Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances by Myracle, John (good book club books TXT) 📕

the first of the seniors jingled through the door.

“Nippy, nippy!” Claire said, slipping off her colorful hat.

Burt made his way straight to the counter and ordered a shot in the dark, and Miles, shuffling in behind him, called out, “You sure your ticker can handle it, old man?”

Burt thumped his chest. “Keeps me young. That’s why the ladies love me. Right, Miss Addie?”

“Absolutely,” I said, putting the universe on hold as I grabbed a cup and handed it to Christina. Burt had the biggest ears I’d ever seen (maybe because he’d had eighty-odd years to grow them?), and I wondered what the ladies thought of them.

As the line grew, Christina and I fell into our crunch-time roles. I took orders and manned the register while she worked her magic with the steamer.

“Grande latte!” I called.

“Grande latte,” she repeated.

“Venti soy toffee nut mocha single shot no whip!”

“Venti soy toffee nut mocha single shot no whip.”

It was a dance. It pulled me out of myself. The chasm still gaped within me, but I had to tell it, Sorry, caz, no time.

The last of the seniors was Mayzie, with her gray braids and a beatific smile. Mayzie was a retired folklore professor, and she dressed all hippy-dippy in battered jeans, an oversize striped sweater, and a half dozen beaded bracelets. I loved that about her, that she dressed more like a teenager than an old lady. I mean, I didn’t want to see her in super-low-rise Sevens and a thong, but I thought it was cool that she did her own thing.

No one was waiting behind her, so I rested my hands on the counter and allowed myself a breath of air.

“Hey, Mayzie,” I said. “How you doing today?”

“I’m terrific, hon,” she said. Today she was wearing purple jingle bell earrings, and they tinkled when she tilted her head. “Ooo, I like your hair.”

“You don’t think I look like a plucked chicken?”

“Not at all,” she said. “It suits you. It’s spunky.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said.

“Well, I do. You’ve been moping around for too long, Addie. I’ve been watching. It’s time you grew into your next self.”

There it was again, the prickling sense of standing on a precipice.

Mayzie leaned closer. “We are all flawed, my dear. Every one of us. And believe me, we’ve all made mistakes.”

Heat rushed to my face. Were my mistakes so public that even my customers knew? Did the Silver Sneakers gang discuss my hookup with Charlie over bingo?

“You’ve just got to take a good hard look at yourself, change what needs to be changed, and move on, pet.”

I blinked at her dumbly.

She lowered her voice. “And if you’re wondering why I get to tell you this, it’s because I’ve decided to pursue a new profession: Christmas angel.”

She waited for my reaction, her eyes bright. It was strange that she would bring up the whole “angel” thing after I’d talked about angels with Dorrie and Tegan last night, and for a teeny-tiny fraction of a second I actually wondered if she was my angel, here to save me.

Then cold, hard reality thudded back down, and I hated myself for being such a fool. Mayzie was no angel; today was just the Day of the Nut Jobs. Apparently, everyone had eaten too much fruitcake.

“Don’t you have to be dead to be an angel?” I said.

“Now, Addie,” she scolded. “Do I look dead to you?”

I looked at Christina to see if she was catching this, but Christina was over by the exit, putting a new bag in the trash can.

Mayzie took my lack of response as permission to continue. “It’s a program called Angels Among Us,” she said. “I don’t have to get a degree or anything.”

“There’s not really a program called that,” I said.

“Oh, yes, yes. It’s offered at Gracetown’s Center for the Heavenly Arts.”

“Gracetown doesn’t have a Center for the Heavenly Arts,” I said.

“I sometimes get lonely,” she confided. “Not that the Silver Sneakers aren’t wonderful. But sometimes they’re a bit”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“well, boring.”

“Ohhh,” I whispered back.

“I thought becoming an angel might be a nice way to connect with others,” she said. “Anyway, to get my wings, I just have to spread the magic of Christmas.”

I snorted. “Well, I don’t believe in the magic of Christ-mas.”

“Sure you do, or I wouldn’t be here.”

I drew back, feeling somehow as if I’d been tricked. Because how was I supposed to respond to that? I shook myself and tried another tactic. “But . . . Christmas is over.”

“Oh, no, Christmas is never over, unless you want it to be.” She leaned on the counter and propped her chin on her palm. “Christmas is a state of mind.”

Her gaze dropped below the level of the counter. “Goodness gracious,” she said.

I looked down. “What?”

The top corner of the folded-up sticky note was sticking out of my jeans pocket, and Mayzie reached across the counter and plucked it free. The gesture was so unexpected, I just stood there and let her.

“‘Do not forget the pig,’” Mayzie said after unfolding the note. She tilted her head and peered at me like a little bird.

“Oh crud,” I said.

“What pig are you not supposed to forget?”

“Uh”—my mind was jittery—“it’s for my friend, Tegan. What drink can I get started for you?” My fingers itched to untie my apron strings so I could go on break.

“Hmm,” Mayzie said. She tapped her chin.

I tapped my foot.

“You know,” she said, “sometimes when we forget to do things for others, like this Tegan, it’s because we’re too wrapped up in our own problems.”

“Yes,” I said vigorously, hoping to dissuade further discussion. “You want your usual almond mocha?”

“When actually, what we need to forget is ourselves.”

“Yes again. I hear ya. Single shot?”

She smiled as if I amused her. “Single shot, yes, but let’s mix it up this time. Change is healthy, right?”

“If you say so. So what’ll it be?”

“A toffee nut mocha, please, in a to-go cup. I think I’ll take in some air before Tanner comes back for us.”

I