “Woohoo!”

“Calm yourself. It’s a tree. No one won the darn lottery,” I huffed.

“You have a point. All right, I’ll grab the trunk, and you take the other end.” He swooped low and hefted the tree with ease, obviously requiring no assistance whatsoever.

“You’re impressively endowed in the biceps department. I doubt you’ll need my help.”

I started to turn away, but Hudson tugged my scarf to stop me.

“Not so fast. This is a two-person job,” he insisted.

“You’re literally holding it on your own now and…” I puffed my cheeks out like a blowfish and rolled my eyes. “I know when I’m being tricked. This is holiday coercion at its worst.”

He winked. “Come on. I’ll pay you in blowjobs if you help me get this in the truck.”

“Blowjobs…plural?”

“Plural.”

“Very well. I accept.” With that I slipped my hand through the fir branches, grasped hold of my end, and marched ahead of Hudson to the register.

“Moody? Is that really you?” Cheryl Dalton inquired with a swift double take that made the ball at the end of her Santa hat smack her on the nose.

I pushed at my glasses and inclined my chin. “It is, indeed. My presence isn’t indicative of a seasonal change of heart, however, so please don’t spread untoward rumors.”

The older woman’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. I’m simply helping a friend.” I introduced Hudson, then meandered to a nearby rack of mistletoe, garlands, wreaths, and lights.

Memories assailed me from every direction: like the time I got stuck under a mistletoe in fifth grade with Missy Flaherty, who insisted I had to kiss her because those were the rules. The memory shifted to hanging silver garlands in Dad’s classroom and his boom of laughter when he caught me wrapping it around my skinny body. He’d asked what I was doing, and I’d answered quite honestly that it looked pretty…like a dress.

Some dads might have been scandalized or mortified, but Milt Moody had just ruffled my hair and told me to put one on my Christmas list.

Tears threatened out of the blue. I swallowed them down and dabbed the corner of my eyes to be sure there was no leakage.

“…find all the decorations you’ll need in town,” Cheryl was saying. “I’m sure Moody would be happy to point you in the right direction.”

Hudson winked. “I bet I can talk him into it. Thanks again.”

I scowled at Cheryl and hurried after Hudson, doing my darnedest to help him schlep the tree to his truck, happy I’d managed to fight off a new surge of déjà vu.

Once inside, Hudson fastened his seat belt and adjusted the volume on the radio, blasting “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and then, to my dismay, he commenced singing. I smacked my forehead and slumped theatrically against the upholstery.

“This is torture. Are there really blowjobs attached to this assignment?”

He patted my knee. “And a rim job if you join in.”

I rolled my eyes. “That isn’t fair. I’ll have to do without.”

“Have it your way.” He put the truck in reverse and immediately broke into song again. It was pitchy albeit ridiculously endearing.

I was definitely, absolutely, one thousand percentnotgoing to sing or even hum along, but darn it, I couldn’t control my toe tapping in my sneaker. That was the least of my worries. Butterflies were dancing in my stomach, and I felt gooey all over. Not okay.

It got worse when Hudson insisted on stopping to purchase ornaments in town.