Page 26 of Mistletoe All the Way

I examine the pic and catch a glimpse of devilish green eyes shining back at me in the image. “Alexander,” I chide, then spin around and wiggle the cat from the tree, where he was hiding or spying on me.

With an aggrieved meow from the photobomber, I set him down on the floor, even though I know he’ll be back up there in no time, slithering through the branches.

As we leave, I post the photo, cat eyes and all, on my social. Briefly, I wonder if Noah will spot it and wonder what I was up to. But I dismiss the silly thought. He’s not preoccupied with me, and he’s definitely not looking me up on social.

Later, as I sit cross-legged on the library rug, reading to kids in puffy coats, I keep thinking about doing something big to help with the competition. As I walk home, I tighten my scarf, tug on some mittens, and marinate on it some more until my gaze swings to St. Nick’s Hangout up ahead.

A stream of people floods into Stephen’s bar—men in flannel and women in parkas, along with a couple of guys in pressed trousers and overcoats who look like they’re from out of town.

That’s odd. I rarely see people in business attire heading in there. Curious, I push open the door and take in the scene. A bunch of lumberjill-looking women sit at the bar, wearing flannel and singing along to Bruce Springsteen’s version of “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town.”

The sheriff is here, along with a guy who operates the snowplow, chatting in the corner. The men in the overcoats have shed them—they’re wearing suits. Definitely not from here. They give off lawyer vibes. I linger as they head to the counter, where Stephen laughs, perhaps at a joke a customer tells as he pulls a tap, his Santa hat tilting precariously to the side as he pours. A half minute later, his friendly voice booms through the establishment.

“It’s time for the Santa Claus special! Free beer with the purchase of wings!”

He’s quite generous. So annoying. Maybe this is why he couldn’t figure out the ordering. He gives everything away.

I survey the scene another minute, as the men in suits head to the back of the bar, with Stephen glancing carefully around, then following them. Hmm. What could he be trying to hide?

I dart back outside, forcing myself to set aside that encounter for now, as I return to my friends’ words. Something big. When I’m finally home a few minutes later, I spot Alexander batting an ornament, and it reminds me of the day I adopted him—he was playing with a toy in his cat condo at the local shelter.

And I know what to do.

I grin, already reaching for my phone. Googling times. Checking details. Confirming I can pull this off given my schedule, but I think I can since I’ve banked some photos of the hockey players with their pets in holiday regalia that I can post for the team over the next few days.

When I finally crawl into bed later that night, my mind is buzzing with lists and logistics. Tomorrow, I’ll start making it happen.

10 SURPRISE, SURPRISE

Noah

Alonzo tilts his head as I walk past his office at our veterinary practice a few days after returning to Colorado.

“Lennox?” he calls, and I backtrack and step into his doorway. A framed diploma hangs on his wall from Auburn University, next to a photo of his parents back home in El Salvador before they immigrated here.

“Yes, sir?”

He’s in scrubs, like me, but he’s looking at me like something doesn’t add up. “Is that you, or am I having a nightmare?” He pushes back from his desk and strides over, scanning me up and down. “Yep. Definitely a nightmare.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Seriously. Why are you here? I distinctly remember telling you to take the month of December off.”

I smile, showing no teeth. “You did, sir.”

Alonzo sighs, slides off his square black glasses, and blows on them to clean them—a sign he’s a little exasperated. Sliding them back on, he says, “This is how we lost Jamie to becoming a park ranger. Noble job, but we can’t keep losing vets. There’s already a shortage.”

I picture our colleague chatting with tourists in the Rockies, like he told me in his recent text update. Leading classes on trail safety. “I assure you, that’s way too much peopling for me. I have no plans to become a park ranger.”

“Not my point, Lennox.”

“Look, I like trees, but animals are better.”

“And if you want to give them the best care possible, you need to make time to rest, especially since you’re taking on a lot in the new year. I trust I don’t need to remind you that vets have higher rates of depression—and suicide—than most other professions.”

“I do know that. But don’t worry. I’m fine.”

“And I want to keep it that way. This is a stressful job. We make life-and-death decisions every day. Burnout is real.”