Page 68 of The Christmas Dash

In short, stop and smell the pine

And document your trek with care.

Be sure to say hi to Marilla and co.

When you venture into the reindeer lair.

Chapter 21

Beth

I drop Gabe off at his mom’s house and then book it to the bookstore to cover the start of the afternoon shift before our high school help arrives.

Thirty minutes later, a food delivery guy shows up with takeout from the Clatter Café—my favorite avocado BLT wrap with a cup of the soup of the day . . . a hearty chicken dumpling.

I’m confused because I didn’t order myself any food. I forgot it was lunchtime, actually. But the guy insists that the order was placed for delivery to Beth Collins at Dash Away Books.

“By who?” I ask.

He checks his notes. “Gabe McKenzie. Whoa.” He blinks and widens his eyes at me. “That Gabe McKenzie?”

“The one and only,” I mumble, a bit in awe myself.

At four o’clock, I meet Jack and Ivy in the Dasher Valley High School wrestling room. We used the closets here to store items for the High School Christmas Market, which is set to kick off tomorrow evening.

The wrestling room smells like teenage funk. It’s a hideous mixture of bad breath and body odor that is borderline oppressive.

Unlike Gabe, this place is decidedly not good for my health.

“Remind me again why we had to store your stuff in here?” I scrunch up my nose and stare down my brother. “This is not putting me in the Christmas spirit.”

Jack is busy hoisting plastic bins filled with handmade ornaments out of the line of closets and setting them on top of the mats. I’m doing my best not to look down, but I’m pretty sure I saw sweat droplets and lots of hair. I’m not usually squeamish, but a girl has her limits, and apparently mine is here, in the DVHS wrestling room.

“The commons is set up for the Key Club’s Christmas toy drive and fundraiser. The storage in the gym and music wings is completely full. This was my best option.”

“But this is a high school. It’s full of classrooms,” I argue. “Couldn’t you have picked literally anywhere else in this building?”

“Those classrooms are full of students every day of the week. This was my best option. Believe me, if I could have come up with someplace a little less sweaty, I would have.”

I roll my eyes.

“Come on, Bethy. Where’s your usual Christmas spirit? We’ll be out of here in no time,” he says with a shrug. “With all the football guys and their parents coming in to help set up after school, it won’t take us long. Quit being such a scrooge.”

“Hey! I’m not a scrooge. I’m never a scrooge. It’s just . . . this place is gross.”

Totally the opposite of the pristine fields out at Felipe’s farm. I wrap my arms around myself, missing the warmth of Gabe’s embrace. I dropped him and his tree off at Elena’s house, and he promised we’d talk soon. I’m hoping we can connect this weekend. We still have to come up with two more stops for the Dash.

Who am I kidding? I want to see him to talk about us. If there is an us to talk about.

“She’s not wrong, Jack.” Ivy puts her hands on her hips. “Let’s hurry up and move the goods before our lungs are affected by this stench.”

Jack makes a face at us, but he gets all the bins laid out on the grimy mats, and we start hauling the plastic totes filled with glittered pine cones festooned with ribbons in Dasher Valley High colors of blue and gold. We’ve got oversized clear ornaments with a team photo fastened in the center and white glitter on the bottom, giving the impression of a snow globe. The varsity players have signed football-shaped ornaments, and they’ll be on hand to take photos with the kids of the community who idolize these high schoolers. We’ve assembled popsicle sticks, more glitter, and glue—pretty much all the supplies we’ll need to make one-of-a-kind, homemade ornaments to commemorate the team’s State Championship this year.

It was my idea to have people make donations as thanks for the players’ time and attention to the kids. Then, they get a custom ornament out of the deal. Pretty brilliant, if I do say so myself.

“So”—Jack passes me, holding a stack of two giant totes—“how’s Gabe?”

My toe catches on one of the mats, and I topple forward.